Form 1, Form 2

In Form 1, my teacher seemed to regard me as a writing genius. If you think this blog doesn't match up to such high praise, well, consider the fact that I haven't actually improved or progressed linguistically since Form 1. Quite impressive then, less so now. 

I remember receiving praise for every story I wrote, having my work read to the class, and a note on my picture book project that said "please keep this for your grandchildren". My school speech was received rapturously and I consequently had the confidence to read it to the school. People laughed. None of it get like a bad idea. My teacher and I knew it was good and funny and fluent and so I read it without shame. Looking back, this was probably the first encouragement I received from school as a writer. Since I seem to recall it all so vividly I suspect it's had a lasting impression. I could even say that I'm still operating on the fumes generated from those compliments, two decades ago. 

The following year (Form 2, if you can believe it), I had a different teacher and my talents were appraised in a completely different direction. Sure, I had my work read to the class, but I also had the weird punishment of being made to read a hastily written poem in front of the entire school. This was nothing like the speech situation of the year before. We, my new teacher and I, both new it was garbage. I had left it until the last minute and was sighted writing it before school -- it was, obviously, awful. But despite that it was somehow considered as good as or better than the majority and I was told it had been selected for presentation at the school assembly. I had to read this fucking thing. In front of people. It was about a cat, hunting a mouse. One line was simply: "darkness". It blew ass. Three words into the recital I pretended that I forgot the words and sat down again. In hindsight that probably just made the event stick out in people's minds more - you can zone out during a performance but as soon as silence hits your ear you snap awake. The absence of student drone breaks the spell. Someone out there probably still remembers it. I know I remember it more than the successful speech of Form 1 -- in fact I only remembered the speech when I started thinking about the poem. The success of that speech is completely overshadowed by the enormous failure of the poem. 

Two teachers, two different approaches. But was it me? Had I changed significantly in between those years that the only way to deal with me was the approach the new teacher took? Or was what was an appealing trait in a 1st Former actually quite horrible in a 2nd former? Was it me? Or them? There had to have been some way of dealing with me that was more positive than the one I received. I guess we'll never know.