I read the first chapter of The Catcher in the Rye yesterday, and it reminded me of who I was.  At the time that story resonated with me like a Stradivarius violin.  It’s fair to say that during that time frame there was very little difference in the fictional mind of Holden Caulfield and my actaul mind.  I wrote a paper as though I was Holden at one point.  In the paper I fullfilled the minimun requirements of quotes and structure but I wrote it so that it defeated its self.  I discredited my the quotes I had pulled, and all around enjoyed my time working of that paper(though it was a week over due).  Afterwards, I recieved the paper back from my teacher>  She assured me that the grade of D was not reflectant upon the paper’s quality but the fact that it was a week late, then she asked why I wrote it that way.-  I said, “I thought it would be funny.”

At the end of the semester I was getting a C in the class.  I expected to recieve a C in the class because it was a middle C and not boardering C+ somehow I recieved a B for the class.  I don’t know how well I did on the final but I don’t think I did that well.  I think she bumped my grade up.  Here is the interesting thing, she was probably one of the most incompassionate, and tired teachers I ever had.  Yet, she did something for me that no other teacher had done before or since.  She gave me the grade she knew I deserved.