Why I Hated English Literature

April 16, 2016 , , Carina Thornton
Breaux Fuzzypants

There is a lot of talent out there. So much so that it can be an overwhelming task when choosing someone to work with. I can put up a post that tells you if I went to art college (I did), if I have a degree in photography (I do), if my business is insured (it most definitely is), and if I fit your budget (I have a session for everyone) but what I can’t tell you in a few paragraphs of internet space is if we connect.

Here’s the thing with connection: Stuff tends to suck without it.

I remember this slightly-left-of-center teacher I had for English Literature in high school. He was one of the few men in an all-girls Catholic high school that was pretty much run by nuns. As freshmen, he scared the hell out of most of us. He was super-smart, had crazy eyes, wore dusty ill-fitted tweed suits, and smelled of old cigarettes. He did a lot of pointing and very, very little talking. He intimidated the hell out of me (and lots of others based on the way the crowd parted and girls ducked into the ladies room as he glared at us while walking through the halls.)

But there was a small group of girls that totally “got” him. They’d yell his name when they saw him in the hall, run up to him and interlock their arms in his. He’d smile, his eyes would light up, and they’d all walk to class arm in arm. I was baffled. I was polite to him in class or when I was unsuccessful in choosing my route to my next class. I’d say a painful, shy “Hello, Mr. K.” and he’d just look at me, his expression completely unchanged. I spent 4 years hating English Lit.

In my senior year, I was chosen to be the Photo Editor for our yearbook. I spent the year with a camera around my neck, shooting every event we had – sports, plays, dances – along with our average day-to-day.

On our last day of class, everyone was signing yearbooks and visiting teachers before we left them, well… forever. I didn’t go see Mr. K but he approached me (seemingly out of nowhere) and silently took my yearbook out of my hand. He scribbled a few words and handed it back to me.

“My publicity agent thanks you for the coverage in these pages.”

I looked up quickly and smiled. He smiled back and gave me a nod.

Connection.

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Want to talk about odd teachers over coffee? (I have a thing for Panera’s Broccoli Cheese soup.) Email me or leave me a comment below and let’s browse the muffin display!

 

 

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