Neyat is an Eritrean-American girl who is an aspiring writer. She enjoys reading teen fiction, looking up obscure music artists and celebrities on Wikipedia, and traveling. She hopes that one day when you teens are tired and middle-aged, you will walk into your local bookstore (to get away from your spouse and kids) and you will notice a book on the front display with her name on it as the bestselling author.
Eighth grade Honors English. That was the class that confirmed my intent to pursue a career involving writing. Even though I took that class almost four years ago, I still remember it quite vividly. It was my teacher, Ms. B’s very first year of teaching, and let me just say that the motley crew that was our class, almost made it her last. Wild, is probably too tame a word to use in describing the collection of students that inhabited that classroom. Ms. B was stuck between trying to form a “cool” teacher reputation whilst finding a way to discipline her out of control classroom. She tried just about everything; she even kept our entire class afterschool every single day, but it was all to no avail. The class already had the poor woman wrapped around its finger.
After Ms. B was able to accept the fact that these wild animals posing as students were never going to behave obediently, she created an invisible shield around her rotund body (which was usually the center of ridicule) and taught to whoever would listen. Any barbaric acts or noise made by the children rolled off her back and she continued to teach unfazed. While, this teaching method would probably be frowned upon and pretty much seems like an illustration of someone who had given up, one student did actually listen that year, me. Sure, for the first few days of school, I goofed off and took part in the shenanigans with the rest of my class, as peer pressure does take a toll on a kid in middle school, but, once I realized how insightful Ms. B’s lessons were, I took a seat in the front of the room (the wild ones usually set up camp in the very back), and I absorbed everything I could.
Toward the middle of the school year, Ms. B thought that keeping journals would be a great way for our class to exercise our creative writing skills. The class groaned in agony and quickly zoned out of the conversation. I, for one, was thrilled, and I went out that same night to buy the nicest notebook I could find. The next day, we began the journal assignment; well, I did.
I never admitted this to my classmates, but I always looked forward to that class. Reading the comments from Ms. B below each of my journal entries, never failed at making my day. Without my mentioning my love of writing, it was quite obvious to Ms. B, and even though the rest of the class never followed through with any of her assignments, she still continued the journal exercise, for my sake, and I frequently stayed after class, so we could talk for hours about sophisticated literature, and our shared love of writing. Needless to say, while Ms. B was not the best at taming beasts, she did manage to inspire me to continue to feed wood to my fiery love of writing.