The door closes and all the students are in the room to write an essay. This is my second year in high school and it is getting more intense every day. One more year and then we are done. The silence in the room is almost heavy. All you can hear is the rasping of the pencils when everyone starts to write. Some students are so fast and they know exactly what to do. I struggle a bit. First I have to choose a topic and then write a few pages. This is the time before the computers, where handwriting is still a virtue. I just hope that my teacher will be able to read my handwriting...
A week later we are in the classroom and the teacher starts handing out the essays. She calls our names and one by one we need to collect it. Once again I get a disappointed look from her. She doesn't like me. I don't like her either. When I look at my essay I can just see the big F in red ink and the comment: You cannot think like that. You have the wrong opinions.
I understand that you can correct someone on their grammar or content, but can you really criticize a persons ideas? I went home totally mad.
For many years it made me very sad to think about her comments, but later in life, as an adult, I realize that maybe it is not so bad to be able to think differently. I has actually helped me a lot!
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