The ChecKwoOd.

My teacher is a horse of a different color.

He is also as mad as a hatt’a.

I have had this man for three of my four years in highschool, inconsecutively. He can be loud and dramatic, but is also very attentive and honed in to the emotions and personalities of his students.
At the beginning of last year I had a very negative view on his teaching style and the way he carries himself; it was all immature resentment based upon a sentence he said to me my freshman year.

He was correct in telling me: “if you keep your writing style that way, you won’t get anywhere.” NOW I recognize this statement to be true. But freshman year? I was young, and quite emotional (the latter category to which I still belong), and,if I can remember correctly, my days back then were depressing. So with my aspiring dreams of being a writer “crushed” by the 9th grade Lit. teacher I respected very much…I naturally got pissed.

And I carried that idiotic demeanor until about 1/4 of the way into my 11th grade year, after being in his class for 9 weeks. Now, I see him as a divinely unique creature, one of little importance to my life, but a lot of merit. Or maybe I have that backwards.

As a teacher, he is precise and well-read, educated and straightforward — but as a person he seems very cynical (which I relate to) but hopeful. Simultaneously. I know…a walking, breathing contradiction. -shrug-  I will not pretend to know the workings inside his personal life, but I know that he has children and was just recently divorced (don’t know why, not sure I’d like to know, considering how sad divorce makes me after my parents).

A part of me wishes I knew him outside of school, and I know which part.

But in 8 months, a year… 2? He won’t even remember my name.

And that’s fine. Let him be an influence to another person, another “Samantha”. 🙂 I’ll move on
to life.


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