A funny thing happened last night. I was sitting in front of my computer, and as I was continuing in the long, tedious process of ripping my CDs to flac files, I heard the sound of a message coming in from facebook. And it was one of my facebook friends asking kindly for a favor, to read over a work related official letter and give my feedback, due to me being knowledgeable and intelligent. As I smiled a bit to myself for this very nice compliment, I thought back to my years of struggling through English class, feeling like I was the last person on earth that anyone should ever come to for advice about writing. And yet, here I was, in a situation where someone who knew me primarily through email had thought enough of my writing style that she felt my opinion was valuable. I said I was happy to take a look, but pointed out that I felt writing was a great weakness of mine. She shrugged it off, pointing out she had read my rants. So I read it and gave my comment.
Now, the thing that started me thinking is, this isn't the first time I've been complimented on my writing in recent times. I've had a co-worker ask me for advice on some emails, and her reaction has been the same when I've mentioned how horrible I am at writing. A bit surprised. Somehow, these days I'm coming off as competent in writing. Do I have everyone fooled? Have I greatly improved from my school days? Or were my teachers wrong all along?
I'm not sure if either of those questions deserves a yes answer (although I have a strong desire to answer yes to the last one). I don't think I'm necessarily fooling anyone. And I don't think that if I were to take my high school and college writing classes again that I would do better now than I did the first time around. But, I don't think it would be fair to say my teachers were wrong. Although, I can clearly say one of them was clearly wrong about one thing, and I had one of those great opportunities in life to subtly throw it in her face. But, we'll get to that later...
Is ending a paragraph with three dots like that acceptable when writing an assignment for a high school or college teacher? I'm not sure. I'm sure there are many things I do in these posts to try and convey a feeling I have in what I'm saying, that would be dismissed as bad writing. But, that's the thing, when I write these rants, or a multi-page email with my thoughts on why Damon is wrong and I'm right, I write them for me. Fuck the rules. The rules go right out the window. And suddenly, when there are no rules, I'm writing in a manor that seems to be respectable enough for people to come to me for advice. So, maybe the teachers need to let up on the rules some. But, lets reflect back.....
Uh oh, more than 3 dots. If the office has taught us anything, it's that 5 dots is just asking for trouble...... Wonder what 6 dots means then.
Anyways, as I've said, I always struggled with writing throughout school. But I think it was High School where it really got to be something to the point of a traumatic experience that will be with me for the rest of my life. Don't get me wrong, I had my struggles before then. I remember being up all night the night before my paper on The Quakers was due for a 6th or 7th grade paper, struggling to finish that assignment, with help from Mom. But, that doesn't compare to High School. I think Junior year is where it really started to go bad.
To sidetrack a bit, I had also struggled with Biology. Mainly because there was too much of my personal Biology going on in Biology class. I was far more interested in the cute girl sitting behind me that I would joke around with than I was in what Mr. Rockhead had to say about Biology. And so, somehow I was perceived as a student that should be signed into the Chemistry for the slow kids class. Although that wasn't the official title, it was called something like selected topics in Chemistry. When I found out what this class was, and I pressed him for an explanation, he claimed to have signed anyone up for this class that suggested they weren't going to major in Science in college. Sounds like a lame excuse to me. So, 2 weeks into my Junior year, after coming to the realization I was in a slow kids class where I didn't belong (not for a Science class anyways), and having time to think and reflect on if this is what I really want, I decided to request to be switched out of this class. My hesitance was due to the fact that, I liked the teacher of this class, I had her for Freshman Science. And she too was confused to my presence in this class. So, 2 weeks into Junior year my schedule was juggled around, and that's how I ended up going from reading "The Catcher in the Rye" in Mrs. Gottlieb's english class, into the personal hell that was Mrs. Mahevich's English class.
Now, don't get me wrong. Mrs. Mahevich was a nice enough person, and I never had problems with her on a personal level. But she was a bit more focused on the writing than any other English teacher I had. I felt a bit of panic as I started in this class, and a special folder was given to me with special instructions for writing projects. I don't remember the details, but it was very clear to me, this was going to be one of my most difficult classes yet. I ended up failing one of my quarters in that class, but somehow managed to pull things up enough to have a passing grade for the semester and final grades that year. But, what was a preview of things to come was the period of time she was out, and Mrs. McKenna filled in. The details are a blur now, but I don't recall having any serious problems with Mrs. McKenna Junior year, and while I wasn't thrilled to then have her for Senior year, I wasn't panicked either.
As Senior year developed, it became clear and obvious to everyone in the class that Mrs. McKenna had preferences in the students in her class. Anyone who's name didn't start with J and end with onathan was preferred. And I should point out, I was the only Jonathan in the class. This wasn't just something I felt. Actually, I didn't feel it. I always figured I was dumb, but I didn't necessarily feel like I was being treated unfair at the time. But, I have a clear memory of overhearing a conversation before class started going
"oh, I see, there's a preference to the students in this class"
"yeah, pretty much anyone that isn't (points towards me) him"
I suppose I owe Will Cursio a bit for pointing this out. I did make an attempt to stay in touch with him, and got kicked out of class for it. I should explain that sentence...
So, the last day of regular classes, Mrs. McKenna gave us an assignment to write a letter to our future selves. She wouldn't say when we would get it, but it would be mailed to us at some point in the future. So, I dealt with this the only way I could, humor. I started writing a lame letter to the effect of "Hi me. How am I. I am good..." At some point, Mrs. McKenna made the suggestion that we could exchange numbers or addresses with the person sitting next to us, so that in this future we could get in touch again and catch up. Now, the kid sitting next to me in that class, Will Cursio, was not exactly my favorite person in the world, nor was I his. I was picked on a lot in school, and he did a fair amount of picking on me. At this point, we clearly did not like each other. So, to me, the thought of asking him to exchange information was the obvious joke here. I figured, I'd turn to him, ask him for his information, which was clearly and obviously a joke since neither of us had any desire to be in touch with each other at all, we'd have a little laugh over it, and continue with our letters. Instead, he got all pissed off, yelled at me to leave him alone, which resulted in Mrs. McKenna immediately siding with him, and kicking me out of the class, basically telling me "I don't care where you go, just get out of here."
If ever there was a doubt to what her personal feelings were towards me, it was clear now.
But, to give an idea of how well I was doing in that class, and what the teacher thought of me, there is a story that clearly spells that out. But first I must explain, when I was in 8th grade I had some testing done, and was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder. As a result of this, there were certain meetings that would take place with my parents, school faculty, and members of the panel that deals with learning disabled kids. And I would later find out that senior year, one such meeting occurred. My mother had gone in for this meeting with the guidance counselor, someone from the panel, and one of my teachers. The teacher for this meeting happened to be Mrs. McKenna. From what I was told, Mrs. McKenna was very negative at this meeting, and had nothing much good to say about me. At some point into the meeting, my Mom was asked about my progress in the SATs and college applications. It was at this point that Mrs. McKenna scoffed, and said something to the effect of "you'd be throwing away good money sending that kid to college." Apparently the others in the room were quite taken aback by this comment, which I imagine caused a moment of stunned silence. Which was then followed by my mom pulling out my SAT scores of 1250, and making Mrs. Greer McKenna eat crow.
I made my way through college fine, but there were certainly some college moments where the equation D=Diploma worked in my favor. Freshman year required 2 semesters of English that was very focused on writing. Supposedly these classes were to prepare us for writing papers in other classes, but never in any other class was my writing judged as harshly as in these classes. And, as you can see, I now wonder if these classes were more damaging to me than helpful. They certainly left me with absolutely no confidence in myself to write a paper adequately. When I sat down to write an assignment, whatever class I was writing in, an A wasn't even on my mind. I was aiming to at least get that D, hoping for a C, with a barely attainable B a possibility. But, I don't think I was ever hopeful for an A when turning in a paper. I had been told my whole life I was horrible at writing. And college writing classes were no exception to that rule.
I had Walter Labonte's writing class for 2 semesters in college, and he was a nice enough guy, someone I'd get along with perfectly fine on a personal level. But, for a teacher.....god, I hated that class. We had our "toolbox" of writing "tools". To this day, when I try to explain this toolbox concept, I can't, because I don't know what tools were supposed to be in there. I don't need to know this stuff anymore. I'm not writing a book here, I'm just conveying my thoughts for personal or professional purposes. I don't need to reach into my toolbox to put my thoughts into words to convey a feeling that I'm trying to convey. Fuck the rules, they never worked for me. But, I had to get through the class. Somehow I did, and I think maybe I owe a bit of thanks to Walter for that. I stumbled through the first semester well enough, but the second was really a challenge. And to this day I wonder if I really passed. There was a final paper that was to count for a large portion of the grade, and I really struggled with that paper. I never really believed in the paper. I never really believed in the topic it was on, which was people collecting things. I didn't pick that topic, it was kind of a "well, you collect stuff, right? Write about that" And, well, what could I say about it? I had nothing I felt I needed to say about collecting. Why do I collect stuff? I like the stuff I collect. But, it didn't even fit what the assignment was supposed to be. I forget what it was at this point, but he tied this in by having me work in the topic of people that collect war memorabilia. Something I had no interest in, at all. And, it really threw me off that the thing that was to tie this paper in with the assignment, wasn't even really the focus of the paper, just a tacked on part of the whole concept. So, I never believed in this assignment, but I got stuck with it, and backed into a corner of writers block on things I had nothing to say about.
So, as we got down to the last weeks of class, I had a sit down with Walter to go over the progress on this paper, or lack of. And, it was at this point he looked at me, and said something to the effect of, "Ok, Jonathan, here's what you do. You go down to the 2nd floor, you take a left, and the 2nd door on the right is the office you want to go to. You fill out a form to withdraw from this class, and then we'll try this again next year." I pointed out the one flaw in this plan, which was that to withdraw from a class past the halfway point in the semester meant withdrawing with a failing grade. He had somehow misunderstood, or remembered wrongly, that the first year you could withdraw up to the last day. I had to remind him, no, it's only the first semester, not the 2nd. So, to me it didn't make sense to go with a plan that meant guaranteed failure, so I proceeded with likely failure. He continued to help me, we got the paper in some kind of shape, and somehow, I got the D I was so hoping for.
A few years later, after I graduated, I took my diploma, and made a special trip back to my High School. I had a nice visit catching up with teachers that I had got along nicely with. It was great to be able to share my good news of my recent graduation, catch up a bit, and see all the changes in the years I had been away from this place. And then I made my way to Mrs. McKenna's classroom. I had thought long and hard about the different ways I could throw this in her face. But, I just wasn't the kind of person that could be confrontational for it. So, I walk into the room, diploma in hand, a smile on my face, to visit Mrs. McKenna. We both played a game of pretending to be happy to see one another, one of the weird habits of humans. She asked, what brings you here, and with that I whipped out my diploma and said "well, I recently graduated, and wanted to show you my diploma." She acted like she was all glad and proud, as if we ever got along, and gave me a hug, which I really did not want, but wasn't about to fight off either. She made some comment to the effect of "oh, you even brought in the diploma to show me." Well....I had to, otherwise you wouldn't believe it, I quietly thought to myself. So, nothing was said about the previous events, but she knew what she had once said, and by the way I came in with the diploma in hand, I think she knew I knew, and knew why I had made that point to show her.
So, yeah, my bad experiences in high school didn't hold me back. And may have even made me the person I am today. But, up until now, I never really realized the damage that my experiences with writing classes really had on me. They really left me with no confidence at all in my writing. I've always felt like, when it comes to writing, I'm a failure, and thank god I have other things to make up for it. But, now that I find myself in a position where people will ask me for my opinion on their casual writings, I wonder if maybe I've been wrong all along. I'm not suggesting that I'm William Shakespeare. (Of course not, I'm far less boring.) But, I'm beginning to think that maybe my writing isn't as bad as I've always assumed it to be after years of being told how bad it is.
No comments:
Post a Comment