[Type here][Type here]Rhodes1
I’ve always had older English teachers who were all older women in their mid-fifty’s. They all taught the same. They didn’t teach me how to connect to literature, or how to find my way through a whole book and understand the author’s purpose. All they wanted me to do was read enough of the book to take a quiz, that was full of multiple-choice answers. I didn’t really understand the importance of literature. I felt that if I already knew how to read and write what was the point of loving to read. Most of the books I enjoyed were books that I had already watched the movies for. I already would know the plot and all the main characters. I could even quote some of the dialogue throughout the book.
I hate how gloomy my IB classrooms was at Lamar High School. We sat at round tables in a room with zero windows, about four white boards and ten students. The temperature in the room sat at about zero degrees Celsius. All my classmates were girls, so of course the room smelled like cherry blossoms and warm vanilla. My teacher was a middle-aged man, who in fact look like he could be a seventeen-year-old high school student. He had a very chill Aesthetic; he wore his red all-stars and blue jean jacket as if they were good luck charms. He was about six feet high and wore the same glasses that harry potter wore. I didn’t know what to expect from him.