Not
knowing is hard for everyone. Not knowing for this teenager who though
deficient in the mechanics of writing had just handed in her heart was
excruciating! Every day...sometimes several times a day over what was then
called Christmas Vacation, I heard how foolish I had been to hand in something
that wasn't going to get a passing mark. I knew what would befall me. The only
question in my mind was whether I would be upbraided in class, need to sit
through a parent, teacher, student meeting, be told I'd have to repeat the
class, or hit the trifecta of ineptitude, and have all three.
Little
did I expect towards the end of my English class on my first day back from two
weeks of agony to hear the teacher call each student up, say a little something,
smile at them and watch them leave. Finally it was just the two of us, and I
knew what was coming. Before my name was called, I stood knees almost knocking
together, and walked the few feet to the desk where I would receive, what I was
certain, would be a worse onslaught of the 'why didn't you' then I'd heard from
my mom.
I'd
watched each student pick up their essay, and knew that the lone 8 by 5 laying
there was mine. The teacher glanced away as I picked it up and looked. Before I
could say a word, she said, "You know how to write, but...." She
pointed to my grade. I'd never seen marks like that. Eyes glued to the red
marks, I didn't know what to say. Clearing her throat, I heard her say,
"If you want to write you'll learn the mechanics.
Tears of
relief welling up in my eyes, I croaked, "I didn't fail?"
She
laughed so that I found myself chuckling a bit too. "I can't fail you
because what you wrote was true to you and touched my heart. But look,"
she pointed below the A+++ for story grade to the F- - - grade for punctuation,
grammar, and spelling, "if you could have handed in a paper with even
average mechanics, I would have entered your 'I Believe' essay in our school
competition. As it is you've passed with a 'C.'
Once I'd
placed the paper carefully into my binder, I began to turn towards the door
intending to flee before she realized she'd made a mistake.
Stepping
in front of me, she said my name, and I looked up. "That's better!"
she insisted. I nodded and she added, "You are a writer...no matter
whether you learn how to spell, learn the grammar rules or not...keep
writing."
I left
the class with a smile on my face, thought of how lovely it would be to tell my
mom what my English teacher had said, and decided I'd keep this to myself
because telling mom my teacher said I was a writer might lead to...yuck! more
hours at the typewriter!
I do
remember that as I was putting my school things away, I heard Frank Sinatra
sing 'Someone to Watch Over Me.' I thought about my teacher! For the very first
time, I wasn't frightened to go to English class!
No comments:
Post a Comment