English Teachers of My Youth: Mr. Bolte

11th grade: Mr. Bolte.

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.

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English Teachers of My Youth: Mrs. Carter

10th grade: Mrs. Carter.

I did not like Mrs. Carter. This is important, because she was the first English teacher I decided I didn’t really care for. It wasn’t because she wasn’t good. She cared about us tremendously, employed creative means to educate us, and was always positive. But it’s important for me to know why.
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English Teachers Of My Youth: Mrs. Humphrey

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.
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Let’s Go Back to the Stone Age, Teachers!

[For this post, I take you back to my “stone age,” a time during grad school and community college teachings in which I began to grow frustrated with technology issues in the classroom. These were my thoughts.]

I hate technology today. I hate how it creates as many problems as it solves. I hate how maybe you’re right if you want to point out that this is not always the case, such as in modern medicine.
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On Saying Farewell to Students

When you teach, you reach a point at the end of the year where a blend of emotions trespass upon you and take you hostage. You are pleased to complete another year, excited at the prospects of next year’s plans, relieved that you survived various mishaps, afraid of what trials await you the following year, regretful of your mistakes, proud of the students you see moving on to their next adventures, mournful of the ones you will miss the most, tickled by the appreciation they have shown (well, some of them), but sometimes mostly empty—empty because that is your room at the end of the last day, your room for the entire summer. Continue reading