Just a snippet of how I learned to write

I was a very average student in school. Much like a lot of teenagers, doing the bare minimum to get by. I was a freshman in a small rural high school. When you go from middle school to high school, at least for me, I really thought I was something. More concerned with socializing than educating. Do NOT follow my path. Freshman English, I will refer to the teacher as Mrs. R. Mrs. R, to me appeared to maybe be around my grandmother’s age. Of course, when you are young, you think everyone is old. Mrs. R, looking back, she maybe should have retired five years prior. Walking into her classroom, there were many windows, however, the room just appeared gloomy. Nothing exciting or encouraging hanging on the walls, just another classroom. It may as well have been an interior room, it made me sleepy and extremely bored. The first day of any class was always rather dull to me, repetitive; going over classroom rules, expectations, syllabus, yada yada, going through the motions. Mrs. R’s personality was as gloomy and boring as her classroom. Mrs. R sometimes would take a cat nap during class, we watched a lot of movies. The reading list we had that year was atrocious, not at all appealing to a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old kid. The monotony was unbearable. I have always been a jokester. Anything to break the pin dropping silence. At the desk next to me was T, T was a smaller fella. You know at that age, a lot of times, the girls are taller than the boys. Mrs. R was at the chalk board, I could not tell you what she was writing. T was sleeping, I was bored per usual. I intentionally knocked T’s three ring binder onto the floor, it hit with sound that echoed in the sleepy room, boom. T startled awake and Mrs. R wheeled around from her chalkboard. In her frail, yet stern voice, who did that? Obviously, no one answered. T had no idea what had happened, after all, he was napping. I could not hold my laughter in, busted. Mrs. R most certainly did not appreciate the fact that I interrupted one of the rare moments that she was awake and writing on the chalk board. I cannot remember exactly, however, I think she had tried to teach us the Charleston, that was a type of dance from the 1920’s. I believe that same year, sophomore English had gotten a brand-new teacher. We will call her Mrs. C. during freshman English; Mrs. C would always stand outside her classroom between periods. She always had a warm and welcoming smile, much different than Mrs. R. Mrs. C, I would guess was in her early to mid-thirties. I would always peek into her classroom that was thoughtfully put together and so welcoming. Mrs. C was an elegant woman, stylish, her room emitted a scent that reminded me of an expensive perfume store, unlike Mrs. R room, the scent of her room reminded me of my grandparents’ house.  I now know that smell is the smell of vitamins and old fashion cleanliness. I envied the sophomore English students and could not wait to get out of the dungeon. Mrs. R retired at the end of my freshman year, not a moment too soon.

First day of sophomore year, I do not remember what time of day I had English class; however, I know I was elated. I could not wait, finally a cool teacher. Mrs. C was waiting outside her classroom just as she had the previous year, greeting everyone with her warm, friendly smile, how exciting! It is finally time for English. I walk in and find my seat. That was not a lot of fun for me as we were initially seated alphabetically…… my last name is at the beginning of the alphabet, that always meant, I was in the front row. It is very hard to blend in in the front row. The second bell rings, in sweeps the soft, welcoming, friendly elegant woman, slamming the door. What an attention getter, all the chatter from everyone catching up on what we had done that summer came to an abrupt halt. Mrs. C no longer had the warm, friendly welcoming look on her face. Oh no, she looks angry, a look I had not ever seen from this soft spoken, stylish, elegant woman. I remember thinking oh crap, I wonder where Mrs. R is right now, this is going to be another long year. Much the same as with every other first day of school, the cadence was the same, syllabus, in a stern voice with a stone look on her face. Then we got into expectations that was so eloquently addressed with a lot of “I will not tolerate”. Oh no, I have been fooled by the sweet, soft, kind smile. That room was as quiet as a church during communion. The only voice is of Mrs. C, not so much as a murmur from anyone. The first bell finally rang signaling the end of class. I think we all walked out of that classroom scared to death, she means business. I for certain did not want to go back the second day, the first day had left a very lasting impression. This is not at all going to be fun. I did not have near the excitement the second day as I had the first. I had seen Mrs. C several times that day, trying not to make eye contact with her, she had put the fear of God in me. She was for certain not going to tolerate my shenanigans, I am not even going to think of pulling any stunts. She was the same as she had been the entire year prior, greeting with a warm smile and a welcoming hello. I am not falling for that façade. Nope, yesterday, I realized I had been fooled by a wolf in sheep clothing. Second bell rings, once again, in sweeps the sweet, kind, friendly elegant woman. The door doesn’t slam today, she closes it ever so softly and glides to the front of the classroom. Not even one of us made a sound, it was as if we were all holding our breath. She greeted us all with a smile, I was taken back, as I am certain others were too. This is not the same woman from the day before, however, none of us want to test her and make the wolf come out again. This experience is what led me to my love of combining words to depict a picture that only I could visualize. Mrs. C was able to command the room, when she spoke, everyone listened. I know that I tried my very best to pay attention, if Mrs. C were to ask a question, I wanted to ensure that if she called on me, I knew the answer. Mrs. C gave me the foundation that was as strong as a brick house to succeed as well as excel in every English/literature class I ever took after that. Things that were not clear to me when it came to English became crystal clear. I wish I had a Mrs. C for every class I had ever taken. She made static come alive. Until Mrs. C, English class for me was just another mandatory, mundane class required by the board of education. Mrs. C, if you are reading this, thank you for teaching me how to paint a picture with words! To da loo