Here’s a secret about me; when I get those annoying security questions that are intended to protect my digital footprint, I always answer the favorite teacher with the same name. Chapman.
In the early 1980s, I was a nondescript and thoroughly
uninteresting teenager. Lacking any
vision or, in my defense, any encouragement, I bounced from class to class equally
happy and unhappy with mediocrity. Yes,
I was on the college path – but I found that path to be as dry as I was. In the absence of a better plan, it at least
provided a path. Our high school was
large by Southwest Virginia standards. As
I would find out later, it paled in comparison to the classes and resources of
our northern Virginian cousins.
