Education Through My Eyes
Note: This was written to get into teacher cadet. Of course I didn’t make it so I decided to publish it because I was told it was pretty ok. More stuff later. Ok bye
Education through a little shits eye
By: Ian Martin
Growing up I was never too interested in teachers/teaching. In fact, I laughed at anyone who thought it was a good idea to spend the rest of their lives in the prison we call the American education system. I mean, who would want to spend their lives watching and teaching the evil things we call ‘children’? Even at a young age I envied the outside world, being able to go outside, drive cars, eat real food, go play on the swings whenever you wanted! The possibilities were endless for adults, meanwhile I was stuck sitting in a room listening to some lady read to us. READ! The nerve of her.
Middle school was no better. Seventh grade I moved here from Ft. Worth, Texas. I was your typical ‘new guy’. Nerdy, loner, boring old new guy. The teachers I had here were somehow worse than elementary. (Crazy how everything goes downhill when they take away naptime, right?) The teachers felt like they were something ripped from the music video for Another Brick In The Wall pt. 2. I was sent out of class for reading too much, doodling on the sides of my paper, and one time simply because I said the word “maybe”. (I’m not kidding, that actually happened.) I hated it. Actually, I loathed it. I never felt so alone. Between the kids and the teachers, I couldn’t catch a break.
All of this came to a head this year. I figured how my life would go by early Junior year. When I graduated I’d throw my phone into a lake, pack the essentials, and drive. I wouldn’t care where I ended up, just as long as I ended up far away from what I knew. Far away from the dread of college, life, and people. That was set in stone until fourth block advanced English decided to kick its way into my life. The man that taught that class was Mr. Sorrells, a tall, lanky man with a blonde swoop of hair on top of his head, and a left arm full of tattoos. He looks pretty normal, wears collared button downs and dark khaki skinny pants everyday. Inside that man, however, is something far from normal. He really shouldn’t even be here teaching us, as he’d probably be way better at being a published author, or screenwriter, or something.
The way he described the books we read in class actually made them somewhat fun. Now, I love reading, don’t get me wrong, but I abhor having to read aloud, or being assigned pages to read in a book. Something about being assigned reading makes me not want to do it. Anyway, He was able to describe the plots of books in ways that I connected back to my real live, with morals I have since applied to my own life. He was the first teacher that when I saw him outside of school, I actually said hi to, instead of running in fear in the other direction. It was nice having someone to relate to. After some serious problems arose in my life he was kind enough to step out of being a teacher and just tell me everything was going to be okay. No teacher had ever been that nice to be, as before I was the guy in the back that just wanted to make the class laugh, the guy most teachers either hate or just ignore entirely.
Mr. Sorrells changed my life in ways I’m still trying to figure out. Since his class I’ve actually began trying in class. I ask questions. I try not to be as much of a nuisance. Of course I’m not perfect and relapse every now and then, but each time I think of going back to the old me, I think of Mr. Sorrells, smile to myself, and keep going about my day.