My Tree
by Eileen

Two years ago, if I had to write about an influential person in my life, Ms. Farley would have been the last person I would think of. After completing English 10, I was overcome with joy merely due to the fact that I would never have to deal with the wrath of Ms. Farley again. She caused much emotional pain and distress that year, anymore would have caused me to go insane. Now, as I reflect back on my year with her, I realize she was not as bad of a teacher as I had first perceived her to be.

The first novel we read in Ms. Farley's class was A Separate Peace. I will never forget this novel not because of plot, but because of the emotional abuse Ms. Farley evoked in me. She told me I read only for plot. In her low, raspy voice she would scream at me because I would never read for underlying themes. Each and every day, she would denounce my intelligence because I could not identify any of the figurative meanings in the "elementary" novel. I will never forget the characters Finny, Gene, and that infamous tree. Ms. Farley's constant verbal abuse seemed to be my fall from the tree, my loss of innocence. I was emotionally shattered.

Writing a simple narrative seemed to be less complicated when first assigned. It was something that could not be as devastating as A Separate Peace. This was far from the truth. Again, in her manly voice she called my story horrific. Draft after draft, tree after tree, my story did not meet the Ms. Farley standard of quality. Nothing seemed to please this woman, not even the brightest student. After the third horrendous draft, Ms. Farley displayed two different bottles of dish washing liquid. One was a stubby, fat bottle of dark green Palmolive soap. The other bottle was a tall bottle of the same brand soap. She scornfully lectured me on how awful my writing was. My writing was not "concentrated" enough like the stubby bottle. My story was weak in writing much like the tall bottle of soap. After that figurative lecture she sent me off to rewrite my draft once again. For the first time, I seemed to have improved my narrative. My story was on the way to becoming the fat bottle of soap. Yet, it was still not good enough in her eyes.

Over the summer, after my sophomore year, I was extremely stress free. In August I was assigned to read The Scarlet Letter for my Humanities class. On the first day of school, we were to turn in a paragraph about some sort of allusion or figurative meaning we found in the book. I tried reading The Scarlet Letter, trying to drop Ms. Farley's habits of highlighting and writing in a novel. It was so difficult overcoming that habit that she embedded in me. The first day of school I reluctantly handed in my paper. I feared it would return with the infamous permanent red markings of a 25 out of 250; something that I was so accustomed to the previous year. Much to my surprise I received a 100%, something I hadn't seen in an English class in so long. The funny thing about the assignment was that those who had Ms. Farley received 100% and those who had some other English teacher did not do as well.

My level of appreciation for Mrs. Farley has never been as great as I now realize it is. I suppose by being so vicious became unforgettable in my mind. Her teachings will also be remembered. But what I learned in her class made me so many things; mainly a much improved writer as well as reader. Though I still fear her, the fear had a purpose. If I had not received those 25 out of 250's, I would not have improved in any way. Ms. Farley is a character I will never forget, both for what she has done and what she has caused.