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Romeo

Michael Romeo
Ms. Ingram
Writing 1101
3 December 2014
Finding Myself in Writing
So there I was, first day of middle school, and I was petrified. The majority of
my fear and anxiety was for my English class right after lunch. Having a thick Jersey
accent and being horrible at reading out-loud, English was not exactly my strong
suit. And all I could hear from all my friends and peers was how tuff the teacher was,
and that only added to my preconceived discomfort for the class. With thousands of
negative thoughts racing through my mind, I found my friend Joe, and we headed to
the cafeteria for lunch.

When we sat down, I asked how he liked the teacher, being that he had here

first period. He began to explain how she is really hard to get along with, and how
she does not put up with any bull crap. Upon hearing this my brain began to tell me
to prepare for the worst. That was not exactly great to hear, so I tried to hide my
negative thoughts by changing the conversation to football. It did not exactly help,
but it gave me a false sense of security for the moment.

As lunch ended, I packed up my things and began my long trek to class. I

should add at this point my heart is beating fast enough to burst out of my chest. As I
opened the door to my building, I walked up to her door, checked the door room
was 201, and proceeded in.

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When I sat down my eyes were drawn to a middle-aged woman with a

button-down dress and long black hair. Upon sitting my nose was greeted with air
the putrid stench of burnt coffee and Lysol cleaner. When the bell for class rang, she
slammed the door, and walked to the middle of the class. Her name was Dr. Van
Gambos, and her sheer presence was enough to almost give me a heart attack. She
began talking about how this class will challenge how you perceive yourself as a
writer. I was confused by this statement, and was foolish enough to raise my hand to
ask what that meant. She retorted with this statement. Before today, you all had to
write like children, with no-sense of self, and in this class, I will help you find your
self and your own individual style of writing. She rambled on about writing with
purpose and how this class will challenge you like you have never been challenged
before.

In the next couple months that followed, I began to understand what she had

meant to writing with purpose. For it was at this point in my literacy career that I
had began to grasp the concept of what literacy meant. Not just reading, but
understanding. And this concept was tested in the first paper we were to write.

As I sat at my desk, surrounded by Yankees posters, listening to the new

Kayne West album, I began to let my ideas flow onto the page. Not holding anything
back, I began to create, what felt like at the moment, a masterpiece of words. In this
period of putting myself into literature, I had spent days sitting there, motionless,
writing and revising, until it was in my eyes, perfection.

I had spent countless hours trying to make it perfect, trying to intertwine my

style, with the thesis of the paper. I would seem this paper that I put my heart and

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soul into would make or break my grade. And what I ended up with shocked not
only her but also myself. When it was time to hand in our papers, my heart was
racing like a race horse, but there was nothing I can do except to hand her the paper,
and hope for the best.

A week later I walked into class, sat down, and took out my notebook. For

what followed next was a surprise to everyone in the class. When she began class
she handed back everyones papers, most of them with average grades. My heart
began to race when she did not have back mine. Thoughts raced through my head
that my paper was so bad that she must have throw it away, and laughed at it. As I
sat there pondering where it was, she began to speak. One paper, whom I am very
surprised with, really understood the purpose of the assignment, and put their own
individual style into it, and really shocked me. This person not only wrote a great
thesis, but is beginning to understand the what literacy means to them.

I looked up to see my paper, in her hands, and with a sigh of relief, everyone

in the class starred at me as she handed it back. For this was the first time I had
actually revived an A on an English paper, and that was a great feeling. By chance of
sure serendipity, my devotion transformed into excellence; a felling I will never
forget.

For the rest of the year I had worked hard at becoming a better writer, not

for her, but for myself. And as the rest of the year seemed to fly by, I felt almost
saddened when it was nearing the last day of class. For it was the class that had
filled me with fear that I was going to miss. Like a storywriter planning an ironic
plot twist, this in itself was something I would have never scene coming.

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As the last day of class arrived I was torn between two opposite emotions.

Excitement, that summer had arrived, but disappointment, for the class that I had
grown to love was coming to an end.

As we said our goodbyes to one another, I felt almost a pain in my heart

saying goodbye to this teacher who had gone from the fear incarnate to a life
instructor. I had stayed after class to say my last goodbye to her, when she told me
this. Michael, you have a strong sense of self, do not ever lose it, for it what make
you different from everyone else. I walked out of the class, with satisfaction, not
because the class was over, but rather I had found myself as a writer, and that was a
great feeling to have obtained.

Years later nearing the end of my senior year, what she had taught me was to

be tested in the last paper we were to write before summer. As my teacher began, he
elaborated on how this paper should show your progression as a writer. But when I
began this paper, a different set of emotions was filling my head. Instead of the fear
and anxiety that was common throughout any writing task I was assigned, this time,
it was assurance and contentment. These newfound feeling have followed me into
my college career, and have helped me in every assignment I was to be given.

To this day, whenever I find myself in a position of confusion when writing a

paper, I think back to that class, and what it has taught me not only as a writer, but
also as student in the external classroom of life. For what I had learned transcended
the boundaries of writing, and incorporated itself into my daily life.