• Writing

    11th Grade English And Other Musings

    I still remember my 11th grade English class like it was yesterday.  My teacher was someone whom my parents and I regarded, and to this day, continue to regard as a blundering idiot, who, throughout the duration of the school year, failed to teach me anything useful about English. My teacher would grade my work unfairly.  He liked to intentionally mispronounce my name in class and call me Slaytone.  He knew I wanted to be a writer when I graduated, and found fault with my work, regardless of what other faculty members thought of its quality.  I clearly remember my parents complaining to the school about the overwhelming and obvious…