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libra
26 Aug 2003
I was never supposed to be in Mr. Desoto's class, but I was. In order to get out of a class I did not want to take, I changed my schedule numerous times during the first week of my senior year. I was wary of being in Mr. Desoto's English class, but I decided that maybe it was time for me to learn something. I had had plenty of good teachers, but I knew he was a legend and a friend had told me I should have him so I took the chance. I entered the class three days after school started, and I was told to come to school an hour early the following morning to catch up. I did.
The beginning of the school year was full of writing summary themes and turning them in to get critiqued. Through this writing I gained knowledge of English that I thought was impossible. Sentence structure had eluded me up to this point and English grammar was more foreign to me than Spanish. This changed though, and it changed faster than I had expected. I learned in the first week what a complete sentence was. I never used a run-on ever again, until one day in the spring Mr. Desoto caught one in a paragraph and thanked me. My mistake had made his job worthwhile. I laughed. He had a sense of humor about my mistakes, whose numbers dwindled as the months in class went by. I began to be able to write a decent essay in twenty minutes of class-time. I could easily find themes in stories, and use them to make my understanding of the story much greater. Writing about poetry, a task that scared me beyond all others, was made simple in his class. All of these things happened not because he told us what to think, or explained his ideas about the stories, but he had us write. Over and over again we formulated our ideas on a work, and in revising we developed further ideas and noticed details we wouldn't have before.
Our class was small. Starting at about ten people, its numbers fell to seven by the end of the year, and we were lucky to have an attendance of five or six. This small class enabled Mr. Desoto to be closer to us, as he didn't have to keep as many students on task. He told us stories, like he did with the rest of his classes. But he conversed with us much more than I had heard of from his students of other years. Upon finding out that I had two dogs, he asked me occasionally how 'the pups' were and, one time, brought the memoir My Dog Skip to school, telling me to read it. I read it, and enjoyed it very much. It gave me an insight into Desoto's childhood for he grew up only a decade or so before the boy in the book. He had the same freedom as a child. He had a dog of his own, Tachi, I think her name was, although I'm not sure of the spelling. His little Llasa Apso was growing to be like him he said. She wasn't as full of energy as she used to be. Desoto, though, seemed very full of energy to me. Dancing across the classroom with his carpet sweeper, he began partway through the year to leave his radio on in class. The volume was kept low, until he heard one of the songs of his youth, and he would turn it up and command us to listen. He'd stand by his coffee pyramid and listen to the music, pointing out a certain instrumental part that he especially liked.
Towards the end of the year he had given us more freedom in our writing assignments and decided that we didn't really need to take a final. We turned in a final paper, a compare/contrast assignment on six different poems. We were to try two different ways of writing the introductory paragraph in our pre-writing, and I clearly remember working on that assignment. I was in my backyard, as the weather was especially nice. I had been reading, and I suddenly knew what to write. That was the first time anything had come to me that way. It was a paragraph that needed almost no revision, one that I was truly proud of. I actually wanted school to come so I could let him read it. I hoped he would like it, but I was also scared that he wouldn't. He loved it. Punching the air with his fist, he read every sentence and then read them again.
It was about that time in the year that he gave me a stuffed animal that had lived in his classroom for who knows how long. He set the small bear down on my desk and told me that it was for me, that I could bring it to college with me and put it on my dresser to always remember my English skills. I was amazed and so touched. The bear is in my room, she sits on my bookcase where she seems to fit in so well with my many novels.
As the year came to a close, and Mr. Desoto had made it clear that he would retire, he began to clean out his classroom, making copies of his guides on writing for his last classes. He told us that we could take them, use them in college and later pass them on to our children and grandchildren. Saying that through this he would be immortalized, he lifted his head up and held out his arms. He meant it humorously, but I knew that to some degree it was true. How could I not tell my children, when I have them, about the English teacher who changed everyone around him? Our class hired a quartet of students from our school to come sing to him near the last day of school. Unfortunately they weren't able to come during our class period, but they came, bearing a card, and sang. I found out later that Mr. Desoto cried at their performance of "The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy from Company B." Bringing a cake, flowers, drinks, and balloons, we surprised him with a party. He cut the cake and was amazed at our efforts. I am incredibly glad that we had that party for him and gave him a card expressing our thanks. As we left the classroom that day, he had tears in his eyes. I hope and think he understood how important he was to us.
Mr. Desoto was unique in every way possible, and his unique teaching style is something that will probably never be copied, no matter how hard those of us students who turn to teaching will try. He once told me and two other students, that he would keep his room there for us if we wanted to go get our credentials and come back to teach in his place, that way he wouldn't have to move all of his stuff out. I know I want to be a teacher, and if I could someday have even a hundredth of the effect he had on his students, I will be a good teacher.
There are many events that happened that year that show him as a wonderful teacher and person, and I have only chosen a few, but I hope I remember them all, so his legacy can live on.
My english teacher Mr. Desoto died in August of 2003. Students and friends of the wonderful man have been encouraged to write something and submit it for a book that will be published for our school...i would appreciate any feedback...
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