I remember fondly those little moments, has returned to where they liked the smell of binder nine that of pristine notebooks and return to school, between fear and impatience. That changes schools or level, the immediate apprehension faded when his friends found: it swung his new bag into the heap instead of piling up the court and we would do cons a little further. And I still remember one more highlight of my time "college" means the English court. First, the bell rings, then we glandions in the yard, we rush to put us in a row by two. From afar, we saw teachers coming and coming top of our aisles to pick us up. Except her. Ms. C., English teacher. It was enough of a sign and advancing the row of fear filled with respect.
It was a little afraid, Mrs. C. She was tall and not very nice. Short curly hair, held more than limit, and military discipline, under a light hidden by large sunglasses. She is ageless. My mother told me one day to have had as a teacher, too! That is to say!
Anyway, Mrs. C. was simply an amazing English teacher. By the rigor and respect, by a hint of tenderness cunningly disguised, she taught her students basics of the language of Shakespeare.
For some, like me, she was a mentor. Even today, I speak English with a rather solid basis, I think. Throughout my studies, learning the language was facilitated by these bases. She was afraid, Mrs. C., but it was a great teacher.
So far, I think she's in retreat. Sometimes I hope to see her and say simply thank you. Thank you for
taught English like that. But no thank you for giving me this nickname, that all language teachers to give their college students at the beginning a cycle. me, she would call me Bob. Who knows why. (non-contractual photo!)
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