Hated then LOVED

My eighth grade language arts and reading teacher and my social studies teacher, both put me in level on english and history because they thought I would do well seeing as I did well in their classes.

The first day of classes at the high school was so confusing. There were yellow, blue and green lockers. Some were big enough to put a person in and others were so small you could hardly get your backpack in it. There were brick walls and walls that looked like painted cinder blocks. During the next couple of weeks there would be people putting up posters, some bright and others black and white.

After a few weeks, it came time to write our research papers. But instead of this being just for my history class, it was also for my english class. After I wrote my first draft, I had my history teacher, Mrs. M, look at it for me. She marked up my paper with the things that I needed to fix and as she marked it up, she told me how I should fix it.

I went home that night to fix my paper just the way she said I should. I printed out two copies to bring to school the next day. I gave one copy to Mr. Dunn, my english teacher, to edit the grammar. I also gave a copy to Mrs. M to revise again. She told me that I did everything wrong. I asked what was wrong about what I did. She didn't give me a straight answer, she just kept saying that I did it all wrong. I didn't understand what she was talking about. I ended up with a C for a grade.

My sophomore and junior year, I was in level two english and history and I did just fine, but i hated to write. I would procrastinate with writing, even if I had to write two sentences. My junior year english teacher, Mr. Holloway decided to put my in level one and I agreed to it. I want the challenge again.

My senior year writing workshop (a required class) teacher was Mr. O'Donnell. He had a caterpillar moustache. He looks like Tom Selleck. His classroom was full of books and a fireplace. He had a huge crossword puzzle on his side board along with card of various artists.

During his class he would give us a topic to write about for a minute before changing it again. He would do this about ten times each time he did it. We would have to go home and write a creative piece about one of them.

Slowly with the more creative pieces that we did and with he way he corrected them, I began to like and then eventually love to write.