When I was a kid, I wanted to be Nancy Duncan when I grew up. I didn’t want to be LIKE HER, I wanted to BE her. She was my hero. And it is because of her that I know to call her a hero (and not a heroine). You see, Nancy Duncan was the first feminist I ever met. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time. It was around 1976, which would make me 10 years old, and I was smack dab in the middle of the Midwest in Omaha, Nebraska. Nancy Duncan was my theatre teacher, my director, and (like I mentioned), my hero . Everything about her was perfect in my eyes. Her wavy, messy hair. Her loud laugh. Her funky, multi-layered clothing. Her smile. Her genuine way of caring for those around her. Her wit. And her kindness. I was just one of hundreds (thousands?) of kids she taught and directed. I am sure nothing stood out about me that made me special in her eyes. But in my eyes, oh in my eyes , Nancy Duncan was who I wanted to be when I grew up.