The moment I saw the topic "AIDS: Why Should I Care?,"
I knew this was an essay I needed to write.
I am seven short weeks away from [high school] graduation, and
the closer I get to completing this part of my education,
the more I remember the man who was such an
important part of my school years.

Though never far from my thoughts, this memory seems to push into my mind more and more often these days. I wish that he was here to see how I turned out, to share in my accomplishments and to help in my decisions.

I know that he would love and be flattered that I have chosen education as my major at college, for I hope to be a teacher like he was.

Whenever I am asked what teacher most influenced me, I am eager to tell everyone about him and how lucky I was that he was my fifth and sixth grade teacher. I was even luckier because he was my friend.

Why should I care about AIDS? Because AIDS took this wonderful man from me and his hundreds of other students in December of 1990.

We lost an excellent educator, a caring and gracious man and a loving friend when he passed away, and because of him, my life will never be the same.

I wear a red ribbon in his memory, but I don't need a ribbon to be reminded of him. His memory is with me in all sorts ways. It is in my study skills, the way I read a book, the way I take a test, even the way I handle my everyday problems.

He wasn't just a teacher who taught us out of a book. He taught us about life. Fifth and sixth graders could not be easy to teach. We were bursting into puberty, wild at times, silly, giggly girls and loud, obnoxious boys.

He handled it all with a clam air of grace, never raising his voice to discipline and always able to keep us in line with a quick, sharp look.

He stayed after school to listen to our troubles, our gossip, our fears and dreams. He always saw the best in us and taught us to look on the bright side. He found joy in our triumphs, a good book report or winning a soccer game, and he took our troubles seriously.

Looking back, I wonder how he ever kept a straight face as we poured out our 12-year-old hearts to him - about best friends and boyfriends, training bras and moms who did not understand us.

He told me once that if he ever had a daughter, he would want her to be just like me. I have never received a more beautiful compliment. I treasure that sentiment, along with his memory.

After I went on to junior high, I went back to visit him and our friendship grew. When he died right before the Christmas of my ninth grade year, I felt like a light inside of me had gone out.

Now that light is back. It is a flame that burns within me, a flame that I will pass on to my students one day when I teach. Why should I care about AIDS? Because he cared.

He cared enough to love us and teach us, on a teacher's salary. I also care because the statistics are frightening, the ignorance is frightening and we must start caring to put a stop to this disease.