I'd like to thank my English teachers of days past.
To the ones who pushed knowledge into me and pulled out confidence...👏
To the ones who taught me to love literature, to prize poetry, and to lavish myself in the luster of language...👏
I'll begin with sixth grade because, in Alabama, middle school is where the subjects became independent. Each subject had its unique teacher with his or her flare for their passion.
Mrs. Jones, 6th grade 😍👏💐 | Mrs. Carden, 7th grade 😍👏💐
Mrs. Fletcher, 8th grade 😍👏💐 | Mrs. Johnson, 9th grade 😍👏💐
Mrs. Dabbs, 10th grade 😍👏💐 | Mrs. Henderson, 11th grade 😍👏💐
Mrs. Bidwell, 11th grade 😍👏💐 | Mrs. Williams, 12th grade 😍👏💐
Honorable mention: Mrs. Roberts, Literary Magazine, High School
Sixth grade was my induction into grammar and composition. Mrs. Jones was fun and strict. She enjoyed the precision of sentence structure. But as hard as she was, she always held a special place in my heart. Almost ten years after I sat in her class, I returned to Huntsville to help my mom homeschool my brother. I called on Mrs. Jones for English help. Like a king knighting a soldier, she passed me not only a student edition of the grammar and composition book I had used, but she also gave me a teacher's edition. She hugged me and sent me off with words of encouragement and good will. Thank you, Mrs. Jones!
The seventh grade me was turning into a little sh^t, yet Mrs. Carden found a way to pull out the creative genius in my writing. She was hard, rough, and seemingly unforgiving. Somehow, though, I produced some of my greatest short stories. I wish I had copies of them now. All I remember was writing a story of a boy escaping his kidnappers and running down the highway and ducking into the woods. [shrugs] Oh, Mrs. Carden! If only I knew what you saw in me.
Mrs. Fletcher held down eighth grade English with an iron fist and a tongue hardened in the streets and sharpened in the annals of university. I can't tell you a doggone thing I did in that class. I can't even remember what we read in there. I had checked out by eighth grade. Sorry, Mrs. Fletcher. Sorry for fighting in your class, too. Well, less of fighting and more of keeping the person from kicking my butt. You still get love from me!
Somehow, I was able to slide into Advanced Placement English (AP Eng) my freshman year of high school (ninth grade). Mrs. Johnson took no prisoners. She tried to teach me the value of journaling...it didn't take then. She introduced me to Atticus Finch and Odysseus. They're still my boys. My paper on Odysseus garnered me an invitation into the Literary Magazine with the honorable mention, Mrs. Roberts. There were plenty of days Mrs. Johnson would have loved to strangle me, but it never stopped her from coaxing the English Major/Communications Minor out of me.
Vocabulary would best summarize tenth grade and my AP Eng class that year. Vocabulary and Paris and Mrs. Dabbs. I'm not sure what was in Mrs. Dabbs and her approach that kept me focused. Maybe it was being fifteen and turning sixteen, a new surge of maturity accompanying my learner's permit and my driver's license. Maybe I just liked her style. Whatever it was, she managed to encourage me to write a letter to the editor of the local paper. And she was elated when she saw it in the paper the following week. I bumped into Mrs. Dabbs in 2005, almost ten years after graduating. We exchanged addresses and became pen-pals for about a year. I fell off. Tsk, tsk! She encouraged me to follow my dreams of writing, believing in the love I had for it. May I do you proud, Mrs. Dabbs.
If having one hard-nosed teacher for AP Eng my eleventh-grade year was bad, imagine having two. Yes...TWO. Mrs. Henderson was my teacher the 1st semester, submerging my class into classics, introducing me to Geoffrey Chaucer's arse and Hamlet's monologue. She was another one who calmed the savage beast rising inside of me. The beast which gained control my last year of middle school. High school advanced placement teachers seemed to have a music about them. I also found my love for presentation progressing under Mrs. Henderson. She, unfortunately, relocated due to her husband's job and left us in the care of Mrs. Bidwell. Oh, how I missed you, Mrs. Henderson!
Mrs. Bidwell got the raw end of the deal. Coming in mid-stream in any situation spells trouble. And, although now, I know it isn't her fault, and I understand her method and her belief system (now), I hated her guts then. Hated her! What do you do with a bunch of juniors accustomed to engaging in literature and literary work? You make them go back to the basics, of course. Especially if you're tired of grading papers full of grammatical errors. I despised her. I felt she was belittling us. We're eleventh grade AP Eng, by George! Where's our respect? How dare you make us review grammar daily like the common English classes! I'm so, so, so sorry, Mrs. Bidwell. Thank you for what you were trying to do. I would beg you for those worksheets and grammar pointers now.
My final bouquet goes to Mrs. Williams. She lifted my twelfth-grade experience to new heights. She was real and raw. She taught me how to write essays and poetry. She encouraged me and took the time to try and figure out why she was losing me. She couldn’t understand and she didn’t pick it up in my poetry. I didn’t know I was crying out then, either. I’ve reread some of those poems I wrote in Senior Year, and I hug myself. That guy was struggling to be seen while hiding. I couldn’t tell her she - and my grades - were casualties in the war against my dad and society. She pulled me aside once, opening her grade book as I rounded her desk. “What the f**k is this,” she asked, pointing at a number of empty slots where numbers should have been. I wanted to spill the beans. Cry out. Divulge all my secrets. I was a trained assassin by then, though. I knew better. I couldn’t take the chance that she may side with the enemy. She was still kind to me. Always had a smile for me and a side-eye. She knew what she had in her student, she just couldn’t figure out how to unlock it and unleash it. You’re the greatest, Mrs. Williams. Thank you!
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