Think of the best teacher you've ever had. What did they teach, and what made them so special?
By @SammyJo
Robot
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dancingtongue · 80-89, M
A tie between two English teachers for different reasons, neither having to do with the subject matter.
1. Miss Sylva, bless her. I was a midweek transfer in the first week of my freshman year of high school and administration assumed I was the son of migrant farm workers and put me into remedial English. Yes, poor white trash can be discriminated against as well. The class assignment for the semester was a pre-teen book, T-Model Tommy. She handed the book, told me to start and get as far as I could while she finished individual follow-up instruction with a few other students. Towards the end of the period she comes to me, I'm sitting there, book closed. She asks if I am having trouble, and I say, "No, I finished it". She grills me on it, and I provide a complete synopsis on characters, plot, etc. She says, "You don't belong here. You belong in my college prep class. It probably will take me a week to get you transferred. Feel free to read any of the magazines, books, other material on the table over there, or bring a book from home, until then."
But wait, it gets better. First class in her college prep English class, knowing that all my new classmates are aware of me transferring in from remedial English, calls me up to demonstrate how to diagram a sentence. To establish I belong.
2. Miss Hallissy, my senior English teacher for essentially the opposite. By my senior year I was an editor on the high school newspaper, writing for the high school literary magazine, working professionally for a couple of weekly newspapers, manager of the football and track teams. An over-achiever, full of himself, with a carte blanche hall pass to skip classes which I used liberally. Except for her class. She would not recognize my hall pass, and she fawned over a couple of other kids who I thought were inferior writers to me. She taught me humility. Bless her too.
1. Miss Sylva, bless her. I was a midweek transfer in the first week of my freshman year of high school and administration assumed I was the son of migrant farm workers and put me into remedial English. Yes, poor white trash can be discriminated against as well. The class assignment for the semester was a pre-teen book, T-Model Tommy. She handed the book, told me to start and get as far as I could while she finished individual follow-up instruction with a few other students. Towards the end of the period she comes to me, I'm sitting there, book closed. She asks if I am having trouble, and I say, "No, I finished it". She grills me on it, and I provide a complete synopsis on characters, plot, etc. She says, "You don't belong here. You belong in my college prep class. It probably will take me a week to get you transferred. Feel free to read any of the magazines, books, other material on the table over there, or bring a book from home, until then."
But wait, it gets better. First class in her college prep English class, knowing that all my new classmates are aware of me transferring in from remedial English, calls me up to demonstrate how to diagram a sentence. To establish I belong.
2. Miss Hallissy, my senior English teacher for essentially the opposite. By my senior year I was an editor on the high school newspaper, writing for the high school literary magazine, working professionally for a couple of weekly newspapers, manager of the football and track teams. An over-achiever, full of himself, with a carte blanche hall pass to skip classes which I used liberally. Except for her class. She would not recognize my hall pass, and she fawned over a couple of other kids who I thought were inferior writers to me. She taught me humility. Bless her too.