High Shcool
...and that I was the best writer in the class, perhaps the best she had ever encountered in her teaching career. I turned it in early and anticipated the joy of receiving my first A+ in high school for over a week while Mrs. Connelly graded the essays. Finally, the day came when they would be returned. That day, when I excitedly walked into the classroom, there was a single word on the chalkboard: GRAMMAR. Our essays were on our desks, facedown. I turned mine over, and saw the worst thing ever. A big, red F. Right there, on the top of the page. I got an F. My face crumpled, and I had to will myself not to cry. I looked around, and my fellow classmates all had the same look of disbelief and disappointment. Upon seeing our expressions, Mrs. Connelly explained that our sentences were poorly structured, our style was dry and boring, and none of us had any idea on proper grammar or syntax. We weren’t in middle school anymore, we were told. In high school, English students were to use proper grammar and sentence structure. If we couldn’t get a hold of the basics, then we would all earn F’s forever. When I raised my hand to question what we could do to bring our grade up, Mrs. Connelly sneered at me. “Jenny, your essay was the worst in the class. You should not be taking a high school English class. You should go back to kindergarten and practice forming letters!” The class snickered. Seeing this, Mrs. Connelly pressed her advantage. “Your essay was immature, filled with grammatical and spelling errors, and incredibly boring! You must be a boring person. Drop this class now. I know that you will fail.” Mrs. Connelly was relentless. She kept criticizing my essay and me personally until I did the most embarrassing thing ever: I allowed myself to cry in front of the class. “Oh, here come the water...