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Mrs. Rowland was my 7th and 8th grade english teacher. Most everyone hated her, because she expected so much from us. Her yard was rolled every halloween and she would sit on the porch and laugh, and would always tell everyone that she never ever had to
buy TP. She picked on me, specifically, though, or so it seemed. It took me a while to understand it, but I'd write a paper that would be better than any paper in the class, and she'd give me a C. When I'd ask about it, she would tell me that it was because she knew I could do better. I didn't really hate her, because she was interesting, but I did feel like she picked me out to mess with. When we got to high school, we were shocked, because, well, we already knew all of that stuff. As a matter of fact, every one of us coasted through high school, because, by the time Mrs. Rowland got done with us, we were ready for college. One thing we all missed was the weekly Paul Harvey shows that she would play.
I visited her some years later at her house, as a new mother, and she made dinner for me, the whole time giving me tips about how to cook on a budget. But while she was at it, she reminded me over and over that I was not destined to be just a housewife and mother. She reminded me that she prepared me for college, and she fully expected me to go. She was the first person in my life who saw my potential and told me what she expected from me. She was the #1 reason I went to college as soon as my daughter started kindergarten.
I had several teachers who really inspired me and influenced me in college, but she was the one who got me there, and college was a life-changing experience for me.