Do you remember Ms. Iacoboni?Well, this post has nothing to do with her.
It does have to do with Mrs. DeCarolis, though.
English class. Grade 9.
High school was a challenge to me, on many levels. Wasn't it for all of us? Some levels go so deep, and go so full-circle, that they almost reside in the dank recesses of my non-memory. Almost.
It actually takes me writing this blog, an new obsessive past-time for me, that allows a particular non-memory to make its way to the front of my mind.
Are you ready?
I hated to write.
My mother always taught me never to use the word hate. It's a strong word only allowed to be used for the devil, his demons, and bad manners.
But no other word best describes the loathing I felt to sit down and conjure up ideas that then had to be placed on a page, in the most eloquent of organized ways, so it would make sense to the reader. I. hated. it.
Here's a rabbit trail with a point:
I was voted "Most Likely to Spontaneously Combust" during my freshman year at Framingham State. The contest occurred in my all-girls dorm of O'Connor Hall. Affectionately called "the Convent". I won this title for two reasons. #1. This superlative was actually created for me because there wasn't a superlative for me. #2. I am a spaz. About everything. Including my thoughts.
Write them down? Eloquently? Organized? To make sense? Was Mrs. DeCarolis crazy?
I'm pretty sure she was. But isn't that what makes a great teacher? To see the ever-so-small, tiniest, itsy-bitsiest, light of potential and encourage it turn it into the sun?
She kept at me. Which drove me...well...crazy. My papers would return to me bleeding with red pen. Did I mention I hated to write? And this crazy teacher just seemed make it worse. But she kept at me.
And coming from a former student and teacher. I appreciate that. And her.
Here's another rabbit trail. This has a point, too. I promise.
One of Michael's favorite movies is Field of Dreams. This is the only movie, I know of, that makes him cry. ...If you build it, they will come...
Mrs. DeCarolis built into my life. And now I have people who come to me, including my 'going to school to get his Master of Divinity' and 'sensitive to sports-movie moments' of a husband, to proofread their papers. Never would have dreamed of such a thing. But she did.
Have I told you that I hated to write? Well, I did.
And Mrs. DeCarolis didn't care.
This post is dedicated
to all the 'crazy' teachers
of the world.
or grammatical errors
should be blamed on