Tuesday, February 23, 2016

An Open Letter to My High School English Teachers

Freshman year.
I hated Romeo and Juliet.
They were whiny and over-dramatic,
in the span of 24 hours they decided
they couldn't live without the other.
Reading it was just as tedious;
Shakespeare made up words!
Why do you think I’d understand what’s going on?
Despite the fact that I hated the play,
you challenged me to think about it.
I spent so many hours
in front of my home computer that week,
typing and re-typing sentences,
trying like hell to make sure you
wouldn’t write “awkward” above a phrase I wrote.
My other papers that year were fine and all,
but handing in my Romeo and Juliet essay
was like crossing a finish line in a cross-country race.
Getting it back
was like a siren call.
The next year, you used my essay as the example for
the next freshman class to read.
You can’t imagine how thrilled I was when you
were my teacher again junior year.
I read satire and Andy Borowitz,
learned that being the early bird
really is about getting all the worms;
I loved the class,
but continuously handed in multiple-choice tests
that sent me back with a feeling of impending doom.
The AP test didn't go as well as I hoped,
But we read the crucible after the test,
and my group made a video about Arthur Miller
that made no sense whatsoever but provided
some comic relief to his life of play-writing.
Senior year.
I’ll never forget that time we read Invisible Man;
discussing the human condition according to the book
made me feel like such a nerd (in a good way)
I won't forget the daunting timed-essays
that always left me absolutely crushed
Or that time my prom date knew English was my favorite class,
and had you interrupt our class discussion
with a new question: will Rebecca go to the prom with...?
You certainly had a sense of humor.
That class challenged me--but yes--I loved it.
It wasn’t until the end of the year,
post-test,
when most teachers gave up teaching,
that you really inspired me.
We listened to Storycorps narrations,
I cried, I laughed, I fell in love with stories again.
You had us make our own.
The project captured individual conversations
I could listen to over, and over again.
Storytelling was never more important to me
than during those few weeks.
To my high school English teachers: both of you.
I don’t think I would have worked so hard
in my English classes, if it weren’t for you.
Because you pushed me to be better,
to get rid of my awkward sentences,
to choose my words more wisely.
I want you to know,
you are appreciated.
Today, I’m taking a Shakespeare class.
We started with Romeo and Juliet.
My only love sprung from my only hate!
You both inspired me to love stories,
inspired me to appreciate books.
And hey, why else would I choose to study English?

Monday, February 1, 2016

Where I'm From, Always

I’m from hard-working and loyal;
I’m from single mother and college graduate,
walking across the stage for her daughter,
from proud and strong and independent.
I’m from grandparents, aunts, uncles, bathtubs,
beautiful pictures, infectious smiles;
I’m from white picket fences and green backyards,
full of ducks, and overflowing creeks
that make my boots soggy and the puddle-jumping exciting,
from stale bread and laughter and constant video cameras.
I’m from obnoxious toy guitars and Barbie dolls,
from toy cars I refused were “for boys,”
and Emeril live on weeknights,
even when my mom should have told me
it was time for bed. 
I’m from Dr. Seuss and fairy tales with happy endings,
from princess gowns and movies and dolls,
from dreaming and believing.
I’m from soccer games and competition,
from running until my lungs give up,
from challenging and even sometimes winning. 
I’m from 80’s rock music and Bon Jovi,
from Charlie Parker and swing music,
making me feel like living in the Age of Swing
would have been wonderful,
I’m from trombones and saxophones 
because music always seemed to call me.
I’m from marching band and making friends,
from learning and discipline,
from inspiration in the form of Sing, Sing, Sing
and a dream of playing at Carnegie Hall.
I’m from Harry Potter, from To Kill a Mockingbird,
from finding anything to read that I could get my hands on,
because books held all the worlds’ secrets,
and I wanted to know them all.
I’m from macaroni and cheese dinners, 
from paychecks that made  my mother smile,
and birthday parties every year,
from love, weddings, and white-and-purple mums,
from new parent and new siblings and new house,
from learning how to be a role model and 
learning how to care for someone,
from fights and arguments and hard conversations.
I’m from learning how to grow up fast;
I’m from lost trust and long explanations,
from betrayal and court dates,
from picking yourself up and dusting yourself off
because it isn’t worth the lost time. 
I’m from growing, living, breathing,
from transformation and understanding,
but always
from love, from love, from love.