Delilah: Confessions of a Teenager

Page 3

This man belittled every student he had and critiqued every art piece that was not to his liking. I had never met anyone like this in my entire life until now, he's the type of man that you would consider a red flag.

In my head he never made sense, he was very sensitive and irrational. None of my art was good enough for the man. In my own eyes my art was unique and different and it was my perspective.

Never have I ever in my entire life had a teacher that made me feel like my perspective and my work I had produced was never going to be good enough. What kind of teacher tells a student that their art is an outdated mess, with no structure or purpose. Who does that? Well clearly Mr. Strange!

At this stage I'm too flustered to continue on about this man, he drove me to hate art which I've always loved.

Mrs. Lone ...

Ahh Mrs. Lone the teacher that didn't give a shit! Picture this, a 5'2 small bodied woman with mousy brown hair. We called her the problem maker.

She always wore long flowing skirts, black or brown ankle boots and a modest neckline shirt that varied in color. She also wore this coat that would drag along the floor as she walked from the office to her classroom on the other side of the school on winter mornings, this was usually accompanied by her rather large umbrella that was purple in color.

Her classroom was always covered in files and paperwork, her white board stained and marked, the walls covered in pieces of art. You'd think her to be an art teacher, but no! She was actually an English teacher that we saw everyday for an hour.

She was also quite the character, she never ceases to amaze me with her ideas about why her last boyfriend dumped her. There seemed to be a new man every week. If you still thought 'I wonder why? After reading what I've just said you're a down right twit, read it again you damn fool!

Speaking of fools, I haven't told you about Miss. Speckle yet.