Mrs. Benedict and Mrs. Jennings

    My view of teachers have always been that of a raciest's view of slightly different people, "There's a few good ones." I can't be blamed for my views, like grandma grew up in a day where negro was politicly correct, I grew up, went through a few years of school then had a string of bad teachers. One named Mrs. Houston made me want to drop out of school. A few of them made me want to drop out of life. Then there where a few who have told me what I am. A lazy gifted kid who decided at a young age it's okay to coast through life on test grades. Two of them stand out. Really three, but Mr. Applegate never saw my writings and encouraged me to become something great. That seemed like too much work for me.

    Mrs. Benedict was a teacher who had weird hair, and I fell in love with that. I've always been bad with names, and she was a teacher you could describe with just two hands, exaggerated fingers and your head. She the teacher that made us stream write everyday, and what made me start a blog before blogger or even live journal was around. That isn't was part of what made her special but what keeps her in my mind is an assignment. We had to write a paper in her class to prep for a state mandated standardized test, if I remember right was over our views of censorship. She couldn't believe I wrote it, her husband couldn't believe someone in the sixth grade wrote it. She told me about how adult my views were. She told me how it read like a college paper. She told me it all with widened eyes and her head shaking yes. I believed her. I still do.

    I became her pet. Not in the traditional sense. She would call me out of my other classes to fix things for her, put things together or help her with her computer. I've seen her twice since I graduated high school. I've looked at her and she has looked at me- that's it. I feel ashamed of myself every time I see her and a few days of depression follow until my A.D.D. wins over and I forget about it. I shouldn't see her. I shouldn't be here. I know I shouldn't be here because she made me understand that I could be something better than heading off to the junior community college that is the building next to the high school. That's what most people did. I said I never would, I did though.

    Mrs. Jennings was my first english professor and later my creative writing professor and the first professor to fail me. She failed me when I took her composition two class. A class that started two hour before the creative writing class that I would miss sometimes because I slept in. She took me to see John Updike and thought it was great that I looked at a sign that said the theater had no roof access and then decided to prove it wrong. She told me she was going to fail me in the nicest way.

        "...I hope you keep writing.  Finish something.  You're talented.  But like my dissertation director told me when I was depressed and whining about the difficulty of completing my dissertation:  He said, "The only good dissertation is a finished dissertation."  Same goes for a short story, a play, a novel, a painting.  It only has the possibility of being good if it's finished.
 
        Trust me.  I've seen many talented people in my day who ended up doing nothing really.  Just  convinced themselves along the way that they could do "it" (whatever "it" was) if and when they felt like it.  Doesn't work.  They just got older.  And older.  And older.   Individuals have to practice doing.  They have to develop behavior patterns that allow them to finish projects and reach goals that are important to them.  I hope you'll think about this in your future plans.
 
        You don't want to become one of those people (when you're 40) who was always going to. . . .  You get the drift.  It's not about this class.  It's about what you are going to do with the talents you have.  And you have a good many and a good mind.  But neither of those traits are keys to accomplishment if they aren't properly utilized.
 
        I say all this with the best intentions and the greatest affection."

    I love these women even if they are teachers. Oddly enough, I'm in a relationship that I hope will last a very long time with a girl going to college to become a teacher. The world is funny like that.