To an English Teacher (Sh*t You Can't Say to Your Teacher)


I love reading. I really do.
When I was a kid, I used to curl up on my bed with a three hundred page book.
And then I'd wake up in the morning and the book would be gone, finished.
It was sort of like eating cake.
I didn't expect to read the whole thing, but I couldn't quite stop. 
I'd just have to keep going, because if I didn't finish it...
The book was simply too delicious not to finish. 
So I would read on. 
Things have changed now that you're in my life.
Reading is like eating dinner the night before Thanksgiving Day.
I sit there staring at the book, staring at my plate.
And I think to myself, why do this now?
Tomorrow I'll have the chance to really read it, to eat the better meal.
So I put it down, and study for a history test.
I'll save my appetite for the next day.
Maybe you shouldn't sit there for forty seven minutes every day.
Sitting there, reading the books to us page by page.
What's the point of reading a book twice if you only have one test on it?
Why would I waste my time repeating myself?
And as you sit there, quoting phrases line by line in your dull monotone, I can't help but wonder...
Would I have actually liked this book if I read it on my own?
You've ruined too many great literary works for me this year.
Books I've meant to read, wanted to enjoy, all turned into wastes of time.
I know English; I've been reading since kindergarten.
I don't need help picking the words off of the page as a senior in high school.
My classmates and I want...we deserve...the opportunity to fall in love with these novels.
And opportunity we do not have.
Because of you.


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