Word: missing
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...Miss Baker was the kind of English teacher who had cats. Lots of them. While she had her friendly moments, which included treating her students to stale, generic-brand candy leftover from Halloweens past, she was the kind of teacher who got some kind of pleasure from pouring salt in the hormonal wounds of her pubescent students.I fell victim to her sick game when I boldly disagreed with her evaluation of Scout in “To Kill a Mockingbird...
...what she really wants is her father’s approval, don’t you think?” I questioned, in an attempt to show her my genuine intellectual curiosity. Instead of encouraging my budding literary criticism skills, Miss Baker simply bristled: “Sometimes, you’re truly an airhead, Julia...
Years later, I’m an English concentrator at Harvard. Boy, did I show her! But sometimes I wonder if my decision to concentrate in English, or maybe every decision I’ve ever made, has been an attempt to show Miss Baker that I’m not, in fact, an airhead. For the past ten years, I’ve been blindly guided by the deep need to prove the Miss Bakers of the world wrong...
Even though I’ve made it this far, I am nevertheless still irked by that horrible sense of insecurity that Miss Baker instilled within me. It’s a common enough theme at Harvard: no matter how confident their facade, most people don’t think they deserve to be here. An airhead like me certainly doesn?...
...bring myself to throw them away. They’re a reminder of the bittersweet, adolescent sense of insecurity that took me a decade to overcome; and its nice to be reminded of ones triumphs. Plus, I might need them in case I ever run into Miss Baker again...