Mrs. Strickland by Shelby

Mrs. Strickland by Shelby - July 2014 Scholarship Essay

Being a teacher is a weighted responsibility. Teachers across the country wake up each morning and prepare for the day, knowing that they have the opportunity to inspire children’s dreams. From kindergarten teachers who brush glue from their hair at night to high school senior teachers whose hands cramp from letter after letter of recommendation, teachers have the power to change a student’s life. I was fortunate enough to be placed in a class with Mrs. Mary Strickland in eighth grade. The year I spent in her classroom changed not only the course of my life, but my overall attitude towards education.

In the sixth grade, students trembled in fear and crossed their fingers when the older students began talking about Mrs. Strickland. It was rumored that she was the hardest teacher in the whole school. Students left her classroom with their shoulders slumped, shaking out their aching wrists and cramping fingers. At five foot three, Mrs. Strickland, often called Mrs. “Strict-land” by her students, was one of three seventh-grade English teachers at Creekside Intermediate School. Her class focused on the one subject all middle-school students feared: writing. With the now-outdated TAKS test looming at the end of the year, Mrs. Strickland sought to prepare her students for the essay-writing portion of the exam. A year in her classroom meant over twenty essays, a book report every other week, and the biggest project any middle-school child had seen to date- the dreaded auto-biography. Comprised of over fifteen different essays and various art projects, the auto biography was scheduled to be completed both in class and at home. Students were required to put pen to paper (black or blue ink only) and write creative and interesting stories about their lives to date, as well as an essay on what they hoped to do in the future.

When I was assigned to Mrs. Strickland’s class, I nearly groaned aloud at the thought of all the writing I would be forced to do. At the time, my favorite things to do were listen to music and watch television, and writing was a field I had not ever, and never wanted to, explore. Walking into her classroom on the first day felt like marching myself to my own execution, alleviated only by the sight of all three of my best friends sitting in the back of the classroom. Mrs. Strickland’s room was covered wall-to-wall with bookshelves, inspirational cat and dog posters, and LSU memorabilia. Her desk was covered in stacks of essays and books, and I remember thinking that if she had that many essays and books from summer, we were in real trouble for the school year. However, after the bell rung, she stood and smiled at us all before introducing herself, and, unconsciously, I felt myself relax. The first day was easy, with introductions and name-games taking up ninety percent of the class time, and many of us left that day with smiles on our faces and hope for the rest of the year.

After the first day, the class began in earnest, with our first book report due that Friday. We were assigned several short projects and homework assignments, and to my surprise, I not only found the work to be easy, but enjoyable. Writing journal entries- which could be anything from an actual journal entry to a short story- became the highlight of my day. I found myself looking forward to the auto-biography project, even as we practiced writing MLA citations for an hour. I wasn’t alone, either. My friend Samantha found her love of the class as well, and we began writing together when we hung out after school. Within a few short months, I had not only rediscovered my love of reading in the books we read for our reports, but I had found a new passion in creative writing. For the first time, I began thinking about the future in a more realistic light- instead of dreaming about becoming a rock star or famous actress, I was dreaming about seeing my name on the back cover of a book.

Graduating from her class into the eighth grade was equally exciting and awful. I was ready to start the rest of my life and become an author, but I hated losing her as a teacher. It took me a few years to realize that I would never really lose her- here I am, nearly seven years later, remembering her lessons with a smile on my face. Mrs. Strickland was the reason I took creative writing classes in high school. She is the reason I am an English major. Because of her, I will one day receive my doctorate in English, and, hopefully, write my first published book. Before Mrs. Mary J. Strickland, I absolutely hated the subject of English. Before her, I had no dream for my future. Within the course of a year, she not only introduced me to the greatest love of my life in the form of the written word, but she encouraged me to have a dream. Without her, education would be a chore. Instead, it is a goal that I gladly reach for every day.