I could have been encouraged.
I have very little memory of high school. I see these shows where high school is people’s entire life and I just have no concept because I guess I was there, I went to two different private schools, but I wasn’t really there, I was in my head. But I remember in 10th grade taking a literature class that stood out to me and I enjoyed writing and reading and learning about all of it and I was good at it too and I knew it. I remember Emily Dickinson jumping out at me as a succinct writer. People write about what’s around them in their lives. I am no different. I grew up in Washington, D.C. and took the Metro nearly everywhere. I was struck by the social atmosphere of the train, the unspoken rules we all abided by almost all of the time though there was no written version and no enforcement. The power of social norms! I am still struck by it. Even little kids seem to “know how to act” in new situations. I wrote a poem about what it was like sitting on the train every day, deciding who to make eye contact with. (this was before there were phones). It was two small paragraphs that I thought were good and I presented them to my 10th grade literature teacher, a young gay man, very quiet in everything he did. He read it briefly before class, nodded, then shut down any further communication from me with his body language. I knew instantly that going through him to try and develop some writing career was a complete dead end. I briefly wondered if my writing was to blame or if I should try again. This was a teacher, by the way, who seemed to love my ideas and called on me regularly in class. After that I bounced between believing that it was ordinary-looking to him, though I knew there was potential, and that he was just not set up to be anybody’s mentor. Why not encourage me? Was he just teaching English to get through the day like some warped teacher in Glee? Were our teachers not charged with mentoring us? Guiding us? I was about seventy percent sure that the problem was him, even at 15 years of age when adults can seem infallible, and I’m ninety-five percent sure now. He shut that shit down with a quickness. There was no invitation for more, no “yes that was good” or “no that was bad” or “here’s why this is basic” none of that. I could have handed him a bus ticket for all his reaction. I wonder what would have happened had he shown me some modicum of support. Would I have taken it and ran with it? Started writing short stories then and there and then pursued an English major in college? Would I still have become a scientist? Would I be a better writer? (I now know that teachers go through things just like we do and he could have just been hungry, tired, or in a bad mood, or thought that approaching him before class was not the right time. After class students can follow me to my office and talk for an hour if they want but before class my mind is on that day’s session). He could have followed up with me later though. What if?
