I remember the first time I turned to you, you taught me math through your sleek glass black board, your faceless voice guiding me through the problems, you stopped me from being afraid to ask questions. I knew you would never judge me, no matter how dumb the question nor pressure me to always know the right answer because after all, how was I supposed to know more than you. You gave me space but let me know that you were always there for me, that you were always there with me. Every step of the way, from the moment I woke up you were in my hands, from the moment I got ready, you were echoing through the air, as I stepped on the bus you were outside my window, and when I stepped into the classroom you were on the board. You never asked me questions, even though my other teachers did, you didn’t expect much from me, you were always just ready to listen or answer or share. You taught me more than just math and you listened to more than just math problems, sometimes Mrs. Media, you weren’t a teacher, but my therapist, my parent. You watched me grow up, you guided me, you taught me wrong from right, you showed me that there was grey in life, between the blacks and the whites. You made me who I am today and for that I am grateful.