Write an essay in which you tell us about someone who has made an impact on your life and explain how and why this person is important to you.
From time to time, I gawk in admiration at the masterpiece before me during second period. No, this is no work of art shaped and molded by the hands of tiresome men. This is the work of divinity. With exuberating charisma, flowing locks of hair, and a beard that rivals even the best of them, Brad Sharp is the most amazing man in the world.
Brad, better known as Mr. Sharp, is an English teacher at my school. Time and wisdom speckle his face with the whiskers of an unkept beard. Most students admire him for his cool, laid-back attitude that accompanies his appearance. Most girls giggle after passing him, blushing a bit, as they can't help but whisper about how attractive he is. Most, however, fail to admire him for his greatest quality as a teacher.
Mr. Sharp taught my sophomore English class. Freshman English was fairly run-of-the-mill. The rudimentary structure of a five-paragraph essay and I were acquainted, and my depth and breadth of thought were nurtured with the words of Socrates, Homer, and the like. My writing, however, still floated in purgatory between states of crude and sophisticated.
Barely legible scribbles, however, would soon prove to be my Virgilian guide to literary righteousness. Mr. Sharp is a succinct man. Unlike the frivolity of his beard, his comments on students' writing are very brief. They are sometimes hard to read, as he hastily scribbles them in the margins in blue ink, yet they get the point across. One will read "I like this" or "nice imagery" while others are sometimes limited to a simple checkmark. It's not all roses though.
Amidst the 2008 Presidential Election, I wrote an opinion paper regarding the groups of students at my school that seemingly jumped on the Obama bandwagon. I criticized their haste in doing so-joining the fan club with, at most, having read a bulleted list of his policies. The class heard my paper and I could sense the tension and emotion amongst my peers as I read it aloud. This had been my intent-to wake them up. I assumed Mr. Sharp would be pleased with such an outspoken paper, but ultimately, I was the one awoken.
He returned the paper to me, my words resting before me with their accompanying margins transformed into a sea of blue. "Develop this further" was the motif that day. I now saw it. While he did praise my ideas for being original, most were incomplete-a series of ellipses at the end of each sentence in essence.
The next year, I enrolled in his Literary Magazine class. Again, I received the checkmarks, the "I like this", and the "nice imagery", yet these also came with the "develop this further". The latter became more sparse as time progressed however, and it seemed that my writing was improving. It wasn't until two years after the distress of the Obama piece that I had completed my metamorphosis from that once crude writer.
In Sharp's Creative Writing class, I authored a piece emulating Russell Edson's style. Sharp returned it to me in its original dichromatic state, with one exception. At the bottom, in his blue penmanship, he wrote, "Good work. Submit to Litmag."
With a smile, I chuckled and shoved the piece in my backpack. Brad Sharp isn't important to me because of his beard, nor his attractiveness, although I do admire the beard and wish I had the girls whispering about me like he does. No, he is important to me because of the effect he has had on my writing. As they say, there lies power in words. This certainly is true, even if they're as simple as "good work."
From time to time, I gawk in admiration at the masterpiece before me during second period. No, this is no work of art shaped and molded by the hands of tiresome men. This is the work of divinity. With exuberating charisma, flowing locks of hair, and a beard that rivals even the best of them, Brad Sharp is the most amazing man in the world.
Brad, better known as Mr. Sharp, is an English teacher at my school. Time and wisdom speckle his face with the whiskers of an unkept beard. Most students admire him for his cool, laid-back attitude that accompanies his appearance. Most girls giggle after passing him, blushing a bit, as they can't help but whisper about how attractive he is. Most, however, fail to admire him for his greatest quality as a teacher.
Mr. Sharp taught my sophomore English class. Freshman English was fairly run-of-the-mill. The rudimentary structure of a five-paragraph essay and I were acquainted, and my depth and breadth of thought were nurtured with the words of Socrates, Homer, and the like. My writing, however, still floated in purgatory between states of crude and sophisticated.
Barely legible scribbles, however, would soon prove to be my Virgilian guide to literary righteousness. Mr. Sharp is a succinct man. Unlike the frivolity of his beard, his comments on students' writing are very brief. They are sometimes hard to read, as he hastily scribbles them in the margins in blue ink, yet they get the point across. One will read "I like this" or "nice imagery" while others are sometimes limited to a simple checkmark. It's not all roses though.
Amidst the 2008 Presidential Election, I wrote an opinion paper regarding the groups of students at my school that seemingly jumped on the Obama bandwagon. I criticized their haste in doing so-joining the fan club with, at most, having read a bulleted list of his policies. The class heard my paper and I could sense the tension and emotion amongst my peers as I read it aloud. This had been my intent-to wake them up. I assumed Mr. Sharp would be pleased with such an outspoken paper, but ultimately, I was the one awoken.
He returned the paper to me, my words resting before me with their accompanying margins transformed into a sea of blue. "Develop this further" was the motif that day. I now saw it. While he did praise my ideas for being original, most were incomplete-a series of ellipses at the end of each sentence in essence.
The next year, I enrolled in his Literary Magazine class. Again, I received the checkmarks, the "I like this", and the "nice imagery", yet these also came with the "develop this further". The latter became more sparse as time progressed however, and it seemed that my writing was improving. It wasn't until two years after the distress of the Obama piece that I had completed my metamorphosis from that once crude writer.
In Sharp's Creative Writing class, I authored a piece emulating Russell Edson's style. Sharp returned it to me in its original dichromatic state, with one exception. At the bottom, in his blue penmanship, he wrote, "Good work. Submit to Litmag."
With a smile, I chuckled and shoved the piece in my backpack. Brad Sharp isn't important to me because of his beard, nor his attractiveness, although I do admire the beard and wish I had the girls whispering about me like he does. No, he is important to me because of the effect he has had on my writing. As they say, there lies power in words. This certainly is true, even if they're as simple as "good work."
