If there's one class I am going to miss away when I'm away at college next year, it's AICE English Literature.
Last year I'd heard stories from my then senior friends and knew the teacher was sarcastic, smart and well dressed thanks to teacher superlatives. Besides that, he was this grand enigma that was quickly becoming a legend despite only teaching at my school for the year.
In retrospect, I heard a great deal more about the evils of Mansfield Park than anything else. There was mention of critiquing essays in class, which was rife with humiliation, but it always seemed to be the idiots who detested it most anyway. Little was said, that I can remember, about Mr. H himself beyond the he's really cool/cruel mantra.
All that to say, I wasn't sure what I should expect. Come August this past year, I was pleasantly surprised to learn he is not a monster. Yes, he assigns a crap load of work, but if we pass the exam, it's worth six credit hours at college*. And besides, no one held a gun to my head to sign up. I voluntarily chose this torturous course and by golly, I was going to bust my behind to do well. (All A's thus far, baby!)
We began the year analyzing poetry, much to the chagrin of my classmates. I didn't mind it, yet I think it helped I was probably one of the few not already failing by the third week. Still, I genuinely didn't mind going to first period nor reading the assigned novels unlike I suppose everyone else.
The insane amount of paper and ink it's made me use aside, the class has birthed many jokes. On occasion, he will scold us on what he should be or shouldn't be writing in our essays as he's reading and grading them. Apparently someone had managed to mention kangaroos and Jesus in one essay and he was not happy. I can't recall what the prompt must've been, but I'm quite certain it had to do with the novel Nervous Conditions; which takes place in Zimbabwe...
One time, as we were reading in dead silence, he exclaimed "O Jesus! Make it stop!" Naturally, we weren't sure how to respond. I'm pretty sure we all laughed nervously and simultaneously worried it was our paper his comment was directed at. This moment has since been immortalized on a T-shirt list aptly titled "You Know You're a 2012 Cambridge Senior When...".
Better than that, though, was a week or so ago when he read us a poem aloud. He put it on the projector so we could follow along and literally just as he asked us what we thought, this guy's phone starts blasting some rap song about getting high. Everyone DIED. The look on Mr. H's face was priceless. Absolutely priceless.
Yeah, I'm gonna miss this class.
Maybe if I don't finish these last few assignments they'll have to hold me back...
Days until I graduate: 21
Days until exams are over: 49
Days until I start college: 126
*Most Florida colleges and universities, that is.