Well, let’s see.
I have a class at 9:00am tomorrow morning which means I’d have to get up by 7:00am and leave by 7:30am to beat the morning traffic near campus. Upon getting there, I have waiting for me a quiz, a game of roulette in which I try to avoid a certain “traveling monk”, and an hour’s worth of non-stop note-taking.
But that’s the shit no one cares about. What matters is that it’s 1:13am, I can’t sleep, and I have in front of me my laptop. Let’s get the words flowing.
I was talking to a friend earlier today about Pokemon, specifically Starmie, which led to a short commentary on starfish (ie. “Starfish are gross”), which led to my high school Biology class where I dissected a starfish, which led to my three favorite classes during high school.
The first were the two computer classes I took, simply because my friends and I knew the teachers well and did nothing but internet all period.
The second were my two English classes.
English III, which I had with Ms. Daly, one of the the nicest ladies you’ll ever meet. Always caring about the well-being of her students. Always encouraging implementation of art and music into literature. Always keeping things lively.
And English IV, the very reason you read these words today.
(And as you may have guessed, Biology was my third—but that just messes up the flow of this now, doesn’t it?)
I did a quick keyword search under “My Posts” earlier. There was but one post with the word “Fedell” in it. It was on January 1, 2010. There’s a reason for that. It was my “New Years Resolution” post. The day I started writing shit.
You see, Fedell was no ordinary teacher—thought I’m not quite sure if I can actually say that for sure. Everyone else I knew had him and I’m not sure there was even any other English IV teacher in our school. If there was, I had never heard of them.
But Fedell. He was a real character. He was like a walking book—knowing lines upon lines of Shakespeare from heart, living the roles he read, etc. You could feel his passion through both his words and actions.
He would emphasize emotion in reading, grabbing your attention immediately, never letting it go. He would yell at the top of his lungs. Start screaming like a madman mid-sentence. Run around the room flailing his arms. Fall to the ground, dead. The works. I loved him for that, not because it was entertaining, but because it was as if he was sharing his love with us.
We would write papers with no structures. No formats. Straight free-writing. Just walls of text, much like the words you see on your screen right now. Scribbles all over the page. Marked margins. Arrows from page three (3) to page one (1) connecting like points. No room for grammar. No room for punctuation. Just straight words, flowing from your mind to your hands onto paper. So unrestraining. So. Free.
Never did I know that an English class would affect me this much. So, Mr. Fedell, it’s taken me three years to actually write this but it’s well overdue.
I just wanted to thank you for sharing your passion for words with us. With me. You’re the reason I started to (and still) write and you’re the reason I write how I write today.
Thank you helping me uncover this part of myself. Thank you for providing me with the outlet I needed these past years. Thank you for sharing your passion with us. Thank you. For everything.
P.S. Reading… still not my forte. Still working on that one.
But I was wondering…
…do you still remember me?
…do you still remember that video Heidi uploaded?
…do you still have that picture I drew for you?I wonder…
