For a long time, one thing had always been the same: my love for English. It had always been a flame burning within me, something that could never be completely distinguished. I've had my share of both good and bad English teachers, from both I have gained important
To my seventh grade English teacher:
Thank you. At the time, I despised all the activities you made my class do. I despised the months we spent going over commas. I despised the books we were forced to read. Little did I know how many of these thing would be used in the future.
I am now an expert in the usage of the comma. Those months spent doing comma practices at the start of the class finally paid off. I appreciate Shakespeare in a way I would never have if it wasn't for you. I remember struggling through A Midsummer Night's Dream as the thought of giving up swam through my head. At the end of the book, you had us divide into groups and act out scenes. Surprisingly, I had a great deal of fun. Everyone went full out with costumes and props. I also understand symbolism and have learned how to persevere through particularly mundane books. We read Animal Farm in that class. The fact that a story about farm animals could stand for real life effects blew my mind. Additionally, for every paper of mine you 'lost' and that I would later find right where it was supposed to be, I learned to be more assertive.
My love for English stopped twirling in the breeze and, for the first time, began to flicker.
To my
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