Half Evil, Half Shakespeare Enthusiast by Kailey

Half Evil, Half Shakespeare Enthusiast by Kailey - July 2016 Scholarship Essay

Kailey Garcia
July 2016
Half Evil, Half Shakespeare Enthusiast
Legends are real. I would know because I spent a year with one – Mr. D. Within my school, whispers of Fs and horror stories would flit from student to student, and soon enough even the freshmen knew to avoid the wrath of this vengeful English teacher. Always the Grendel to his student’s Beowulf, the Green Knight to his classes’ Gawain, he lived as the school’s horror story. A glimpse of his room or a sighting of him in the library would strike fear into any sane student. At Carroll High School - where I recently graduated - this teacher was renowned for his iron rule, raw critiques, and soul–crushing punishments. However, this was also the teacher who, through his passion for teaching, as well as his skill for it, pushed me to take pride in and pour all my effort into my written creations.
No matter what I say about Mr. D, he was one marvelous teacher. He was as stubborn as ancient gum stuck to a sidewalk and as passionate as an enraged bee protecting its hive. Always he pushed everyone he taught to their limits. Mr. D used new and creative ways to help us learn not only from him but ourselves. Bringing modernity and interest to his class, he would ask his students to reinvent the archaic Canterbury Tales, create research projects on superheroes, and pick their own essay topics. Once, he even tricked everyone in my Dual Credit class into writing an essay on an opinion we fiercely disagreed with. He was forever helping us explore new views.
I could tell Mr. D was passionate about his work in a thousand ways, small and large. When students would answer his questions correctly, or present well-developed thoughts, his face would light up. Were a lousy essay to land on his desk, he would show disappointment in his written comments, and offer ways to improve his or her writing.
My class would be provided with a ‘Dead Week’ before midterm or finals where we were allowed to prepare for the difficult test. He pulled troubled kids aside and help them with their schoolwork if he knew they were struggling for reasons other than laziness.
I still remember the Shakespeare party where Mr. D dressed up in full Elizabethan clothing, even putting on a hoop earring like Shakespeare’s. Remembering my evil teacher in tights will make me laugh years from now. Overall, Mr. D showed responsibility and zeal for his students and teachings, assisting me in becoming a unique, improved writer.

I developed incredibly under the roof of that classroom, gaining skills I will utilize for the rest of my life— all due to Mr. D’s affinity for teaching. Of course, learning with his methods was the polar opposite of easy. Seven drafts minim were required to get a passing grade on every essay I wrote, and I would redo them each time Mr. D found them unworthy. One week was all I had to create a piece of work worthy of the oh-so-rare A, all while studying and hysterically reading several books for my midterms and finals.
The week before midterm was pure chaos. Fourteen prompts to prepare for, three books to finish, dozens of themes to understand. The entire dual credit English class was insane. Stress wound its way around my spine and flashed in the panicked eyes of my classmates. Nonetheless, Mr. D’s teaching methods resulted in understanding my limits— how much I could get done in a limited amount of time; when to do what and how.
Though his teachings, my writing became refined; I was able to express my ideas in ways I could have only dreamt of a year ago. By writing seven drafts, I wrote essays I was proud of. Suddenly, a stunning amount of errors glared up at me from my papers– paragraph placements, grammar mistakes, confusing sentences – all of which I corrected in his guidance.
I no longer wrote essays to get by, I no longer produced essays with the message “I don’t care” woven into every scrappy sentence and lifeless paragraph. A terrible hollow feeling ate me up inside when I wrote essays simply to pass my classes. I had cheated myself and I knew it; I had the skill to make an important work, yet I was writing cheaply and shallowly.
After a few instances of that hollow feeling, I shaped up. I learned from my mistakes. Intensive research and creating a unique opinion became second nature to me; I was designing comprehensive, imaginative works in the time it took to say comma splice. Writing is an important part of many careers and an important part of life. Though Mr. D’s teachings, I have improved my own writing an exemplary amount.
Thus, as college looms ever closer, I find myself almost fearless, because I have been through so much, and learned so much.
All in all, Mr. D improved my writing through his caring and passion, thus giving me the skill to confront my future. I have no doubt that without his instruction, I would not have come as far as I have in my discipline and skill, and I owe him that, no matter how far time whisks me away from my senior year. Who knew I could learn so much from a half-evil Shakespeare Enthusiast?