Jeri Dawn's game continues

I'm taking a challenge to play Jeri Dawn's game. Not every question. This one isn't easy... but I think I'll take a stab.

The question:
"What or who or when or how did someone save you? I know you have all been "saved" at one time or another in your life. Your definition of "saved" need not be the same as mine. You can be creative." If you want to play along, please do answer, either in comments or on your own blog.

The answer:
There could be dozens - scores of answers. Physically, emotionally, spiritually... a lot of saving.
I'm going to pick out at random my sixth grade teacher.

My second grade teacher was in the wrong profession, and I didn't make it any easier. We were at war.

My third grade teacher was excellent.

My fourth grade teacher was... not good for me. I corrected her blackboard spelling in front of the gifted-and-talented class. I must have written "I will write my name on my paper" 1500 times or more during a lot of missed recesses. It didn't make me write my name on my paper. She made me redo illegible assignments, and it only made me worse. G&T was just a matter of more work, not more interesting work in her class, and I had no patience for pointless busy work. We were at war.

I returned to mainstream school and begged my mom to request my fifth grade teacher, not knowing that she had a thing against g&t kids. I loved her for at least 3 days, and then it was all-out war. Fifth grade managed behavior with punch cards - a punch was bad, indicative of missing assignments, acting out, that sort of thing. Friday activities were the reward for having fewer than 5 punches. Among the 5 or 6 kids who missed out each week, I was the constant. There were 6 or 8 activities that I wanted badly enough to suspend hostilities. Other fifth graders learned to give me space, or they'd risk getting punches by association.

I got to sixth grade ready to fight the whole world. I had no friends; I was the screw-up. After a few years' practice, I was ready to take on any teacher the public school system could underpay. Larry Able was the first teacher whose battle plan included no fighting.
He didn't care that my desk resembled the bottom 6 inches of an overfilled recycling bin.
If I spent the science lesson doodling portraits of my classmates, he shrugged it off, provided I could keep up with the conversation - which I could. [That was one of my advanced tactics.]
I didn't want to write a report for history; I wanted to draw pictures instead. He agreed, provided he could see from my pictures that I understood. What? He let me not write a report? I ended up writing just as much in detailed explanation of my drawings.
He accepted my carefully developed chicken scratch, with or without my name. It was obviously mine, so he didn't bother making me write my name to get credit. I don't know how he discerned what I wrote.
When I - on a whim - wrote one of my assignments in perfect handwriting, Mr. Able made a big giant deal about how good it looked and that it was perfect for submitting to some handwriting contest. I think he made the contest up... but I started writing better.
I was disruptive in math class, so he picked a couple other kids and had us start independent study of pre-algebra in the hall during math.

He was so careful to take none of my bait. He didn't fight back. He turned everything I did to a cooperation. He had 30 other kids as well, and had to have struggled to balance that. He didn't lose his patience.

He took a combative screw-up and patiently redirected me so that I hit Junior High with some hope of actually surviving. I don't know that I would have been bound for alternative school; but I know that he facilitated an attitude adjustment.

I actually liked school again. He helped me see that I had potential to do well in school, something I hadn't been in the habit of considering.

Larry Able was definitely underpaid. He was endlessly patient and creative and unflappable. Not all teachers are that good. He saved my secondary education.