Eighth grade, a time when my body was changing, my friends were changing, and girls started to become an interest to me. Although it seems so long ago, it actually was only about four years ago that I began my eighth grade year at Wilson Middle School, a public school in Glendale.
Wilson was a two-year middle school educating both seventh and eighth graders. Us eighth graders were the big ones on campus. We knew all the teachers and customs of the school, and of course we knew seventh graders were stupid. It was a fun year for everybody, a time for us to rest before making the jump to high school.
One of my favorite classes of the year was Spanish 1 with Mrs. Goodman. She is probably to date one of the best teachers I have ever had. She cared about her students, but did not have to yell or get mad to get her point across. She gave out candy all the time and left us with a good grasp of beginners Spanish. One memory I will never forget is the special attention she gave me when I was having difficulty learning conjugations of verbs. I was having the hardest time figuring it out, she was so patient with me and helped me through my trouble. She inspired me to do well not only in Spanish but in other subjects too.
The worst of my classes during eighth grade would most definitely be Mr. Englander's History class. In my opinion it was a waste of my life's precious time. There were only two things we did in his class the whole year, studied flashcards and read out o the textbook, nothing else. We were quizzed everyday on those flashcards and docked points if we did not know them. His theory of teaching was that if you spoke during class by any reason other than raising your hand, a four hundred word essay was to be written. The same went for standing up during class, being late for class, having trash within a foot of your desk, or not bringing the proper supplies for class. Needless to say, I spent many a nights typing essays. He wa