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As I listen to 3oh!3's "Still Around" and look back on my middle school years, I am overwhelmed by all the memories I have and the emotions that come with them. So much has happened over the course of those three years that, if I were to write an article encompassing all of them, it might take two or three issues of the Times to hold them all. One memory, however, produces particularly strong emotions. Actually, it's a conglomerate of memories -- the memories that make up Mr. F, the best teacher I've ever had.
I had Mr. F for the first time in seventh grade, as my Language Arts teacher. I'd always had an affinity for writing, and right away I felt something click. The curriculum excited me -- mysteries, a focus on fiction writing, and some pretty decent books to be read and discussed. Finally, here was a teacher who put a heavy emphasis on writing, and demanded excellence from his students. And, though I wouldn't know it for a few weeks, Mr. F was someone I could connect with.
I remember being so excited to be in his class every day; in seventh grade, I had it sixth hour, and I would anticipate it my entire day. I found I could be myself in his class; for forty five minutes, I wasn't the geeky writer girl, I was someone who's talent shone through and made her a star. At least that's how it felt. I came to know Mr. F more personally, cracking jokes about him. He, in turn, would tease me about my quirks and about the books I read -- especially "Pride and Prejudice". Our relationship was easy and fun.
The year ended, and I prayed that I would have him again. When I got my schedule, I wasn't disappointed -- I had him first hour! I couldn't think of a better way to start my day, or my eighth grade year.
I knew that, if I ever had a problem, I could tell him. He helped me stay focused and centered when I began writing a novel and celebrated with me when I finally finished a (very) rough draft. I'd never been that close to a teacher. It wasn't an inappropriate relationship -- I was merely a student who was crazy about writing, and he was the teacher that pushed his students to the limits.
His class wasn't easy. There were a lot of assignments that required hours of research. I'm terrible with procrastination, so there was one memorable time when I had to write a simulated Holocaust Memoir in one night. Needless to say I was better about letting that not happen again.
There are people out there who will argue that a teacher cannot influence your life. I disagree with them -- I've never met a person who pushed me harder than Mr. F did. He saw what I had inside me, what I was unwilling to let anyone else see, and let me know that it was okay to be good at something. He shoved me into writing into essay contests, because of his guidance, I've won seven awards over the past two years. He's helped my self esteem by leaps and bounds. In him, I found a friend, a mentor, and a teacher. He's pushed me to be better than I thought I could be.
I'm all about forward progress . . . but if I had to go back, it wouldn't be so bad.
As nervous as I am about starting high school, I'm ready. I'm ready because of him, because he pushed me, pulled me, and molded me into a better person than I was.
I'm ready because of the man who changed my life.
I'm ready because of Mr.F.
So this is sims2girl, who really needs to get some sleep.
Ciao.
-zzzzzzz-
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