Senior year began quickly and aggressively with a lot on the table. There was the whole "college" thing, which was rather overwhelming if you ask me. It was my final year in choir and the musical, so I had high expectations for a solid last hurrah. I was really learning who my true friends were, and it was our final year as an inseparable unit to dominate the Commerce Township streets as we knew them. I went into senior year ready and eager to embrace all of these "lasts," but I was secretly fearful of all the change that was about to happen as the year drew to a close and big decisions had to be made.
One thing really got me through a lot of the anxiety and the drama that gradually consumed my social life and my mental health throughout those final months, and it was my AP Lit class. For one hour a day, five days a week I didn't have to worry about anything that was happening in my life on the outside. I poured myself into heated debates about Kate Chopin's The Awakening, literary terms tests, in-class essays, and detailed journal entries. My teacher worked us hard. There were no "free days," and while that warranted a few stiff glares and eye rolls from burned out seniors ready to jump ship a few weeks in, I could not be more appreciative of how much effort my teacher put into my education.
She was never reluctant to probe us with questions, whether it was about Kafka's existentialist values or Miller's critique of the American Dream through the character of Willy Loman. She was always willing to hear out someone's argument. If someone was having trouble expressing their thoughts she always felt that it was valuable to help them work through it. If she could see something brewing in your head, or if she knew that you had some damn good ideas on paper, she would push you to verbalize them. The classroom environment that she created, and the friendships that she helped to facilitate were safe, open, and respectful, and every day I looked forward to going to fourth hour AP Lit despite the fact that I was exhausted and knew that I was going to have to put forth a lot of effort.
Being in such a positive environment really put a lot into perspective for me. For example, I always knew that I wanted to be a teacher, but different people in my life told me that it wasn't good enough. They were disrespectful of my excitement toward education, and they said I could "do better." One day, my AP Lit teacher asked me what I wanted to do in the future. When I told her that I wanted to be a teacher, a giant smile broke across her face with a thousand words of encouragement. In the midst of all the chaos, this gave me enough clarity to hold on to.
I'll never forget how valuable my AP Lit class was, and I will forever carry that experience with me. Sure I'm a little biased because I've always loved English, but I owe a lot of my growth as a reader, a writer, a student, and a human being to the time that I spent in fourth hour. Thank you, Ms. Haagen, for all that you taught me. Thank you for the excitement and dedication to your students, your co-workers, and the art of language.Thank you for your detailed lesson plans and fluid discussions. Thank you for seeking my opinions and pursuing my impressions and ideas. Thank you for pushing everyone to learn at their own pace. Thank you for your feminism and your commitment to women that many authorities in my young life have failed. Thank you for introducing me to Hawthorne, Carver, Ibsen, Plath, Chopin, Miller, Hurston, Walker, and countless others. Most of all, thank you for introducing me to myself.
Don't be so quick to disregard how important literature is to education. Be thankful for the sharing of the human condition through short stories, poems, plays, novels, etc. Don't reject the intoxication of reading, don't underestimate the power of the pen, and don't resist characters and places that you don't immediately understand. Literature is VITAL, and I'll never stop believing in it.
Thanks to my fourth hour family for a great year. It was LIT.
