Why I Dislike English: A Letter To My English Professor

Professor, I am going to explain my experience with English and why I dislike it. I don’t like English because I feel judged for sharing anything associated with writing and here’s why. Fifth grade was a living nightmare to me, repeating the same day over and over again. Homeroom, which is where you would learn the general requirements such as English, Math, and Reading. I went to a school called mainly focused on the arts, getting the students out there in the world.

One day in fifth grade my teacher left me in tears and failure, making me feel like nothing and putting me down in front of my peers.

You remember that feeling playing at recesses you’re playing freeze tag, and you’re running around the playground up and down the ladders. Going down the big swirly slides trying not to get caught by the tagger knowing you’re the last person not frozen. Once, that bell rang you stop in your tracks trying to take in what just happened, you got tagged, the bell rang and you let your team down because you lost.

All the students dreaded going back in once that bell rang because we knew it meant sitting for an hour learning. Homeroom was the last class of the day out of eight, where I felt the most vulnerable in any situation. When it came time to switch to English, the feeling of loss and uselessness come over me every time.

The tables were half circles with another smaller half circle in the middle for the teacher to come to talk to the whole table, they sit five to a table.

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If you didn’t like the people at your table you had to deal with it until one of the popular kids wanted to change seats, then that’s when we got to switch. There were two tables in the middle of the classroom, one in the back of the room and another in front of it. Two tables on the left and right sides of the classroom, there were six in total with five at each table that’s thirty students. I felt I was the weakest out of that thirty.

Book reports were not my friend let alone my acquaintance. My teacher made us do rough drafts for our reports, which mean they had to be reviewed by other students. The other students thought they were better than me. When we did rough drafts the other students would peer review each other’s, I was always scared by all the mean comments the students would make. “You’re not good at writing.” “You don’t know how to do it.” I’ve never got a comment back about how I should fix anything or what I should do to improve it even a little bit, they made me feel stupid. We had to do a book report PowerPoint, and I had a hard time getting into the book so it took a while to get the PowerPoint started. The book that was chosen for me by my teacher. The book I did was called White Fang the shorter dimed down version because that was the only one my teacher would approve of.

My teacher was this 4’6″, shoulder-length brown hair, the class would always call Ms. McChicken because we all hated her. There are those teachers who only help the smart kids because the teacher knows they are going to succeed more, that was her. I would ask my teacher for help, but because I wasn’t “smart enough” she wouldn’t help me. My mom was busy with school and work herself. My mom was going to college for her nursing also and she helped me the best she could while doing her homework. I asked for help before class, but she didn’t help me. I asked for help after class, and she said “no, I am busy with other things” and I went in after class to see her help another student, I was furious with this.

Eventually, I got the PowerPoint done after trying to make it good enough to please the teacher by using words that I knew and everything. I went over it so many times that I felt good about it, it was done a day before it was due and it was all good. Until I started to present the PowerPoint and it all went loose. It was extremally fighting to present the assignment, spoke as loud as I could without starting to cry, shaking nonstop, and stuttering every word.

After I was done she yanked the clicker out of my hand and told me to wait outside the classroom. I didn’t even get to sit down, as I slowly walk outside the classroom I knew I was in trouble but I didn’t know why. I slowly walked to the door and opened it and walked out. Standing there for what felt like a year, I was thinking of just walking out of the school at that point but I knew it was going to get me in more trouble. I stood there clenching my hands waiting for her to come out. She yanks the door open and walks out of the classroom slamming the door behind her. I was frightened about what she was going to do or what she was going to say.

“Why didn’t you know any of those words? Why did the slides play over again, they were the same 5 slides over and over again” “you did a terrible, you should have asked for help After she lectured me out in the halls, I started crying and she still kept talking, I just wanted to go back home. I was furious with her for being extremely rude and making me go back to the class and sit down as if nothing happened. While she was yelling at me the whole class and hallway could hear her yelling and me crying. I just cried and cried while she was yelling at me. After she was done she told me to back to the class, once I walk in and sat down, the whole class was silent and was staring at me.

I tried to push it aside and worked harder and harder every day to be “smart enough.” | would work harder than ever on all the assignments to try and please her to try to be considered smart. I would have my grandparents read over my stuff, and my aunts and uncles and they all gave better feedback than my teacher ever could. I switched homeroom teachers and the new teacher was understanding and nicer, who cared about what I felt and would help me pass the class, and treated all her students equally. The new teacher gave me good and bad feedback about my English assignment, but she made it where I understand what I did wrong and suggested things that would help. She helped me when I needed it and willing to take the time to help me accomplish a good grade.

At the end of all of this and now with me being in college, I am going to as hard as I can to get the grade I want. I wouldn’t care how many errors were on my paper in the end as long as I please myself and work my hardest. I will be able to accomplish college English in every way. The way you are teaching right now is just what I need to help me with English. You help everyone and give good feedback and feedback that will help my writing. You help me feel comfortable with sharing my rough drafts and I appreciate it, thank you.

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Why I Dislike English: A Letter To My English Professor. (2022, Aug 17). Retrieved from https://paperap.com/why-i-dislike-english-a-letter-to-my-english-professor/

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