Student’s Nightmare
In middle school, classes were separated into three categories; you regular classes, honours courses, and finally your Pre-Ap courses. Regular classes you learned material that every middle school kid would learn across the city, nothing would be different from one class to another. Honour courses the content would be little bit harder than your normal classes. You may be learning material that is 1–2 grade levels higher then you are. Now Pre-Ap courses were much different than either of those. If you were in Pre-Ap classes you were learning content 2–3 grade levels higher than you, and possibly even breaking into learning things that most kids wouldn’t learn until high school. I was lucky enough to be categorized as one of the “smart” kids that was placed into the class of 28 Pre-Ap students. At the time I was excited because it showed all my hard work was paying off, but at the same time I was very anxious. It was a new experience for me, new school, new teachers, a restart. These were the smartest kids in school, the ones who were expected to become lawyers, doctors, and every other occupation in between. In the seventh grade that was not the case for me. English that year was the definition of my own personal hell, the ruler of my hell, a lady named Lucy Pirkey. Not only did she make English that year for me a living hell, but also gave me the single worst experience I have ever had when it came to anything involving literature, at such a young age.
The classroom was painted some shade of yellow kind of like a mix of sand and bananas, with white and gray tile floor in a pattern of one two one two, and the desks were assorted into rows because she did not like it when the students would interact and talk with each other in class. Her desk was propped in the back left corner of the room, making sure she could oversee her little workers but none of us could see her because the desks were faced the opposite directions. White boards covered the ugly paint job on one wall, but on the white boards was every student’s nightmare. Every single assignment and piece of homework we had due in class that day and for that week as well. When I tell you I was drowning in work in seventh grade I mean I needed the coast guard to come save me, because I swear this lady was trying to kill us. A wall clock would hang just above the door, ticking every second, my eyes fixed on the second hand every class. Tick tock tick tock, teasing me as I wait for the bell to ring so I could grab my stuff and sprint out of that classroom going the speed of light.
It seemed back then, Mrs. Pirkey was one of those teachers who played favorites, if you kissed up then she would love you, if not then you were in for a rude awakening. For me I was one of those kids who did not kiss up, and she despised my little seventh grade self. I’ve never kissed up to a teacher before in school, and my stubborn self and prideful self was not going to kiss up to a teacher now. I was going to work as hard as I could to earn a grade in her class, and not take the easy road out. Kids in my class would do anything and everything they could to try and get her to like them. Some would bring her freshly baked dessert, others would be your typical teacher’s pet and volunteer for anything she asked, even if she said to jump off of a bridge they would volunteer without hesitation.
At the time, I saw the kids who were sucking up to her as just trying to get on her good side and make her like them, but now I realize that wasn't necessarily the case. They were the ones who did well in the class not because they sucked up, but because they were able to have a guided relationship with her. They were able to sit down more easily and have her direct them to the expectations she was looking for, not just in the work and assignments but in the classroom as well. For me, I thought I was capable of doing it all on my own without any help. And I didn’t want to be seen as a suck up. I felt as though if I sucked up, I would’ve lost my independence. Showing I wasn’t capable of relying on my own skills but instead reliant on others for help. You know how it goes to in school, being labeled a teacher’s pet didn’t look good on the social rap-sheet and I definitely didn’t want that look.
She was always coming to school wearing floral shirts, hair short and curly, and ruler in hand to correct and call out anyone who tries to overrule what she is saying. Pirkey was the teacher written about in books, the one who was the evilest of them all, went to school to torture kids with a smile on her face: she was the Mrs.Trunchbull to my Matilda. Now why is she even involved in this? Well let me tell you, she is the reason I despised literature for such a long time, the reason I never liked reading or anything involving english for so long. Like the coach who ruined a sport for an athlete, she was the teacher who ruined english for me as a student. She ruined reading for me, the books, the process, everything. I can remember the tiniest of details from books I read by myself that I stole from my older cousins, and those books were so many levels above my reading skill, but I can remember them. When I think of her class I can’t remember a single book or any piece of literature I read. It just wasn’t fun anymore like it used to be. It was work, no fun or play just all work and that is what ruined english for me as a student.
If it wasn’t for Mrs. Pirkey I wouldn’t have had to refind my liking of english and reading and actually immersing myself in books. She took away view on literature completely and changed what I thought about it completely, but I had to redo the past and get back to liking something that I’m going to need to use in my life. Everyday there’s something involving writing, reading, or whatever it may be and if you dislike any of that then you’re going to be in trouble. She made that year a hell and the next couple of years a misadventure in literature that I never expected to be set on that first day of class. Throughout high school I was on this misadventure, but the one thing that I had was guidance from someone who helped me in so many ways. My freshman english teacher, Ms. Chaves. She helped me reimagine literature in a new way and allowed me to re-immerse myself in books I read, connect to papers I wrote, and helped me enjoy literature just like how I used to when I was younger. She was my mentor and I have never been so close with a teacher before, she was not only my mentor, teacher, but also one of my best friends and I owe her for helping me more than I could have expected.
