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Constructive Criticism
While back in Saint Louis this weekend (much more on this hopefully tomorrow), I looked through all of the boxes of videos, papers, pictures, and projects from my childhood, high school, and college years.
There was a variety of treasures, but one of my favorites was a paper from my junior year of high school. I have never had a lazier year than that one, and nearly all of my "work" was completely pulled out of my ass. So skilled was I at bullshitting that I always managed to pull off good grades, despite rarely, if ever, actually reading the assignments. I recall an entire paper I wrote on Mark Twain's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn about the relationship between Huck and the slave, Joe. When I got the paper back, each "Joe" was circled in red and written next to it was the word "Jim."
I wrote a paper about the relationship between the two main characters in a novel...and got one of their names wrong.
And I still got a B+.
I was well-liked in high school, especially by teachers, but one of them really, truly hated me. His name was Mr. Mueller, and he taught 11th grade English. He fancied himself something of a comedian, and when I would make the other students laugh, he would roll his eyes and strike back viciously. It was not unusual for him to belittle me in class, and the feud lasted well into the following year.
The summer after I took his class, I lost quite a bit of weight. That first week of senior year, he walked past my lunch table, did a double take, walked over to me and loudly accused me of being anorexic. I motioned to the food I was eating and his response was "Oh, so you must be bulimic." After denying it several times, he called me a liar and walked off. This was in front of other students! He made no bones about disliking me, and it was very uncomfortable to be around him.
He usually gave my papers good grades, but he acted as if it was killing him to do so. It wasn't unusual for him to give me an "A," and then write several paragraphs accusing me of not having read the material. He was right, but still...rude.
Looking through these papers back home, a lot of his harsh comments brought a smile to my face, but none more so than the following. This was on a five page paper I wrote about The Fountainhead, a book to this day I have only read the back cover of.
On the last page, in large red letters, he wrote:
Mr. Walsh,
Wow.
Having your own opinion is one thing, but being wrong is just that: BEING WRONG.
The "BEING WRONG" was in all caps and had been underlined a truly unnecessary number of times.
Ten years later, his words still sting.
And I still had to Google "Huck Finn" to make sure I had the slave's name right.
It sounds like your teacher saw through your 11th grade bullshit, but he
went too far with the stand-up routine.
Awww, you were here? We could have done coffee. I don't drink coffee, but
we could have done it. Well, not IT, but coffee. Unless you wanted to do
IT, then I must insist that I be the pitcher.