I Hated My High School English Teacher

My brat era and reading harder in the face of anti-intellectualism. Also, I made you a present.

I was such a miserable teenager, completely self-absorbed with a too-cool-for-school attitude and general disdain for anything I perceived as old or lame. I hated a lot back then, though not for any real reason. I had a perfectly good life, free of abuse and oppression. My privilege, I’m ashamed to say, didn’t diminish my insufferablility. I was the most miserable I have ever been, and largely for reasons that I manufactured and magnified with an exasperated, dramatic flair. Now that I’m the mother of teenagers, I’m being reintroduced to this exact sort of insufferability from an enlightening new perspective.

During my freshman and sophomore years in high school, Mrs. McGucken was one of the many recipients of my disdain. And it pains me today to think about it because of all the people in those years, she’s among my favorites. Mrs. McGucken was probably approaching her sixties, and I knew very little about her outside the classroom. She dressed in tweed pencil skirts, nylons, and conservative pumps. She wore red lipstick that tended to wear off. Her style epitomized English teacher, which I was far too immature at the time to appreciate. I thought of her as an old lady, rather than the repository of wisdom she undoubtedly was. The work we did in that class has benefited me more in my life than anything else, and I had no idea at the time that I would one day look back on my time with her with such fondness. I don’t remember her being particularly hard on me or giving me any reason to dislike her, but I did.

I wasn’t alone. The general consensus amongst my classmates was that we wished we could have the other teacher, who was younger and therefore perceived by our myopic perspective as cooler. Mrs. McGucken had a chaotic enthusiasm and methods that probably annoyed all teenagers. She drilled us on grammar and tended to use sound effects for punctuation when she got excited, which I definitely hated. We also had to write and punctuate sentences on the board; an indignity that I suffered like a simmering pot. There was no opting out of this; we went around the room, each taking our turn. First period, 7:30 a.m., all year long, I was getting chalk on my hands and employing commas in front of twenty of my peers. She also made us read Shakespeare—Romeo and Juliet freshman year and Hamlet sophomore year—in the same participatory fashion, taking turns reading it aloud, considering every word. We spent months on it. I absolutely loathed this process. Hated it.

One of the reasons I know I’m now a full-fledged adult is that I am baffled that I ever thought something better was happening in another English classroom, or anywhere else. If I could go back in time and smack myself, I would. Deep reading Shakespeare? I was so lucky. Life will never be so luxurious again. Honestly, I would give anything to be back there in 1995 reading Romeo and Juliet one line at a time.

The thing I regret most about my youth is not appreciating the adults around me and grumping my way through something as fun as being a student. Now I appreciate so much that someone made me read and examine Shakespeare; that I learned, with my whole body, how to punctuate a sentence. Mrs. McGucken was a hero for making the unappreciative brats do hard things. She existed on a higher plane, one that I couldn’t understand as a teenager. Now I can only hope to achieve the sort of fabulousness that she likely possessed.

I’m not even sure that teachers still teach Shakespeare. And when I taught remedial grammar as an adjunct, I made those kids write sentences on the board. I didn’t make any sound effects because it was, after all, a Friday afternoon class. But I channeled Mrs. McGucken’s grammar lessons with repetition and light public humiliation. And, of course, the students hated me!

I have been thinking about English teachers lately because of the ongoing book-banning efforts here in South Carolina. The situation has now escalated so that another handful of books is at risk of being banned in schools statewide. As a writer and reader, I’m uncomfortable with the idea that reading can’t or shouldn’t be challenging. As a parent, banning books feels like a terrible idea. The favorite argument of people who ban books is about protecting kids from bad feelings. But if one of my kids came home from school and told me that something they read in English class made them uncomfortable, we would examine that discomfort. As a parent, my responsibility is to help my child process difficult emotions. Not to insist that the books are taken away. Or to make the teacher into a villain (I’ve outgrown that, I promise).

In light of all this, the aspiring English teacher in me wants to encourage people to read. I want everyone to read what they want to read. Reading for pure entertainment and pleasure is the perfect way to spend a day. But reading harder is a worthwhile endeavor, especially when facing something as despicable as anti-intellectualism.

Unless your teacher is making you, no one has to deep read Shakespeare if they don’t want to. But whatever you like to read can be considered with more depth than whether or not you liked it. All readers can examine their visceral reactions. If you don’t like something you read, ask yourself why. Is it personal preference? Does it grind against something you value? Does it challenge an idea that you hold? If so, how? We can also consider the author’s choices. What is the author trying to accomplish with this decision? Why tell the story that way? What worldview does this decision reflect? Where have I seen this before? By examining our emotional reactions, we can make the most interesting discoveries about the works we read and about ourselves.

Sometimes, depending on what you’re reading, there might not be much there beyond entertainment. But sometimes when you read a story, part of it will crack open an idea or a perspective that you hadn’t considered. And in practicing critical reading, you may find your interests and tastes taking shape.

This leads me to my gift for you. I made a zine (!!), which is something I’ve been wanting to do for a while. The zine format offers a gritty, crafty, independent spirit that I like. When I first conceived of this project, I imagined using my antique typewriter to type it all up. But it turns out my machine is more broken than I thought at the time, and it’s not easy to find a person to repair an antique typewriter in my area. Alas, I used Canva, which turned out to be fun.

You can download it here: Ways to Read a Romance Novel.

Here are folding instructions and ideas for making your own: https://www.icaboston.org/articles/make-your-own-mini-zine/. If you do make one, send it to me!

Thank you, always, for reading!

Melinda

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You’re reading Melinda’s Letter, a monthly email about books, culture, and life from essayist and historical romance author, Melinda Copp. I’m also on Instagram, Facebook, and Bluesky.