I went to what was probably one of the shittiest schools around me; it was forever failing Ofsted inspections. A school where chairs would go flying across the room, where supply teachers would walk out crying, to the amusement of the class. I remember when my head of year, while in year 10, called us in for an emergency assembly. He was in tears because one of the most vulnerable kids was being bullied.
Now I know I wasn’t one of the trouble makers, and during the 5 years was at times subject to some form of abuse. Occasions that brought rage included being spat at from behind. I was threatened to have my legs broken (because some boy couldn’t get past me in a football match). Another time threatened to have my jacket taken, oh and the time when I was shown a knife for a couple quid.
It was a rough school.
Teacher appreciation day, got me thinking back and takes me to Ms Jacobson my English teacher from year 9. I wasn’t the most confident at English, I hated reading and my grammar sucked (some might say it still does, haha). I’d read the words on a page but wouldn’t take in anything unless it was about football/sport.
Ms Jacobson believed in me and her students, giving us all the option of additional support; after school, classes in the holidays. I worked my guts off taking those opportunities. I wrote some amazing essays and creative pieces, if I say so myself, and even contemplated taking English Lit at A-level. The only thing that stopped me was whether I’d be able to read the books. I chose physics instead. Go figure…
But it was only after my academic life was over that I discovered my love of books, and my passion for writing. As I look back, and reflect, Ms Jacobson instilled that confidence in me, that belief I could write. And to think I have even written a book, and become a published author.