That young kid was me! I was the short, tan, curly haired kid who thought he had it made. The class I took was called Holocaust Art, which took place in my seventh grade year while attending Orangeburg Preparatory School. I can remember the school had white brick walls with a small red stripe inside all the buildings. The white makes me think of the possibly soulless teacher Mrs. Marie Craft. Not only that, if she did not have as many sunspots and freckles as she did then her skin would be just as white as that wall. That one red stripe was like me being the one kid who did not belong since the school was very segregated school due to the small amount of students. I always thought Mrs. Craft despised me because of the fact that I had the indication that I did not belong. The real reason she did not like me turned out to be because of my inability to do well in her class. She was only fond of the students who did exceptionally well in her class. I knew this when she smiled and joked with the students that were doing well, but when the other students would act the same way she showed a bored look on her face. Before her class, I was exceptionally good at essays and loved typing them. The reason I believed I did so bad in her class was because she was an absolute horrible teacher.
In Mrs. Craft’s class is where my story comes into action about how and why I began to dislike any form of...
... middle of paper ...
...n state its significance, and lastly what makes it art. I made sure I never had that problem again from there on.
Her advice barely helped because I followed her directions thoroughly and still lack what was needed to receive a good grade. The class began lowering my GPA and ruining my chances of getting in college. Even the parents complained to our headmaster about the predicament. So, her class was dropped from our GPA’s and she was fired the next year. So it was a win-win situation.
If I learned anything worth sharing with others it’d be to go to your teacher after school for problems and always check your fluency of your sentence structure. Since her class, I have built a natural feeling of nervousness and paranoia about my essays. I absolutely hate these feelings that come over me. Due to her Holocaust Art class I have not liked writing and/or typing essays.
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