Thursday, July 1, 2010

are you crazy?

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?

For sure.

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.
Including myself.

Any misspellings
or grammatical errors
should be blamed on
Mrs. DeCarolis.

1 comment:

  1. Great post! I too am grateful for the teachers that pushed me beyond what I thought I could do or even what I wanted to do! I hated it at the time, but now as a teacher/mother, I totally get it. Good thing there are a lot of us crazy people in the world! :)


Love is to the heart what the summer is to the farmer's year - it brings to harvest all the loveliest flowers of the soul. -Unknown