A Note of Thanks

Mrs. Waldee was a bit too hip for General McLane High School. She dressed a bit too hip and her hair style was too hip and possibly her husband, who I never met, was too hip as well. She only stayed for a few years and she was never officially my English teacher. She was, however, one of my earliest fans.

High school isn’t easy. It’s easier than middle school, because the kids are not as brutal to each other, but there are the added pressures of romantic relationships that threaten to move beyond holding hands, college applications, and the struggle for independence from parents. For me, the hardest part of high school was trying to survive my parents. One way I coped was by writing poetry.

Until Mrs. Waldee intervened, my poetry was nonsensical stuff about mountains and flying airplanes far distances and made up guys. After Mrs. Waldee, I wouldn’t call my poems ethereal creations fit for the eyes of academics and dreamers, but it was more focused and used images and metaphors. In fact, with Mrs. Waldee’s help, I was accepted into the Pennsylvania Governor’s School for the Arts.

What she did was fairly simple, yet no less than amazing. As a means to get extra credit, I submitted my poems to the school newspaper. And when I say I submitted my poems, I submitted all of my poems—hand written, in a binder, some with illustrations and doodles. Mrs. Waldee did not complain. She read through them all, chose a few to publish and offered to give me an independent study class in poetry the following year. I was flattered and excited. Then, once a week for a year, she met with me, giving me poems and texts to read, critiquing my poems, and helping me to revise.

While I learned a lot with Mrs. Waldee—including the difficult task of writing in meter—her support gave me the confidence to pursue writing seriously. And for that, she deserves my thanks.