Madame was my favorite teacher ever. Most of her students after French II were in it because they loved French, and those are the classes she related to the most. She got to know us, discovered our interests, and applied them to the French culture, language, and/or history.

I won’t go into too much detail about why I had to keep in touch with her, but know that it was her wisdom that sparked my interest in philosophy.

So I successfully accomplished this goal by visiting her for a second time this year. I would’ve gone more, but I’m not too fond of re-entering the high school experience. The boys still tackle eachother in the halls, things are thrown and strewn everywhere—it all makes me think about how I’ve grown out of that, and as much as I wasn’t the rowdy type then, I couldn’t even manage to place myself there now.

Madame recalled all the memories of our classes, and how I claimed the same seat in the corner every year. She showed me all of the relics she had from things I did. For instance, she kept a stupid 10pt assignment because I drew something more than stick figures performing the actions. There was also the scrap book we presented her for making Les Mis during our last performance (which I hardly even remembered). It’s funny and scary to see everything still exactly as it was when I left it.