an important piece of my story

The majority of my life has been spent as a quiet, pleasant girl to the outside world. Teachers always wrote "a pleasure to have in class" on my report card. When people asked me as a child, "Why don't you ever talk?" I always said, "I don't have anything to say." And really I didn't think I did have anything to say. My thoughts were always going, my mind was always running in a million different directions, but I just didn't have anything to say.

Then sophomore year of high school came and I had Mr. Bardall for my history teacher. He was very good at getting us into political discussions, and he would be up there arguing a case emphatically (not necessarily his case, as all good history teachers are so good at) and he would see, somehow, by the look on my face, that I had something to say. So he'd call on me by asking, "What is it, Harrington?" That's my maiden name, by the way. And with a coy smile and a giant lump in my throat, I would state my opinion. I didn't know a thing about politics and I'm sure much of what I said was wrong, but he would listen. And he would argue with me, and other kids in the class would start to debate. Some were on my side, some were not. But it was OK.

Because I was an early childhood education major in college, we were often asked to tell what teacher in our lives made the biggest difference. Though I may have loved many of my teachers more (Mrs. Conway, my first grade teacher especially), Mr. Bardall made the biggest difference. Because I was a shy girl who just thought her opinion didn't really matter, and there was no point in trying to debate, or change people's minds, or influence anyone. Mr. Bardall gave me a place where I felt secure and comfortable with sharing my opinion. He let me know that my voice does matter. That I can change things. That I can teach people things. That I am smart and my views do matter.

Then there was Mrs. Maegly, who was in sharp contrast to Mr. Bardall. Mrs. Maegly was my home economics teacher in ninth grade. Her class ended up being a waste of time for me, as it covered things like dental care, bike safety, and only spent a few weeks on cooking and such. I made sure I told her at the beginning of the year that I felt this class was wrong for me. Maybe I could withdraw. That it was a waste of time and I had learned these things in second grade. Had she given me extra projects to do at home (or let me withdraw), I would have loved it. But she didn't. She pulled me out of study hall one day, yelled at me in the hall to keep my mouth shut, told me I was disrespectful and insubordinate, and that I was not the teacher. I stood there listening to her, shocked. I was absolutely stunned that she didn't care I was struggling in her class, that I wanted challenge, and that she didn't want any student feedback. I just stood there with tears in my eyes, too stunned to say anything.

Mr. Bardall asked me, only me, at the end of the year to write a critique of his class. I did. It offered suggestions, stated what worked well and what didn't, and gave a lot of praise, too. He took me aside one day after class and went through all my suggestions and such, explaining why he didn't do certain things, and said he might try some of my suggestions.

At the end of the year, Mrs. Maegly gave me a B. Ugh.

I've seen these two teachers since I graduated from college. I made sure I said thank you to Mr. Bardall. And I made sure that Mrs. Maegly knew I had become a teacher myself, and love to make accomodations for my students, whether they are gifted, behind, second language learners, have ADHD, or whatever. And she was the one with shock in her eyes that day.

I'm not the type of person to intentionally be fake, so let me be honest with you here. I have my nice, sweet moments, and I have a critical streak as well. Certain things make me very angry, certain things break my heart. I'm an emotional rollercoaster most of the time. I'm almost always understanding but not usually very sympathetic. I'm not perfect, and sometimes the sin in me does get the best of me. Just like it does in all of us. I get myself into big trouble sometimes, like I did with Mrs. Maegly. I think it just throws people through a loop when I show my critical side. But just so you all know, just so you're all aware, I'm not as nice as supposedly some people think I am. But just so you all know, just so you're all aware, I don't think I'm abnormally mean. And I don't think I'm abnormally kind, either. I don't think I need counseling. I'm just human.

As Kendra pointed out to me yesterday (she knows me so well), I am the girl that wrote a song entitled, "I Hope You Die," and, when you complain about the same issue for months or years, I'm the girl that will tell you to just get over it, already. I'll pray with you, I'll pray for you, I'll cry for you, too. But I'm just not as nice as you might think I am, that's all. So I'm sorry if I disappoint you. It isn't intentional.

There. You've all been forewarned. I feel like I should have you all sign this like a waiver.