In high school, my English teacher accused me of cheating on a test on Of Mice and Men. Obviously, my memories of this are tainted by emotion, but the gist of her accusation was that she didn’t think I was smart enough to get all the answers right on the test by myself.
I was a horrible student, but I wasn’t a cheater. I read voraciously, but I read the books I chose, not the books that were assigned in school. I skimmed Frankenstein, but stayed up past bedtime with a flashlight to read Phantom of the Opera. I didn’t make it past the second chapter of A Separate Piece, but I wore out the binding on my copy of The Lords of Discipline. The Scarlet Letter bored me to tears, but I had quotes I’d copied from My Antonia taped to my bedroom wall.
I did, however, love Of Mice and Men so much that I read it three times, even though it was an assigned book. I was already a huge Steinbeck fan. East of Eden and Travels With Charley were two of my favorite books. I hung on every little detail about Lennie and George and pictured the story in my head like it was a movie. When a question on the test asked what Curley’s wife’s dress looked like, I described it in full detail easily. I almost felt like I had seen it. That answer (which apparently, no one else got right), along with my perfect score, raised a big red flag to my English teacher, Mrs. X, who thought my performance on the test was well beyond my cognitive abilities.
I knew I didn’t cheat, but Mrs. X was a grown-up and a teacher, and at fifteen years old, those credentials were strong enough to make me doubt myself. I was convinced that my perfect score was a fluke – a combination of good guesses and good luck – and deep down, I didn’t really think I was smart enough either. Eighteen years later, I still remember so clearly how I felt, standing in Mrs. X’s classroom, my face hot, my heart thumping. I dug my fingernails into my sweaty palm to try to keep myself from crying. It didn’t work.
The rest of my high school career was full of flukes. Failed tests followed by 100%. An A+ paper followed by one that came back covered in angry red marks. I pulled it together at the end. I did okay on the SATs, wrote good application essays, and got in to every college I applied to. I worried that was a fluke too. When I got to Ithaca, I felt as if any minute someone would tap me on the shoulder and say, “Sweetie, there’s been a mistake. You don’t belong here.”
Second semester freshman year, I started falling asleep in my biology class. The teacher talked like Ben Stein and stood in front of the screen when he wrote notes on the overhead projector, so we couldn’t see what we were supposed to be writing down. I’ve never been the kind of person who can fall asleep in a public places, but ten minutes in to every biology class, I’d start to nod off. I went to my advisor and told him I thought I was narcoleptic (because I’d just watched a documentary on narcolepsy). He sent me to academic support services and soon after I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder.
There’s a book about Adult ADD called You Mean I’m Not Lazy, Stupid or Crazy? The title is such a perfect description of how I felt when I was diagnosed and started learning more about ADD. It took me many, many years and so much floundering to change my perception of myself – to neutralize Mrs. X’s opinion of me (and all the other opinions like hers that I’d collected over the years).
J and I joked for the longest time that in place of a dedication in my book it should say, “To Mrs. X . . . Suck it.” Don’t worry. It doesn’t. My book has a real dedication, and I decided to make a point of thanking the teachers who have helped and supported me in the acknowledgments section in the back. You won’t find mention of Mrs. X in the book at all. But I will admit, that “Mrs. X can suck it!” is my version of shouting “Victory!”
When my amazing agent, (who works for the agency that represented John Steinbeck and sold Of Mice and Men), offered me representation, J and I walked around the house saying, “Mrs. X can suck it!” for days. When I called J at work with the news that STAY was sold to Dutton, that it would be an audio book, or that it sold in Germany, Italy, and Holland, I shouted “Mrs. X can suck it!” into the phone. It’s as good a war cry as any.
I spoke at a writing seminar at Hilton High School two weeks ago. One of the kids asked me if I’d known I wanted to be a writer when I was in high school. I told him that until I was diagnosed with ADD, I honestly didn’t think I had all that much to offer. Back then, it wouldn’t have even occurred to me that my life now was possible. I told the class not to let other people’s ideas of who they are get in the way of the things they want for themselves. I had to dig my nails into my palm to keep myself from getting choked up.
I’d like to give Mrs. X the benefit of the doubt. I’d like to think that maybe she was trying to help me. Maybe she said the right words and in the mess of all my emotions I heard them wrong. Maybe she was just having a bad day. I really do believe that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Maybe if I hadn’t had to fight as hard to get here, this wouldn’t mean as much. Maybe I wouldn’t even be a writer. Whatever Mrs. X’s intentions, that day in her classroom is a part of who I am.
Last week, my publicist e-mailed me a blurb about STAY from Kirkus Reviews:
“A charming debut. . . . Smart and with emotional depth, this is a cut above.”
J walked into my office just after I got the e-mail and found me in tears.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Mrs. X,” I said, sobbing and laughing at the same time as I handed him my laptop, “can so totally suck it.”
What an inspiring post! I teared up – seriously!
I teared up too! This is beautiful and perfectly echoes my sentiments about life in the world of engineering. I feel as if, at any moment, someone will tap my shoulder and deliver the news that I’ve outstayed my trial run. This, after 11 years in the field, sigh.
You’re incredibly inspiring, my dear, and it warms my heart to hear that I’m not alone when it comes to moments of self-doubt.
Laura Marcella says
Congrats! And to make your day even better, here’s my contribution: MRS. X CAN SUCK IT!!!!
I totally had a version of Mrs. X in my life. And that book, I always thought it was about depression. Goes to show you how well I pay attention to things…
Why do people like Mrs. X become teachers? A kid does well on a test, and she thinks the appropriate response is to accuse her of cheating? Unbelievable. She can TOTALLY suck it.
I am getting SO EXCITED to read Stay. Congrats on yet another awesome review!
Nicole (Linus's Blanket) says
It’s unfortunate that she wasn’t happy that you connected with the material so strongly and felt that she had to accuse you of cheating. The two do not correlate for me. I am so glad that you were able to move beyond all that, and look at the exciting things that are happening to you now. Enjoy it!
The Modern Gal says
Wow, I never would have expected you had gone through this because your writing style is so strong and confident.
Rachel Elizabeth says
How exciting about your book! I loved Mice and Men as well.
I love it! Mrs. X can totally suck it. Excellent stuff.
Congratulations on your review! That is just so wonderful!
And yeah, Mrs. X can suck it!
I never cared for much of what was required reading in school, but, like you, I was constantly reading something.
And I despise The Scarlett Letter. Ugh.
Alicia Bessette says
Wow, this is a powerful piece. It’s amazing the power teachers hold over students, especially the sensitive ones. With one action, one sentence, they can do worlds of harm, or worlds of good. I’m celebrating along with you.
my Dad’s High School English teacher told him never to pursue writing because he was so terrible at it. He later wrote 2 books and started up two magazines (one of which became international). Hooray for you! I also have a copy of that adult ADD book… never got around to reading it :)
Little Red-Haired Girl says
Like you, I was a voracious reader, but not usually the books that were assigned. When I was a freshman in high school, we were assigned Cry the Beloved Country by Alan Paton. I hated it – loudly. My teacher told me that the problem was simply that I needed to read something other than Sweet Valley High (or words to that effect). In retaliation I read Quo Vadis by Henryk Sienkiewicz for my next book report – and loved it. Sweet Valley High indeed (not that I didn’t occasionally enjoy those too!) Mrs X (and Mr. T) can suck it! Congrats on your great review, btw – I can’t wait to read the book!
what an awesome post! Mrs. X can TOTALLy suck it. I’ve had teachers like that too, and so has my husband. They are the worst. Your story is very inspiring.
Great post, Allie. Count me in with tearer-uppers!
Lunessa Designer Jewelry says
Awww, Allie, you have come through with flying colors. Now, I am left to wonder who was Mrs. X? haha
Awe! Love this post, Allie! You are so amazing and such an inspiration to so many young writers! I cannot wait to read your novel! :)
shanna murray says
just finished reading this and didn’t even bother to stick my fingernails into my palm, i just let the tears flow.
you’re such an inspiration to me, friend. and i think i need to borrow that book from you, i share far too many of these traits with you to not give it a read.
*shakes fist menacingly*
SUCK IT, MRS X!
Amy --- Just A Titch says
What a great post. As a teacher, it makes me sad that someone would say something so terrible to a student. I love that you’ve been able to turn it into a success story.
Little late but…
Monica the Garden Faerie says
Life is strange. When I was 10, my mom didn’t believe I wrote a poem that I wrote. She insisted I copied it out of a book, no matter how many times I told her I didn’t. At the time I was upset she didn’t believe me, even though I never lied, but now I’m mad that she must have thought it was “too good” for me to do. I got kicked out of an English class once because I was quietly writing a letter to my penfriend when we were supposed to be working ona book report, which I’d finished days before. Everyone else was talking but she kicks me out–at least it increased my street cred with the burnouts! I don’t even remember her name today.