I Made A 41
Perhaps the only test score that I remember is the 41. I was in high school. The class was taught by one of the two teachers who impacted me most, Mr. Bales. The other teacher was Mrs. Drew from the seventh grade. It’s amazing how I can remember from over 30 years ago my two most impactful teachers. The eighth grade. It was a time when I, like most, didn’t know what I was to be in life. The drama of that time of youth was simply getting through school and making the long walk home. Some things will still be like the eighth grade when you get to be eighty. The test was the final for the class. I remember anxiously waiting as Mr. Bales passed out test after test. It was a rather difficult test. I didn’t know how well I had done, but I knew there were things on it that I didn’t know. The air whooshed around the pages as it made a gentle sound, plopping down. It was a rhythm as each student received their test A, plop, plop, plop. I heard groan after groan that accompanied the plops. I could tell by the groans that the grades weren’t looking good. Mr. Bales dropped the stapled pages on my desk. There in big red numbers,
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