What’s the first thing you do when you open a book? Smell it. That’s what Mr. Morris taught me the first day of AP English class. This teacher stood at the front of the room, one hand planted firmly on the podium in front of him, another raising an Oxford University-engraved coffee mug to his lips. He was intimidating, to say the least.
The first day of English class did not just consist of us staring at an intimidating person, but also listening to his intimidating words. I remember counting off the number of words I didn’t know --esoteric, acumen and cursory come to mind. Listening to a teacher lecture on the importance of building up great acumen and writing cursory essays wasn’t exactly what I pictured my first day of 11th grade to be like. Naturally, my eyes drifted away from Mr. M’s finely pressed blue suit (what high school teacher wears a suit, anyway?) and to the extravagance of his classroom.
As I tried to make sense of the quotes written on the brightly colored posters around the room, I slowly began to feel a sense of warmth, smelling the fragrance of black coffee. Mr. M had just gotten up to pour himself another cup. I wasn’t annoyed, believe me, if anything I was intrigued by the quirks of my new teacher.
“What does ‘AP’ stand for?” Mr. M asked the class the next day. We were going over the curriculum -- the types of essays we’d be writing and the books we’d be reading. Our 13-person class mumbled what we thought was the correct answer: “Advanced Placement.” For some reason it felt weird reiterating what we already knew, until Mr. M told us we were wrong.
His squinted eyes scanned the room, eagerly looking for the genius who would read his mind. Seriously, what else could ‘AP’ stand for? Dissatisfied (or relieved that no one was about to steal his thunder, I couldn’t tell), Mr. M shouted, “Answer the Prompt!” Of course. I could’ve thought of that.
And at the end of the year when it came time for our oral final, Mr. M placed every book from the course on his podium and asked each of us to step up to the front of the classroom, in turn. He gave us three rounds of questions: quotes, themes and analysis. When it was my turn, I stepped up to the podium with confidence (don’t get me wrong, I was sweating like crazy). After I passed the first two rounds without shedding any blood or tears, Mr. M asked if I wanted to complete the last round then, or wait until the next day. At that moment the bell rang, signaling the end of class. As my peers began to pack up, I told Mr. M I would stay through lunch. And I did. After 20 minutes of pacing around the room, I gave my answer, impressing him. I don’t mean to brag, but you try impressing an Oxford-educated academic.
At the beginning of the year, I was in awe of Mr. M. By the end of it, I started to act more like him -- carrying myself with confidence, attempting the tough questions and even smelling the books.
Thank you, Mr. M for not only teaching me about English, but about myself as well.
