My Teacher Knows My Name

I just hit "send" on an email that most would say is an overreaction. But it's not.

An overreaction is the way my body is responding to this flu shot. Just so we're all aware, a flu shot isn't a flu prevention shot. It's a here-we'll-give-you-the-flu-now-so-it-doesn't-inconvenience-you-and-your-busy-schedule-later shot. My body didn't think it was either of the two. My body thought it was the plague or something. By the time you read this, it'll probably be too late; I'll be in a coma.

So, my email.


I only have one class with less than 50 people in it. The teacher of that class is actually a relative, so he gets to know my name. He has no choice.

My other six teachers have more than 50 people in their class and they do not know my name. I'm not offended that they don't know my name; it would almost be concerning if they could pick me out of that crowd. You'd have to get in trouble to receive that kind of recognition. In that Bobby, stop talking! or I didn't call on you, Miss Granger! kind of way.

But in one of my music classes today, as I was finding the relative minor of the some-or-other key that was on the board, the teacher turned to me and said, "Lizzie, will you come up and show us how you figured it out?"

I kind of had a heart attack. I sat there for a second, asked him to repeat the question, and fumbled out of my chair, sending my backpack and pens flying through the air. I scooped up my things and went to the board. I had to keep asking him what the question was because I was so distracted.

My teacher knows my name!

Okay. Before you jump to conclusions about my mental well-being, just remember that time when you were just in the ensemble in the school musical and somebody went out of their way to tell you how they loved your performance. Or the time you had on cute new shoes and the girl who sits behind you in math noticed. They noticed! You're not as invisible as you felt when you woke up this morning!

I'm just so impressed that my teacher, with so many other students to keep track of and having never spoken to me, knew my name.

So I sent him an email to thank him for going out of his way to not only make that class one of my favorite classes, but to help me feel important by learning my name.

That's it. That's my email. But I'm happy. Tomorrow, I think I'll skip to class singing Thoroughly Modern Millie, or something.

If my darn flu will calm down. Shots don't work. They're fake. I want to meet the psychotic human being that started this mess of sticking needles into children. I'll slap him. With my left arm, because my right one is paralyzed.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Lizzie (yes, her name is Lizzie and her teacher knows it), who slipped under her covers and fell asleep. Oh, that sounds so good. Goodnight.

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