Bad Teacher

You:

Me: I know more than a few ELA nerds, but does anybody know the backstory?

English and literature were just about the most boring possible subjects anybody in the history of the world could ever be subjected to ... is how I felt. Until ...

I was in highschool and learning about gerunds¹ (I know ~ that’s So last year 😒), and (still randomly) remember ~ with acute clarity ~ that time the teacher stumped the entire class when she asked us for the past-tense of “flee.” (No spoilers.)

And then came the moment ~ that monumental event after which all other (English / grammar) events would be marked as ‘before’ or ‘after’.

It was sophomore year. I was in second period English (because that’s what we called All of our English classes back in the day.) It was the second-and-a-half year of my crippling crush on [an unnamed person²]. And also the second week of my going steady with one of the school's fairly popular and genuinely kind-hearted star football players. I'd clearly given our relationship a fair chance ~ so thought my still-a-child mind ~ but I could not overcome my infatuation with the aforementioned [not so genuine, not so nice dude.³] So I began writing a break-up letter.

I began writing a break-up letter

in my second period English class

and my teacher - who wasn't too keen

on the misuse of my time - took possession

of my letter

and read it

aloud

to the class.

Terrible, right?

It gets better.

After reading the letter aloud to the point I'd reached before confiscation, which got to something like, "I'm sorry, but I'm still in love with"...

... Actually, it might be worth noting here that I was, at the time, not only not fairly popular but rather the target of a great deal of disdain from the actual real-life mean girls who hunkered like hyenas³ and moved through the school like a brood of ... help me out here. What's an animal that likes to torture its prey for (school) days and (school) days before letting it die? In any case, those girls tormented me daily as the [aforementioned jerk] was (publicly, anyway) going steady with a member of their [cult].

Oh, and it might also be worth noting that [jerk-face] liked me before he fell in with the [horde of regina georges], and actually continued to [string me along] for most of those aforementioned two-and-a-half years. The [girl vulture clique] knew that and never missed an opportunity to deride me.

But I digress.

After reading the break-up letter aloud, 

she asked the class to correct my grammar.

One. sentence. at. a. time.

Hold on.

Still gets better.

After the class finished correcting my letter to the point I'd reached, she asked them to fiiiiniiiish the letter. So that group ~ which, should be noted, included one of the [&^$@ clan] ~ finished one of the most horrible possible break-up letters that anybody in the history of the world could ever have to read.

… Did I already tell you that my [dysfunctional attachment to] [blech!] was a secret crush? Because that wouldn't be exactly right. [(Dingle-berry dude's) (vile, actually) (exploitation of my affection)] ~ that was the secret! Everybody in the school knew the name that would follow "still in love with" ...except maybe for Bobby, the young man superstar so truly undeserving of such a public mockery.

Side Note:

When I started this, it was supposed to be humerous.

I still believe it can be.

Maybe.

Once the teacher and my classmates had completed their studious work on my letter, she returned it to me with slashes, commas, parentheses, and general notations, all in red, so that I could now pass the better-ized version of it to the intended recipient. You may aptly deduce the sheer unnecessity for that.

It changed me.

For the remainder of that school year, every time a friend (I should say the friend; there was only one) passed me a note, I returned it to her with my corrections in red. Lol before lol existed. I was the only one laughing. I moved to another town before the start of my junior year.

It’s a little bit like one of those classic MCU storylines, right? There I was, a child-like girl with a yet unrealized skill. ... One traumatic event containing all the imperative parts of speech and I became another (better-ized) version of myself. 

From meek to (grammar) monster 

at the drop of a perfect passive participle.

Gosh, that got weird. 

Glad that part is over.

Get ready, here comes humor.

Don't pass me any notes.

You won't like me when

you pass me any notes.

L. O. L.

I have become the Bad Teacher

1. I think "learning about gerunds" is an actual gerund, but I'm not positive, so did I learn??

2. My name-calling is for entertainment purposes only, because,

3. I genuinely harbor zero ill about any of this, but, you know, humor helps a hurting heart.

Bonus #. You can assess every bit of my grammar if you like, but I'm a grown woman now and I write what I want.