I read a lot of comic books and any kind of thing I could find.

Hear the words of Walter Dean Myers, who spoke of a turning point in his youth: “I read a lot of comic books and any kind of thing I could find. One day, a teacher found me. She grabbed my comic book and tore it up. I was really upset, but then she brought in a pile of books from her own library. That was the best thing that ever happened to me.” In this memory lies the drama of growth: a moment of pain followed by the gift of transformation. For often, what feels like loss is in truth the doorway to a greater inheritance.

The young Myers delighted in comic books, as many children do. They were bright, adventurous, filled with heroes and wonders. Yet the teacher, perceiving the hunger behind those pages, chose not to leave him with shadows, but to lead him toward the fire itself. She tore the fragile pages, and though this act wounded his heart, she replaced them with books—richer, deeper, filled with worlds and wisdom that would sustain him for a lifetime. Thus, the child who loved stories was given not only stories, but the whole treasury of literature. From this moment sprang the man who would himself become a teller of tales, a guide for the young.

So it has always been in the journey of learning. Consider Virgil’s Aeneas, who wept at the burning of Troy, believing all was lost. Yet through fire and sorrow, he was driven to seek new lands, to plant the seeds of a greater destiny. In the same way, Myers’s sorrow at losing his comic was but a small flame compared to the vast light he gained in the gift of books. The tearing of pages was not destruction but initiation, an act of tough love that forced him to rise higher.

And think also of Alexander of Macedon, who as a boy longed for tales of heroes. His teacher, Aristotle, did not feed him mere fables, but gave him philosophy, science, and the wisdom of many ages. What seemed at first a burden became a gift that shaped a conqueror who was also a thinker. So too, Myers was guided from the simpler joy of comics to the profound nourishment of literature. The teacher acted as the bridge, turning the child’s delight into destiny.

Yet the tale carries a warning: we must not despise humble beginnings. The comic book was not an enemy—it was the spark that revealed Myers’s hunger for story. Without that spark, the greater fire might never have been lit. Thus, the wise mentor does not scorn what the student loves, but uses it as a path to something greater. The tearing of the comic was not rejection of his love of reading, but a redirection of it, a call to deeper waters.

The meaning is clear: growth often comes clothed in loss, and guidance sometimes arrives in stern hands. What feels harsh in the moment may later prove to be the very act that changes the course of a life. The teacher who dares to intervene, who risks anger to open the door of wisdom, may plant seeds that bloom into forests. The student who endures the sting of correction may one day rejoice in the harvest of that moment.

Therefore, O listeners, take this lesson to heart: do not cling so tightly to what is small that you miss what is great. When life tears away your comic book, trust that it may place in your hands a library. When a guide challenges you, even painfully, pause before anger, for it may be the best gift you ever receive.

Practical counsel I give: honor your teachers, especially those who do not flatter but challenge. Seek always the deeper nourishment beyond your first delights. And if you guide others, do not fear to take away what is lesser if you can give them what is greater. For in this way, both teacher and student become builders of destiny, and the loss of a page may open the door to a whole world.