Not many people would describe their first day of middle school as hobbling from class to class in a hallway swarming with laughing kids and open locker-doors. But for me, it was different. My first day of middle school, I was walking with crutches from a toe-surgery earlier that summer, and as I hobbled through the pale doorframe of my new English and Literature room, I was met with: “Hello! Do you need any help with carrying your books?”

I smiled and said, “no thank you.” That person who had offered their services to me was my new English teacher, Mrs. Barta. Her smile won over the ecstatic and nervous kids on their first day of middle school as she then told us what kinds of engaging material and stories we would be reading and learning about in her class.

Throughout my middle school days, I was always especially excited to go to her class--not only for the “Daily Fun Facts” she would write on the dusty chalkboard each morning--that really poked at what really is truth, and what is believed to be--but for the stories we would read in her Literature class.

Mrs. Barta really knew what she was doing when it came to reading short stories in literature class. No matter what was in our books, she would always pick out the most engaging, most memorable, and most cherished stories, of which she was always excited with, which made us excited, too.

Mrs. Barta always encouraged writing. “Today class,” she would say while sitting behind her podium and fixing her clip in her moderately long blonde hair, “we are going to be writing a story about mystery.” I always liked writing stories in her class, and she always revered mine like it was the last picture existing of her favorite grandmother, which in turn gave us a more personal level.

Not only was she a literature teacher, but she was also a grammar teacher as well. For me, grammar was never my favorite subject--and I never exceeded in it either. But for her, it was a necessity to make sure everyone got the material, and would answer all of our prepositional phrase and independent clause questions.

In fact, she would even walk up and down the aisles during our grammar tests, shooting down our out-stretched hands with whatever help she could offer us, which was always top-quality.

Mrs. Barta was a true teacher--she was like a light to a good book at night, her stories were as beautiful as a golden sun, and she is what I think of when I think of an English  teacher.