Week Seven Theme

Every day, I woke up slightly dreading going to school. I wanted to see my friends, I liked lunch time and my study hall. But geometry scared me, and chemistry made me see stars, in a bad way. But I had a few classes that seriously sparked my interests.
My favorite class was English. As much as I liked the material we covered and the books we read, my favorite part about English was my English teacher.
I'm convinced she's the coolest person on the planet.
She lives in a stone house that she built with her husband; they dug up old boulders from the ground and bought a plot of land. They built their own house, and lived in a shack for three years while they built this house. She had copper rings that she wore every day, and she said she made them out of copper pipes that were replaced. Her choice in clothing was always very practical, but she wore a pair of white and red Chuck Taylor high-tops, almost with every outfit. Her wild and bright blue eyes shone behind her glasses, and even though she had a head of white hair, you could tell she was still very young in spirit.
I'll never forget the day in freshmen year where Mrs. Foley told us she liked to bike 18 miles, and then she showed us her bicep muscles. How could such a short and petite woman have such large muscles? I quickly learned after that that everything Mrs. Foley did was a little different then whoever did it before her.
I had her as a teacher for three out of my four years in high school. I'd have her for all four if I had the choice. She was the smartest person I had ever met; there was no way you could bullshit this woman. She'd call your bluff, correct you, and then find someway to pay you a compliment. As fair as can be, she would fail students, even if they had a 69.4. She wouldn't round up, not even for the girl's basketball star. (Oh, wasn't that a scandal. Mrs. Foley had parents banging on her door come tournaments time.) If you showed up and did your work, Mrs. Foley liked you. Even if you slept all class, she liked you. The only way she didn't like you is if you showed disrespect.
One specific boy comes to mind.
Senior year, this boy went to jail for a month, got arrested for having drugs on him, and almost didn't graduate. When he was out of her class, Mrs. Foley asked why.
"Where is Mr. Ralph today?" She asked, peering up from the attendance list.
"He's in jail." A girl who was close friends to him, Ashley, said, "He will be until May."
Everyone sat very still and looked at each other. All the other teachers said things like, 'He deserved it', 'It's about time!' or 'I knew he would be there someday'. This boy was the definition of a high school bad boy, only the crimes he committed were dangerously more serious. The teachers poked fun at him to get a rise out of him, and the students cheered him on because they thought it was funny. He didn't have many people in his life who he could trust.
Mrs. Foley blinked a few times and set the attendance list down, "Well, that's no good. How will Mr. Ralph graduate?"
Ashely put her hands up, "I have no idea. And he has no one who will bail him out this time. I bailed him out last time and I'm too broke to do it this time."
Mrs. Foley took her glasses off and set them on the table, something she didn't do very often. Only when frustrated or when she was thinking. She rubbed her forehead with her aged, but graceful, hand, "His parents can't help him in any way? His father is a police man, isn't he?"
Ashley nodded, "He is, but they won't help him. They haven't talked to him in months. His grandparents kicked him out. He has no one."
Mrs. Foley sighed loudly and put her glasses back on, "Well. We'll have to find a way to get his homework to him so that he can pass somehow. This is such a shame. He's a very smart boy."
My eyebrows raised. I wouldn't always call Chris Ralph a 'smart' boy. His acts were so ridiculous and stupid that... I think of him as a bad influence and a lost cause. But Mrs. Foley can see the good in almost anybody, unless she had a reason not to.
Ashley scoffed, "You're the only teacher who would say that. Our own vice principal thinks he's a joke. Mr. Noyes called Chris a 'girl' the other day at lunch and told him to move from the table he was at. Chris wasn't doing anything wrong. Chris told him to stop but Mr. Noyes didn't. So Chris threw his chair across the gym and stormed out, throwing his tray too. Why did Mr. Noyes have to do that if he knows that Chris clearly has a problem with his anger?"
I remember that day. It was just last week. During lunch, Chris flipped out, and threw his chair. It only skimmed past me; it almost knocked me right over as I was walking to my table.
Mr. Foley sighed again, "I respect Mr. Noyes, but he's a bully. Chris has never treated me that way or even spoken back to me in the four years I've known him."
"Because you don't treat him that way." Felicia piped in, sitting directly across from me on the other side of the classroom, "You should see the way the other teachers talk to him. Like he's an idiot."
"Chris knows that none of those teachers care about him, so he doesn't care about them." Ashley added.
Mrs. Foley folded her hands, "This boy needs help. I hope he gets everything sorted out and gets himself under control, because he has great potential. Not only is he an extraordinary athlete, but he is intelligent, he just doesn't use it."

I remember when the conversation ended and we went back to learning about Tristan and Iseult, all I could think about were Mrs. Foley's kind words about Chris. It's true though; he was never disrespectful towards her, because she was always kind to him. He may not have had the best record of passing in homework on time, but he always had an opinion during class. And he's always had nice words to say about Mrs. Foley.
Mrs. Foley could be the thing I miss most about high school. When I worked in the local grocery store, she came in every Saturday to go grocery shopping. I was always excited to see her. She always said hello and struck up conversation with me. Her warm, enthusiastic disposition was something that always inspired me to do better. She thought education was important, but she never pushed that anyone had to go to school, the way most teachers did. Mrs. Foley believed in personal research; learning things because it was important and because you wanted to learn.
She was a small woman, about 5'1, and even though I only saw her for less than an hour a day, five days a week for three years, she amounted to be one of the most inspirational people I have ever met.
Her wild stories were always my favorite. She'd jump up and down and get students to lay on tables as she's 'execute them'; she'd sing randomly; she came in wearing a black hood that covered her face when we studied The Minister's Black Veil; she used to draw pictures on my corrected essays; she had a crush on Tom Brady and loved football; she read the bible over and over, even though she openly never has believed in God. The worse thing she said she ever did was open the emergency exit door on the school bus. She told that story on the first day of class I ever had with her, and then told us why The Cat in the Hat is actually about the Cold War.
The last day of my high school career, Mrs. Foley gave me a Most Improved award.
"This girl came in and, even though she clearly had a talent in writing, she didn't really apply herself," Mrs. Foley said over the intercom during the senior class assembly, "But you wouldn't even recognize her work now. She's come so extremely far, and I'm incredibly proud to call her my student."
When she called my name, I went up and accepted my award from her. Impulsively, I pulled her into a big hug. I can remember there being some tears in my eyes as the entire school cheered for me when I accepted the award. Why I had tears I'll never fully know. I was happy that I had made Mrs. Foley proud. I was proud of myself for receiving the award at all.
But mostly, I knew that I'd miss Mrs. Foley very, very dearly.