5.24.2018
Middle School
From the moment I learned how to write (real words), I knew I loved it. I loved trying to mimic my mom's penmanship. I loved trying to duplicate my favorite authors with words of my own. By the time I reached middle school, I realized that it was something I was actually good at. I'll never forget being in the sixth grade and having to constantly compete against one of my best friends (we'll call her "'P"). P was a very gifted 11-year-old. She excelled in all subject areas and the teachers fawned over her. I was never jealous at first. I was a pretty smart kid too, but I'd started to relax a little on how much I chose to show it, especially once I realized that no one could ever hold a candle to P (in the teachers' eyes). But one area I was constant in was Language Arts. We would frequently have small contests in that class and Mrs. M would always choose P's work. It made me work that much harder to show her that my work was worth choosing too. One day, after months of trying to get Mrs. M's attention, I realized something that bothered me entirely--she was choosing P's work before reading it or anyone else's. I was livid! So much so that I did something very uncharacteristic of me; I called her on it. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I respectfully stood up, not for myself or the other "good writers" in the class, but for our work, our art. I knew we deserved the shot that she was blocking us from truly taking.
Thankfully, by eighth grade, I was getting the recognition and feedback I'd craved. Ms. Aultman was the best. She read everyone's work and truthfully told us what the thought of it. I'd started to mouth off a little to my other teachers for whatever reason (personally, I think it started with Mrs. M, but I suppose we'll call it "the terrible 13's"), but as soon as I was in her class, I felt welcomed and allowed to be myself. The moment we walked in, we were to pull out our journals and write about whatever topic she'd written on the board in her teacherly handwriting. Before penning that day's entry, I would excitedly thumb through the pages to read her notes on my previous entry. I wanted to make sure I was applying any tips she'd given, or continuing whatever she loved. Entering her classroom was always the best part of my day. Halfway through the year, she left to get married and go on her honeymoon (the nerve!) and we were stuck with a long-term substitute. I didn't mind this new person but she wasn't my teacher. She admittedly didn't know much about Language Arts at all! In my typical dramatic fashion, I frantically worried how I was supposed to get better or know what I was doing right if I didn't have anyone there to guide me! Then I looked back through my journal and realized that Ms. Aultman was still there, showing me the way. All of her red notes in my journal and writing folder were still there; I simply had to apply them. When she returned, I worried she wouldn't be the same. She had a new name and everything! But I realized that both of us had changed during her time away. She was upset to learn that I'd received quite a bit of detention (in other classes) in her absence, but was proud of me for continuing to display model behavior in her classroom with the substitute. She jumped right back into the swing of things, making up for lost time. We were to write a narrative on whatever subject we chose, which is not always as easy as it sounds. I wrote it. I submitted it. I waited. And waited. Finally, she handed the papers back to us. I watched as a lot of students received their work with letter grades circled at the top in red, and saw a few papers with so much red on them you couldn't see the original writing. Then she was done. Where's my paper?? I was happy to learn I wasn't the only student who didn't receive her graded work. "S" and I asked her about this and she explained that she was keeping it awhile longer. I worried, Was it so bad that she needed extra time to grade it? Did she have to go buy a whole new pack of red pens?! She quickly cut into my thoughts, explaining that she loved our papers so much and was quite proud of how much we'd grown as writers during her time away that she wanted to post our work. I beamed. I'm pretty sure that was my first experience with "happy tears". I wanted to go rub it in Mrs. M's face! Maybe a little in P's as well, I'm not-so-ashamed to admit. Mrs. Newsome (formerly Ms. Aultman) changed my writing life. I'll always love and appreciate her for that.
TDC
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