As I was sorting through some old papers a few months ago, I found this note from my 2nd grade teacher...
May 27, 1990
Dear Lacy,
I want to thank you for working so hard this year. You are a very bright and creative young lady, and I’m sure you will do well in school. Always remember to pay attention and do your best.
You have a special talent at writing stories. Keep working at it and someday you can be a famous writer, or whatever you choose to be.
Keep up the hard work!
Love,
Mrs. Pinnick
I used to think back on my “writing life” and try to remember when I realized I was good at it. This feeling never came from my internal recognition of my talent. It was always prompted by someone else’s feedback.
I would think about the time my 7th grade literature teacher, Mrs. Freeburg, praised my incredibly angsty poetry, or my AP composition instructor, Mr. Sturgeon, telling me years later as we met up over beers that he was so proud that I was the first one of his students that he knew of to publish. (I now know of at least 3 others, not including the doctoral theses that his students have published who have books on the market now!)
I would think of the college history professor I had who gave me Cs on my papers, not because they weren’t factual, complete, or had incorrect citations, but because she didn’t like my writing style. She insisted that only one point should be made per paragraph and my habit of leading into the next section with a sentence at the end of a paragraph that introduced the next thought was “wrong”. I insisted that if she were my composition instructor, I would consider her criticism of my academic writing style valid, but since she was my history professor, she should only grade on the merits of the thesis and facts presented, not on how they were presented. We…didn’t get along after that.
I would think of the professor whose classes I never took, but who I would hang out with at the poetry reading series he co-hosted who thought one of my narrative non-fiction pieces was good enough to publish in an anthology.
But I would never think of my elementary school teachers. I don’t have a lot of memories from elementary school, and I was completely unaware of the existence of this note until I unearthed it in a box of “school papers” that I brought over from my mom’s house. I remember my Kindergarten teacher praising my drawing skills, but I don’t remember any praise for my writing. But, clearly, my teachers were encouraging me to write or Mrs. Pinnick wouldn’t have written this lovely note to me at the end of the year.
I can’t think how much of a loss it would have been if this note hadn’t been preserved. I’m so very grateful to have it. This and another like it from my third grade teacher are framed and hanging in my office now.