When I started middle school, I hated history, just like about 95% of my classmates. That changed fairly quickly. While my seventh grade history teacher was awesome, hilarious, an effective teacher, and just all around wonderful, it was my eighth grade teacher that I can say truly changed my life. American history had always piqued my interest more than any other study of history, and this teacher made my desire to learn more skyrocket. He didn't just want us to know facts and dates, he wanted us to know why and how. He let us watch "National Treasure" and let us try to pick out the historical inaccuracies before telling us himself. We reviewed by playing Jeopardy, and he did not care how competitive we became. He correctly predicted who I would date in high school (though he said we were going to get married, but we broke up before we graduated) He was my favorite teacher. At the end of the year, there was a school fundraiser, the details of which I do not remember, but I do know that they randomly picked a student from each grade to pie a teacher in the face. My grade chose our history teacher to be pied, and by the luck of the lottery, I was chosen to pie him in the face. The day of the pie-ing, we asked if he knew who would be pie-ing him (we would find out at the assembly). He said he did, and that it was a student who hated him. We all laughed, imagining who it could be. Later, at the assembly, I sat chatting with friends as they called up the lucky students. I had to be called twice - I had assumed the drawing was not random and that a more popular student would be chosen so I was not paying attention. After I had pied my teacher, I realized what he had said earlier that day. "I don't hate you!" I shouted over the din of the assembly. I can't remember what he said in reply. Fast forward a week or so, to the last day of school. I handed him my yearbook to sign. He had it for a long, long time. When I finally got it back, I read his very personal note, which told of my intelligence, what an example I was to my classmates, and the one line that really stuck with me: "There is no doubt that you will by far surpass me in your knowledge of history."
So, I must say, if you are reading this, I hope I am half the teacher you were and I am assured still are. Thank you for everything.
Now, to my very first history professor in college,
You sir, I could do without. I hate how you took my love for American history and stomped it into the ground like a wayward firework that you needed to put out. I hate how you never graded our work in a way we could understand and never took the time to explain your ways to us. I hate how you loved the kid who sat in the back and did nothing but shout "Tyranny!" whenever he felt necessary but despised me because I dared to argue with your point of view on historical events. I hate how my friend and I both answered all those test questions in full based on what you asked for, but plainly told me that I received a C and she received an A because you did not agree with my argument. I hated how you used your monotone voice and closed mind and only lectured us about facts and dates when you could have done so much more. I hate how you thought it was better to use 100 words when 30 would do. I don't hate you, I think you're a good person, but you are a horrible professor. I hope I never make a student feel the way you made me feel.
