*I originally posted this in 2018, but after coming across it recently, it brought back some really good memories. I thought I would share those memories with you. I hope you enjoy. 🙂
I was trying to think back to when the first real spark for writing happened to me. In my teens, I would write those, love-sick, heart-wrenching poems to that boy that would never read it. I never wanted anyone to see what I was writing because it was my deepest, love-sick secrets. I also dabbled at keeping a diary at different times as a child, but I never stuck with it for very long.
Then in 7th grade, Junior High, I met my English Teacher, Miss Stiff.
Miss Stiff looked Very Much as her name implied. She was the stuffy, prim and proper school teacher. She kept her hair up in a tight severe bun and wore dresses well below her knees. She ruled her classes with an iron fist and took no guff from anyone.
I didn’t like school very much, especially as a teenager. I was much more concerned with boys and partying. But I did well in English. I had always had a love of reading (thank you Mom) so studying English came easily for me.
I had a couple of advantages in Miss Stiff’s class. I did well, studied, paid attention and got good grades. Because of this, Miss Stiff looked favorably upon me. I guess I was a bit of a Teacher’s Pet. Most of the kids didn’t like Miss Stiff because she was so strict. But I got along just fine with her.
Miss Stiff had a way of sparking my imagination like no one else ever had. In addition to just teaching English, Miss Stiff would give us assignments that allowed our imaginations to run wild! She would give us prompts for story writing and then just let us have fun with those prompts. She would do things like write two or three unrelated words on the blackboard and have us write a story using those words. For example: she might write, “fish, trashcan & toothbrush”.
I may not have had the best story in class, but there was no one in class that went at it with as much enthusiasm and abandon as I did. I LOVED it when I was given free rein to write whatever I wanted!
Looking back, I was 14 or 15 years old. It would take me approximately another 40 years before I found that I really had a passion for writing. I wish I would have paid more attention to that inner spark.
I have no idea what ever happened to Miss Stiff. I wasn’t the type of kid that stayed in touch with my teachers. I hope that Miss Stiff can look down on me and know what a wonderful, positive influence she had on my life. Thank heavens for teachers like Miss Stiff.
© 2018 Penny Wilson