The Thing About Eighth Grade English

Or, whose fault is it?

Me, my junior high bestie Ann, and Mr. White, 2019. We have aged well.

I have blocked out a lot of parts of my childhood. Either that, or my brain zooms all over the place so fast that memories of things I did in junior high just didn’t stick. (Tell me though, who really remembers all that much from junior high under the best of circumstances?)

A few things I do remember from my two years at Walker JHS in La Palma, CA is my eighth grade English class, and working on the school paper. They kind of blend together for me, probably because they had the same teacher: Mr. White.

In my memory, Mr. White was earnest, a bit cranky, but most importantly, he expected us to be diligent and write well. I have forgotten many of the particulars, but his work ethic and intelligence stand out to me.

Being thirteen is a time in life that’s confusing, awkward, and chaotic, to put it mildly. But Mr. White made it clear that he wasn’t going to take any substandard work from us. His class wasn’t one you would take to slide through the year with an easy A. He was a teacher who expected more from me. Which I wasn’t used to.

Up until junior high, academics came easy. Teachers dealt with my boredom by putting me in the back of the room and telling me to work my way through the textbook at my own, speedier, pace. As if being an only child with a single parent wasn’t enough alone time—I also got plenty of it at school.

Then came junior high. Classes and expectations finally got harder. Thanks, Mr. White! (That said, jr high geometry was where I politely disembarked from the “I’m good at math” train with a wave of my white hankie.)

Maybe Mr. White is the reason I’ve finally found my way back to writing; maybe the expectations he had for us sparked something that admittedly lay dormant for decades, but has resurfaced in the last few years. Is it his fault I’m a writer? Can he take credit if I land an agent? The answer to both of these questions is probably not. I was telling stories long before junior high—however, Mr. White, if you do know an appropriate literary agent, I’ll happily give you credit when I sign.

Mr. White also happens to be the very first person to sign up for a paid subscription to this newsletter! That makes me really happy. But … now I’m wondering if he’s correcting my grammar as he reads this. Oh man, I hope I come up with some interesting material for this thing too! No pressure…

This one goes out to you, Mr. White. You’re welcome? I’m sorry?

Thanks.