Take a moment to think back on your entire schooling experience: which teachers stick out most? Are they the ones that you’d invite to your future wedding, or are they the ones you would fake a heart attack for to get out of seeing? For the most part, I think about and keep in touch with those great teachers – but every now and again my friends and I will reminisce about the crap teachers we had from middle school to high school.
Which brings me to this wonderful discovery.
In going through an old hard drive, I found an assignment for my high school creative writing class. It was part of a collection of senior-class reminiscing assignments: we had to write letters to our future children, things we wished our younger selves knew, etcetera, all centered around our high school experience. This particular assignment was, “Letter To A Teacher.” We had free reign on the interpretation of the assignments – so, as senior year was when my snarky personality truly began to shine, I decided to pen this letter to the one teacher I’ve never respected (and would later re-purpose this assignment for a “What I Learned” assignment for said teacher’s class).
Looking back on this was a treat, and brought back fond memories of the awe and slight horror in my friends’ eyes when I read the assignment to them out loud. I hope you enjoy, and perhaps even experience an indirect, cathartic release knowing someone has said the things we can’t always say.
Dear Mr. Johnston:
How are you? I hope you’re in good health; it really has been far too long since we’ve talked.
Actually, I lied. It hasn’t been long enough. In all honesty, there probably isn’t a span of time long enough for me to eventually say, “Man, I want to visit Johnston.” In fact, one of the only things I’m looking forward to after graduation is the fact that I’ll never have to chance seeing your cradle-robbing face ever again. I thought, however, it only fair to “come clean” if you will to you before I left campus.
So let’s begin.
If there’s any ability I can honestly say I took away from your class, it’s how to completely B.S. – and not just in assignments. You, sir, were full of it, and I found it amazing that few people could pick up on this. I never did your assignments until the day they were due, because I loathed you so much; yet, ninety percent of the time my grades did not reflect the effort that I put in. However, you trained us well in the art of B.S.-ing, I was able to fluff those things to look like “A” works of art and you never knew the difference. You have now enabled me to carry on that ability to college. I thank you.
I also discovered in my one year’s worth of torture with you, sitting in the back of the classroom fighting to keep my eyes open and from gagging at the sheer amount of garbage that spilled out of your mouth in one hundred minutes, that you, Mr. Johnston, are an incredibly pretentious jerk. I know now to be on guard, to warn future students of your ability to turn them into miniature versions of you (a nightmare and travesty in itself).
Johnston, you made my life horrible. If I hadn’t taken your class, I wouldn’t have missed out on family get-togethers that happened during the school year; I probably would not have lost hours of sleep I’m sure added up to weeks, which hindered my health greatly. In turn, I probably wouldn’t have gotten the flu. If I hadn’t had you as a teacher, I probably wouldn’t abhor you as much as I do now.
But I think everything happens for a reason, so I guess there must have been some point in my suffering with you. I haven’t figured it out yet, but you can bet that, when I do, I won’t be tracking you down to tell you.
Here’s to never seeing you again, Johnston. Have a nice life.
Not Sincerely Yours,
Ashley Amendolaro
