Ok, the title is very misleading, but this is my response to Virginia Tech question: Which current teacher or previous teacher that influenced you and why? First draft and i didn't spend a lot of time on it so i expect to have a lot of grammatical errors. Please read over and tell me what you think, did i answer the prompt?
I hate the way her right hand moved so gracefully across the blackboard and her fingers tucked the silky strands of hair behind her ear. The sound of chalk tap in rhythm against the smooth surface tempted me to put my head down and forget about the reality, but I hated it when her soft voice would call me back from boredom and forced my interest into algebra. Has math always been this pleasant?
I hated it when I accidentally called my teacher "Mom". Her gentle hands always assured me that everything is alright when my own mother wasn't there to wipe away my tears. The way her almond eyes looked at me- explaining why the eye is the window of the soul, telling me that life is much more than one plus one- there was nothing I could despise more. I never understood the reason she expected someone like me to become perfect. No. Not me. I can never become perfect.
I forgot about the time when she shared her food when Dad was too busy to pack my lunch, and her expression when I praised how awfully good it was. I hate the reason why I was still alive, the reason I did not use drugs, the reason that I am sitting here and thinking about my future.
But no, the person that expected me to become a great doctor, expected me to know right from wrong, expected me to do one plus one, an elementary math teacher had made me realized that hatred does not exist.
I hate the way her right hand moved so gracefully across the blackboard and her fingers tucked the silky strands of hair behind her ear. The sound of chalk tap in rhythm against the smooth surface tempted me to put my head down and forget about the reality, but I hated it when her soft voice would call me back from boredom and forced my interest into algebra. Has math always been this pleasant?
I hated it when I accidentally called my teacher "Mom". Her gentle hands always assured me that everything is alright when my own mother wasn't there to wipe away my tears. The way her almond eyes looked at me- explaining why the eye is the window of the soul, telling me that life is much more than one plus one- there was nothing I could despise more. I never understood the reason she expected someone like me to become perfect. No. Not me. I can never become perfect.
I forgot about the time when she shared her food when Dad was too busy to pack my lunch, and her expression when I praised how awfully good it was. I hate the reason why I was still alive, the reason I did not use drugs, the reason that I am sitting here and thinking about my future.
But no, the person that expected me to become a great doctor, expected me to know right from wrong, expected me to do one plus one, an elementary math teacher had made me realized that hatred does not exist.