Teachers

Yes, Mr Thanh, who taught me literature in grade eleven. He was a thin man with chalk permanently on his sleeves, and he rode the same rusty Honda Cub to school for years. What set him apart was that he never read out model essays for us to copy. Instead he'd ask, 'But what do you actually think?', which was quite a frightening question for a sixteen-year-old. Thanks to him, I stopped being afraid of having my own opinion. He once handed back my essay covered in red ink, with a note saying the ideas were good and the handwriting was a crime, and I've kept it ever since. He's also the reason I applied for journalism. My primary teachers were a stricter breed. My grade-two teacher kept a wooden ruler on her desk, and although she rarely used it, the sight of it was enough to keep forty children silent. As for teaching myself, I don't think I have the patience for a full classroom. I wouldn't mind tutoring one or two students at weekends, though; that seems like teaching on easy mode.