I remember him well. His name was Maurice and I met him in the second grade. He was smart, nice and funny. I was seven and he was. . . about 40. He was my guidance counselor and he would visit my class once a week - every Thursday at 2:00 p.m. to be exact. Every Thursday, I would pick out an outfit, make sure that my mom ironed it properly, wear bows in my hair and refused to play so that I wouldn't get scummy looking. He was actually the first person that truly encouraged my writing. As a kid, I had these bushy eyebrows and of course, folks poked fun and I hated them. Mr. Maurice told us that my eyebrows were what made me unique and things that are unique are what makes us beautiful. Looking back and pictures of my younger days, I looked like my forehead was attacked by two wild caterpillars, but Mr. Maurice was forever in my heart for being sweet to a gangly, bushy-browed kd.