When I opened this page up I had a completely different post I had planned on writing. Funny how the mind can wander and take you someplace you did not expect but you just possibly needed to go.
I remember my senior year, ’90-’91, as one that was all over the map. There was a lot of drama along with a lot of good times, just like most peoples senior years. But that year I was blessed with three amazing teachers that I still think about to this day, one of them was my English teacher named Ms. Ann Habeeb. She was passionate about literature. She made us look at it and turn it around and realize it was more than just words on a page, that it was an experience to be lived. I was always an ravenous reader who devouring anything I could find, but she made slow down and appreciate it. I learned the language of the words above and beyond the feelings they could invoke.
I had one of those moments which, years later, could only be called a turning point in her class. We had been assigned to write a story, I can’t remember the guidelines, but it was only to be about a page or so. I wrote about a deserted town and a young boy who was the only one with the power to defeat the rolling evil that was coming down the shadows of Main Street. I wrote it, turned it in and about forgot it. The next day, or maybe a few days later, Ms. Habeeb was passing the assignments back out to the class, walking up and down the rows of desks as she did. She matched the story with the writer as she handed them back, sometimes with a comment, sometimes not. When she came to me she stopped and looked down at me.
“I am so mad at you.”