Junior year began the actual IB classes, incredibly rigorous examinations of difficult literature. We had to think more critically than ever before. Some of my friends were full IB, all 4 core classes plus like 2 or 3 extra being IB level. I would have died. And because I was not full IB, I felt the pressure to display my intelligence to my peers. But I also still wanted to be a goofball.
8th grade: I was a big dog on middle school campus. I felt both able and allowed to be mischievous. And throughout most of the year I had mixed feelings about Mrs. Humphrey, the short, stern-faced, saccharine, classically PTA-mom-like teacher of my final middle school year. Continue reading →
I suddenly felt older that year, no longer one of the little tots who came in to middle school. Although we’d act like small children or fearful pupils in other classes, I found myself in command of a kind of adult respect around Mr. Benson. Continue reading →
When I entered 6th grade, Mr. Yuhas was the first male teacher I ever had in public school who wasn’t a gym teacher, the first man to teach me academics. He was a football coach/English teacher, the kind of thing you’d think was rare, and maybe it is. I only know of one other football coach/English teacher. Continue reading →
Recently, famous photographs in black and white have been colorized using computer technology. Now some of our favorite historical figures can be seen in “true color” for the first time. In honor of that, I decided to create color posters of two of my favorite writers, quotes included. They now cover my desk, covering up the hole where a previous teacher or student must have kicked the desk in anger.
Twain looks about like you’d expect him to. Whitman looks like a cross between Tom Bombadil and Santa Clause.