No offense to teachers (I work at a school district) but he’s right, High school English teachers were SOOO cocky and arrogant.
What is it about SOME teachers thinking because of their profession that the world owes them something?
Especially at the highschool level.
I was not a very good English student when I was in high school (early 60s). I just didn't care for anything that couldn't be reduced to a formula like F=ma. But during my junior year, I recognized that one of our English teachers (we had two that shared the class) was an extraordinary teacher. She had us reading a million things. I still have my blue looseleaf notebook with all the mimeos she handed out.
About 20 years ago I thought to look her up; and found her with my first phone call. She said she remembered me, which I still find hard to believe. Anyway after several more years we eventually got together for dinner. I had changed from that uninterested highschooler to an interested adult; and then we were nearly contemporaries discussing not only literature, but horses, opera, and other common interests. It was a great evening. (I almost got her to come to my 30th anniversary class reunion, but she must have been so intrigued by what had become of some of her students, that she attended the reunion of the class ahead of mine and found it to be a dreadful experience. So I couldn't talk her into trying another.)
A few more years passed and I thought to call and suggest another dinner. Apparently, in the interim, she had seen the letter I wrote to my daughter's principal about Maya Angelou's I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. The bottom line there was I considered it a book of black hate, and objected to its assignment for summer reading. (The entire letter is posted here.) She said I had emailed her a copy, but I didn't remember sending it to her, or even having her email address. Whatever, she said it was a horrible thing for me to criticize the selections made by my daughter's English teacher; that she was always battling parents, when she taught, about her assignments; and we, parents, were an ignorant lot. Most ironic, I thought, was that she objected to my quoting excerpts from Angelou's book in my letter. That blue looseleaf notebook, except for short poems, is almost entirely filled with excerpts from larger works.
I haven't spoken with her since.
ML/NJ
Uh . . . brain damage?