Sophomore Year From Hell

One of the main questions I get asked is, “is your father in the military?”. This is mainly due to the fact that I move a lot. Eleven moves and various school to boot it, I never really stayed in one place for very long. Now you understand the question, and to that I answer “no he is not”. But that is besides the point, the point is that I always had to work a little harder in every place I moved, because of the different learning requirements that every state had. For example, in the sixth grade I still didn’t know how to write in cursive, because different schools learn it at different ages, and I skipped around so much that I missed the opportunity each time. As time moved on though, I started to care less and less about my school work, and just school in general. But thank goodness things were about to change for the better.

It started in my sophomore year of high school, in one of the two high schools in which I went to. This one resided in California, good old Great Oak High. I’m not even going to bother remembering freshman year it was such a blurr. But when sophomore year came around, I knew it was time for my family to move again. I hadn’t been in the same place for two years in a while, so I didn’t really care about school, because I was just going to start a new one soon enough. The only problem with that was a certain self righteous teacher, that made her students call her Dr. Lane, which I refused to do. So, Mrs. Lane did not like that I wouldn’t participate in class, or do homework that she assigned every single day! But I didn’t care about any of that, up until I was told that I was failing her class.
 
 You see I had never failed a class before, or even came close to failing for that matter. So when I was told I might have to spend another year with that woman, well it was a real slap in the face. It was a good thing that dear old Mrs. Lane wasn’t going to have any student of her’s fail a class. Plus I believe she relished the fact that I didn’t particularly favor her, and I now had to change my rebellious ways for her to actually pass me. I would pout and complain about all the effort I had to put into my work, but I am now thankful that she made me work so hard to pass.

Before I could actually pass however, the real struggle began. Beginning with essays on pennies, and ending with Julius Caesar’s death. Which I could relate to because I felt as if I was dying a slow and painful death. With a little fuss here and there, me and Mrs. Lane came to a conclusion that I would pass that semester. The relief I felt was unexplainable, I wouldn’t have to endure anymore of my time with that woman. But by that point, I had grown to respect Mrs. Lane. She was the only teacher that had really taken the time to help me learn and grow. I cannot say that about too many of my teachers, and boy have I had a lot of teachers. To show my gratitude, I even wrote her a letter a couple of years ago, thanking her for all she taught me. As well as wishing her luck with her dream of adopting a child, stating that she would be a great mother, and how her child would never miss a homework in their life. All of that came out of a passing grade, at least now I can say I had a great teacher who taught me immensely, and a literacy moment on how hard work can pay off.

Like what you read? Give Abbey Small a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.