I walked onto the brightly lit stage and smiled when the director of our high school's 'Third Band', Mrs. McClure, grinned and waved at me with the enthusiasm of a kid at Disney World. She motioned for me to sit next to her on the dust, yellow couch that theatre had left. As I made my way across the seemingly endless stage, I was suddenly 11 years old again and terrified of this new class called 'band'. The old, overused props that littered the stage transformed into rows of chairs waiting to be filled with the future Princeton Band. The only thing left unchanged in my sudden regression was Mrs. McClure's perky, smiling face as she got ready for another day of class, in exactly the same way she had 5 years ago.
I mentally shook myself back to the present and plopped down on the creaky couch. As we sat there, soaking up the last few moments of quiet before other people came trumpeting (sometimes literally) in, I thought about the warm, bubbly woman sitting next to me. It had been Mrs. McClure who had seriously introduced me to music, who had molded me from someone who had loved listening to music to someone who loved making it. It had been her calm, patient understanding that had kept me from quitting band and using my flute as a really expensive paperweight. If she hadn't convinced me to stay, I probably would have never learned about caring for something so much that I would be willing to work hours on end in the hot sun, just for 8 minutes of payoff every Friday night, and the occasional Saturday competition.
However, not everything I learned from Mrs.' McClure had to do with band. Her constant care and concern for every student no matter what made me look at how I treated people in my own life, and taught me how to care about somebody other than myself. Also, her near-constant happiness showed me that even the smallest things can bring a smile to a person's face.
Mrs. McClure sighed, interrupting my thoughts. I looked over at her and realized just how much she had taught me just by being herself. There are not that many people that I truly admire, but the mother-like way she teaches and cares for every one of us has earned her a place among the few. As the sounds of people making their way down the hall drifted toward us, I turned and gave Mrs. McClure a hug. 'What was that for?' She asked, pleasantly surprised. 'For just being you,' I replied.

'For just being you.'