Marc

Drake Professor Erin Dietel-McLaughlin Community Based Writing and Rhetoric Marc Drake, thats a detention! my teacher shrieked as she watched from the other side of the classroom. Young and impressionable, I didnt know how to react. Through a mixture of sadness and anger, I trudged over to her desk to receive my punishment. It started off as a fun new year, with all of the excitement that accompanies a

fresh school season. I had heard stories about Ms. Bennett, that she was a stern old woman who was tougher than any of the nuns in the school. Optimistic, I chose not to believe everything I had heard and went into the year with an eager and open mind. The first grade teacher, Ms. Dunne, had planned to be a nun and she was one of the funniest people in the school, so second grade couldnt be too bad, I thought. Though I had seen her in the hall before, it was not until the first day of class that I had truly looked at Ms. Bennett; to me, she was merely the lady who stood outside with sister Rita holding a megaphone and telling us to line up before school and after recess. There she stood, a small woman with tiny spectacles and short white hair. Everything about her was neat; the way she stood, the way she dressed, and above all, the way she spoke. The year started off successfully with the intense rigor of the second grade. Our small second grade class was very small and had a tendency to get loud, a tendency Ms. Bennett had taken note of. She decided to develop a very special system to solve this problem; every time she had to tell us to quiet down within a week, she would take a letter away from Recess. If all of the letters ran out within

a given week, we would lose our recess and be forced to copy from the dictionary. I remember the first time this happened; I was frustrated with my classmates but also angry with Ms. Bennett. We couldnt have been that loud, I thought to myself as I silently sat copying A-A-R-D-V-A-R-K and other silly words with my cramped little fingers. Maybe this teacher wasnt so nice after all. One early fall morning, we had a test in Ms. Bennetts class. Pushing aside all my anxiety, I walked into class talking to my best friends in an attempt to get the test off my mind. After standing up and saying the pledge, my mind gravitated towards the test. What if I dont know everything? I asked as we all sat down. Maybe I can look over things before the test. Then, the moment began. With sweaty palms and clenched fists, I eagerly awaited for the test. As she plopped the paper down on my desk, I breathed a slight sigh of relief. This shouldnt be too bad, I can do this! I told myself. Time passed. The clock ticked. I tapped my pencil against my desk as I thought about the answers. Tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap. And then, in between taps, my pencil out of my sweaty hands and onto the floor. Slightly embarrassed at the noise during the quiet test, I bent down to pick up my pencil. Thats when it happened. Marc Drake, thats a detention! I heard Ms. Bennett yell from a distance. Confused, I looked around the room, as if there were another Marc Drake in the class. Flustered and lost, I tried to explain to her that I was picking up my pencil, not cheating. However, Ms. Bennett was positive of what she saw. So, fuming, I accepted her punishment and took the zero on my test. From that moment on, I felt like I was at odds with Ms. Bennett. She was always out to get me, and I was positive that she hated me. Every day she would

walk us outside as school finished so we could find our rides home. On one particularly cold winter day, I bundled with my coat and gloves. As I waddled over to my backpack, I realized I was missing a crucial component in keeping myself warm: a hat! I swiftly grabbed by backpack and dashed in line with the rest of the students, with my hat firmly over my head. As we walked through the hallways of the building, Ms. Bennett happily said goodbye to all of the students as they left the school. That is, until she saw me. Marc, come here, she softly whispered to me as I tried to run outside. Disappointed that I would have to say a few seconds longer than the rest of my friends, I looked up at my teacher. Yes Ms. Bennett? I asked, curious what could possibly prompt her to stop me. It is impolite and disrespectful to wear hats indoors. You should wait until you get outside to put your hat on. Buuuuuuut its cold outside, I whimpered in response. I couldnt understand why she was insistent on picking on me. Well you still must wait until you get back inside to put your hat on. After that brief conversation, Ms. Bennett sent me on my way. The next day, I paid close attention to where Ms. Bennett was. In attempt to beat her, I placed my hat on 10 feet before the door. As I walked by, she stopped me and corrected me again. After a week of correction, I finally just gave up wearing hats altogether and finished out the year with no major disputes. So both your parents went to Notre Dame?, asked an excited Ms.

Bennett as she leaned in closely to make sure she was hearing me correctly. I was a

freshman now, and I had bumped into my old teacher as I went to pick my sister up from school. She seemed strangely nicer as I reminded her of a fact that seemed insignificant to me as a child: the fact that both my parents were Notre Dame graduates. I had always known she was fond of the school, that was apparent from her various Notre Dame jackets and the pennant that hung on the wall. However, it wasnt until high school that I truly became aware of all that meant. As we spoke about life at St. Jude and my new career as a High School student, I began to view my old teacher in a new light. No longer did I view her as the stern disciplinarian who unjustly handed out punishments to unsuspecting students. Instead, she became one of the kindly old nuns who I grew up with who loved seeing her students succeed almost as much as she loved Notre Dame. During my senior year of High School, I went back to visit my grade school. Away from the hustle and bustle of High School life sat that small little brick building on the outskirts of town. As I walked through the metal doors, I heard the sound of chalk clicking against the wall, and was greeted by little children screaming out on the playground. Tag! Youre it! A lot had changed since my last visit; new teachers paced the halls and zoomed right past me, while a new breed of students stared up at me in confusion. However, Ms. Bennetts room was still right around the corner of that two-hallway schoolhouse. As I knocked on the doorway, the room seemed different, yet strangely familiar; little children scribbled away at workbooks,

periodically looking up the strange visitor. Little boys sat slouched in their desks discussing what they were going to do at recess later. Despite all that was new, that small teacher approached me with a bright smile and a hug: Marc Drake! Its so nice to see you! Ms. Bennett shouted as she marched across the room. How have you been? The minutes passed quickly as we discussed all that had happened since I had seen her last, as I shared tales of life in high school and revealed stories of former classmates. Do you know where you shall be going to college yet? Ms. Bennett asked as she arched her brows and folded her arms. Actually, I believe I do know where Im going, I told her, attempting to contain my smile. Ill be at Notre Dame next fall. As soon as these words fell out of my mouth, Ms. Bennett rushed towards me to give me a hug. Although I had always known of the University of Notre Dame, Ms. Bennett was the one who had really described life as a Domer to me. She was the first person to explain to me the sense of family and camaraderie that exists at Notre Dame. Outside of the classroom, Ms. Bennett taught me a lot of things: she taught me how to get along with those that I may disagree with. She taught me how to be respectful to others. And of course, she encouraged me to learn the value of a Notre Dame education.