Analysis

Mr. McDonald

The One Who Changed My Life

Throughout the years I have spent in school I have had a variety of teachers ranging from the conservative and organized to the fun, spontaneous, and outright crazy teachers.  I have had teachers who changed my life and I have had some who made my life a living nightmare, but there was one person that has changed me in so many ways his name is Mr. McDonald.  He was my eighth grade counselor and softball coach; although those were his titles he was so much more to me.  He didn’t teach me about algebra or Shakespeare or even school at all, he taught me the most important lesson of all, he taught me about life.  He was in his mid-twenties, bright curly blonde hair, light blue eyes that were always covered in glasses.  To be honest he looked like a normal teacher, I never thought he could have done what he did.  His office sat by the window and overlooked the field in front of Niver Creek Middle School, which wasn’t exactly a pleasant sight, actually it was almost disturbing.  His office was covered with pictures of his gorgeous wife and baby who he was obviously extremely proud of and couldn’t seem to get enough of.   He’s laid back and takes things as they come along, but I think that is something you have to be when you are around middle school students all day.  He tries to make the best out of every situation and he is always trying to brighten up everyone’s day.  No matter what he was there for whoever needed him whenever they needed him.

He never seemed to get angry but I think it was because even though there were hundreds of us kids he cared about us—every single one.  Niver Creek didn’t have the most behaved students or even semi behaved students, actually I think we were the worst students, but he never seemed to give up on anyone.  The gang members who attended out school weren’t the worst people in the world to him; they were students who had made a bad choice.  The regualar dramatic teenagers were the girls he spent most of his time with and no matter how many times they came in he genuinely cared about their situation.  He always made sure to tell all of us that it would get better with time and that one bad decision didn’t doom our lives forever.  Mr. McDonald tried to change every single one of us for the better, although most students didn’t take to him, some of us changed for the rest of our lives; I am one of those students. 

Eighth grade year was interesting—some people may even think crazy— for me, but I survived and all of the credit goes to Mr. McDonald.  My parents were getting a divorce, my grandpa passed away, my mom couldn’t afford food, and most of all I couldn’t handle my life.  My grades were slipping, I was getting into trouble, I was focused on things that I thought were more important like partying and staying out with friends.  He noticed something was wrong and started to ask questions.   At the time I hated him for it.  I wanted to scream and yell and tell him he had no business in my life, but he forced me to talk.          

       After we started talking I realized that he was just trying to help and that it was working.  He told me I was better than the life I was living.  He said I could do anything with my life and no matter what was going on with my family I had control over myself.  I didn’t know if I believed him but I acted like I did.  As time went on life got better and for the most part I was back to my old self.  I was happy, I was smiling, and I was me. 

Sometimes I wonder if he never would have come along if I would still be myself and honestly I don’t think I would be.  I am who I am because of him.  I look up to him in so many ways and I could never thank him enough for what he has done.  Mr. McDonald is a truly amazing guy and no matter what I will never forget him.    

 

This is an author emulation of Annie Dillard’s writing.

It was Monday night, my mom and I were sitting on our humungous leather couches watching the Broncos play Monday Night Football.  It was a normal night, Chex Mix on the ottoman, the T.V. up as loud as possible, and the two of us yelling at the top of our lungs.  The Broncos were down by a touch down and Marshall finally caught the ball. 

            “Mourshallll!” my mom cried back.  She whipped around.  I remember the look on her face and the look in her eyes, I couldn’t help it I broke out into a hysterical laugh. 

            “Mourshallll!” I yelled, while physically acting as if I was Mother.  We laughed for an hour, maybe more, and we couldn’t stop.  This is the one thing she does more often then most people, mispronouncing words but knowing it is okay to do so.  When she does mispronounce a word it just sticks with us, it becomes a part of our vocabulary. 

            From that moment on we started referring to Marshall as Mourshall.  If Mother had a choice, like the English or the Dutch, she would create her own language that would consist of her messed up, discombobulated words that came to be on accident.

Money, pride, stubbornness, all three are on Mother’s list of things that would combine to cause a scene in any situation.  In Sam’s Club on a Sunday morning, the basket is full, Mother and Grandma are almost to the front when Grandma decides that it is her turn to pay.  She grabs the basket, two hands on the cart pushing forward full force.  A sudden jump followed by the sudden stop.  Grandma looked up with a shocked face.  Mother was standing in front of the basket, feet a part, looking as if she was ready to pounce.

            She said “I want to pay,” with a stern forceful voice.

            “Well too bad.  I am getting this one” Grandma replied with a motherly tone.

            Mother started to get angry and declared, “If you don’t let go of this basket, I will cause a scene.”  Grandma gave her this look and it was a sudden stare down.

            “I don’t believe you.  You would never do something like that” Grandma said, very sure of herself. 

            “Wanna bet? Lady let go of my basket!  This is my stuff get away!  Someone help me, this lady is trying to steal my things!” Mother yelled.

            “Okay!  Okay!  Stop it!  You can pay.” Grandma said embarrassingly.  Mother had this smug look on her face.  She was very proud of herself and she showed it in her eyes.

            Mother is sarcastic in every situation, when appropriate and not.  If it hurts someone’s feelings she will apologize, but what she says is usually funny so she will normally be laughing while saying sorry.  She pays attention to things very closely so when someone tries to get her attention she doesn’t seem to notice.  All of her has to be focused on one thing, which is good in some situations and bad in others.  She sticks to her morals, no matter if someone is judging her or not.  She always tries to make the right decision even if it hurts someone.  Mother has this way of organizing, well only she calls it that.  When she cleans she designates one bowl to junk and after she is done cleaning she leaves it there.  Even with that bowl there she considers it spotless and claims that she knows everything in the bowl.  When she is angry she has a distinguish walk, well more of a strut, that lets everyone know to stay away.  Her one and only thing that she constantly says to my sister and I is “Do what feels right to you even if it makes you un-cool you will never regret something that you chose to do.”  She is my Mother, everything about her is amazing.