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Respect. It's a word used in school. "Respect your teachers." "Respect your classmates." But, I think there are different levels of respect. There is low respect. Like class clowns and such. Then there is medium respect. You respect them, but you add smart remarks. Then there is full respect. You do everything with no backtalk. Well, you think it ends there. It doesn't. Not with me.
Miss C was a fresh-out-of-college teacher. Her first year as a math teacher in a middle school. Of course she would be taken advantage of. I walked in to Room 12, and realized we had the new teacher. We were her first class, being in first period. She assigned us seats, me being near my best friend. Bad mistake. We started passing notes. She realized, but gave us five minutes to stop. When we didn't stop, she yelled out my full name. I looked up, and she said," Stop passing notes. Now." I shoved the note in my backpack. I started to respect her more.
I went to her tutoring, being forced by my step-father and mother. I walked in, and sat down in the back corner, as usual. She said my name again, and I looked up. "You sit here." She tapped a desk in the front. "Fiiinnnneeee" I drew out the middle, showing my exaggeration. I continued to come, and I got better at math. I thought math was the worst subject ever. But, she made it fun. She did Jeopardy, handed out candy. But, that's not why I loved her. One day, I walked in, crying my eyes out. Miss C ran over, and I assumed she would start asking what's wrong. But, she didn't. She hugged me and let me cry.
The end of the year came, and I was trying to spend all the time I could with Miss C. She was my favorite teacher. I always loved her. I'll never forget the day she held me, and let me cry out everything that happened. She knew me better than my own best friend. I hated math last year, this year I found love in math.
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