Use Meterstick For Emphasis by Madeline

Use Meterstick For Emphasis by Madeline - August 2013 Scholarship Essay

When I showed my junior year schedule to my brother, who was then preparing for his first year at college, he smiled. "You have Mr. Morse for US History," he pointed out. "He's the best."Thanks to that, I entered Mr. Morse's classroom for the first class on the first day of school of my first year as an upperclassman with confidence. Mr. Morse sat on a tall stool in front of the whiteboard, holding a meterstick in his hand and watching us filter into the room. I was reminded of a big, friendly dog watching the goings-on of his neighborhood in the shade of a tree. My best friend Emily was with me, and we chose to sit back against the wall. From this vantage point we could see the board and Mr. Morse, but not easily be seen if he was on his computer, just in case one of us dozed off (it was, after all, a first-period history class). The bell had just rung when we all sat down, the chatter of post-summer reunions still audible. Mr. Mr. Morse got up and began walking slowly back and forth in front of the whiteboard. As ominous as it sounds, we would soon learn that it was simply one of his habits while lecturing. He began the class as he would begin almost every other class that year."All right, all right, quiet down. Quiet down, everyone." The class obeyed, but he continued. "Quiet down, children. Your quietness is going down." He paused. "Or up. Either way, you're being quiet."We all giggled nervously. Our teacher settled back onto his stool and began the boring first day talk; what he expected of us, what we would learn, et cetera. Finally, he seemed to reach the end of those topics and began pacing again, using his meterstick as a cane that he clearly didn't need. We all sat up straighter, picking up on the fact that he was about to start teaching. Suddenly he turned and pointed his meterstick at Emily, who was sitting next to me. "Emily Bonello!" he said loudly. We all turned to look at her too. "Give me one person who signed the Declaration of Independence!""Uh--" Emily made a confused, smile-frown face. "John Hancock?"She had barely finished speaking when Mr. Morse raised his meterstick above his head and brought it down with frightening force on the table in front of him, where four girls happened to be sitting. It whistled past Aimee Ndong's head and landed with a thwack on the surface. "RIGHT!" he shouted as it made contact. We all jumped. "That is completely right! John Hancock signed the Declaration of Independence! Very good!"Emily and I exchanged looks of hilarity, but managed to control our laughter. As the class wore on, we quickly realized that Mr. Morse used his meterstick as an emphasizer quite liberally. Mostly he would smack it down on tables, but occasionally he would poke someone with it, usually in the arm or forehead, and tap the board or a map. We all left the class grinning, knowing that US History would not be our typical boring, first-hour class. The next morning, when Emily and I returned to the classroom, the table by the board was abandoned. Every single person who had been sitting there yesterday had moved to a different table for fear of getting whacked as Aimee almost had. We went on to learn a lot of interesting things that year; Conspiracy theories on JFK's assassination, the difference between Federalists and Whigs, and even Dwight D Eisenhower's campaign tune.  However, arguably the most important lesson any of us learned was on the first day of US History when we realized that it wasn't wise to sit where Mr. Morse's meterstick could reach you.