This is about something that happened over 50 years ago, that changed my life.
One of my very favorite things to do today is publish on the Internet. I think it is just because I can. I wasn’t born or studied to be a writer. I am definitely not a professional, but for some reason I have enjoyed writing for half a century. It must be the lasting power of the printed word. It hangs around well after I think about it and can be reviewed over and over again.
I have never been able to produce good writing the first time through. I make many changes and edits before I publish. Sometimes I eliminate complete thoughts that serve no value, even now.
I am not going to get into detail on how I write. That might need a book. The fun started to switch on in High School. I learned a lesson in life from writing back then. The fun could have switched off but didn’t.
High School English composition was usually a chore. It was a forced “assignment” to write stuff. But with one assignment I realized what a powerful tool composition was, and it was because I liked the subject I was working on. It has stuck in my mind over 50 years because it was also a bad experience.
I worked long and hard on this one composition. I remember staying up late many nights making it the best I could. I turned it in with no more expectation than knowing it was probably the best I had ever done, and that made me feel good.
The teacher graded it as a “C”, just fair and I wondered why… She told me the paper deserved an “A+” but she was certain it wasn’t my work as she had judged me incapable of that level of excellence. She also plainly told me she couldn’t “prove” who wrote it for me or where I had copied it, so she assigned it a “C”. My honesty was attacked!
No amount of explanation made a difference. I was butting heads with an ignorant, arrogant, extremely poor excuse of a teacher. She didn’t deserve the title of teacher and no longer had my respect. She obviously didn’t care about me.
Yes, that day changed my life in a small way. It didn’t stop me from writing. She had told me the paper was worth an A+! In my heart I knew there was nothing wrong with me. What I learned was that teachers could be so very wrong. I never respected any teacher after that until I felt they were working for my benefit. That “person” had given me a vivid lesson in dealing with life.
Back in my preteen grade school, teachers were “God” and given automatic respect, at least in my day. Maturing is a process of seeing life the way it really is and making adjustments. For me this story was an adjustment. I was fine; it was the world that doesn’t play fair.