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After work at the law school today, I went to see Mrs. Quach and her fourth grade class, who came to visit the campus. She asked me to talk with them about school and how I got to UCLA and what I plan to do. I couldn't tell them what immediately came to mind--that I procrastinated all the time, that I no longer know what in the world I am going to do--so I just kind of told them the cliche "No matter what school you go to, try your best, and you can end up here!" In terms of what I plan to do after I graduate, I started vaguely, "Well, I have options..." But apparently, options are good. Goodness, I would be a terrible college representative, haha. Unless I can fake excitement and make up stories... Nah.
As I left the group, I said farewell to my dearest, one and only fourth grade teacher. And I asked, "Wait, so... Mrs. Quach, or Tammie?" I think she actually does prefer that I call her by her first name! But I really can't bring myself to... It's so weird. I've gotten used to calling my superiors at work by their first names. But I still refer to my professors by their surnames! And just because I'm older now doesn't mean I should refer to my elementary school teachers by their first names! Something like that... I don't know. I've just always been taught to refer to adults by mister or missus, auntie or uncle. In short, I think I'll just continue calling Mrs. Quach what I've always known her by. So if you're reading this... Hello, Mrs. Quach! And I meant what I said today about how much that first essay contest meant to me! :)
A long time ago, I briefly wrote about Mrs. Inafuku and her influence on me. Actually, now that I look back on that, I didn't really explicate that story, huh?
Well, I suppose it's story time!
Distinctly, I remember one day in third grade, when my mother had come to talk with Mrs. Inafuku for parent conference. It was just a few minutes after school, and we three were the only ones in room 16. While the adults talked (presumably about my performance in class), I walked around the classroom and looked at all of the posted work, lingering at the cabinet with all of the third-grader-handwritten paragraphs and third-grader-drawn pictures posted on it. Meanwhile, I overheard Mrs. Inafuku tell my mother that I wrote well and that I had potential in writing. Upon hearing this compliment, I lit up and looked at my own paragraph on that cabinet door, thinking, "Hey... Maybe I should be a writer!"
And it stuck with me.
A year later, in fourth grade, I joined my very first essay contest, thanks to the encouragement of Mrs. Quach. The theme was "Living the American Dream." I had no idea what that even meant! But with plenty of assistance and motivation from Mrs. Quach, I ended up winning first place in my division, yay! And guess what... My mother is still holding on to those savings bonds for me! Talk about racking up (low) interest! Back to the point: third grade was when I realized I wanted to be a writer, thanks to Mrs. Inafuku; fourth grade was when I started to embark on my journey as a writer, thanks to Mrs. Quach. She even told me today that she still has all the clippings of the Daily News contests I won! Sigh.
I used to think that middle school was a significant growing experience for me--and don't get me wrong, it was. I like to think that I learned and realized a lot about life that many people take longer to figure out, and I used my writing to express most of that. But now that I've written the previous paragraphs, I realize that elementary school was just as significant, because while I may not have learned about life, I did learn what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. And that, ladies and gentlemen, makes Mrs. Inafuku and Mrs. Quach the two most important teachers I have had. It's hard to believe that I realized my passion that early, and it's even harder to believe that I almost lost sight of this in the midst of my recent "I don't know what I want to or am going to do for the rest of my life!" turmoil. Undoubtedly, the passion is still there. Unfortunately and admittedly, the effort has been lacking. But perhaps it is precisely this lack of effort--definitely a euphemism for utter laziness--that has landed me in this uncertainty about my future. I could easily say that I'm going to change that, but as well all know, easier said than done.
But okay, I will try.
Oh, and an addendum: At the end of the year in fourth grade, Mrs. Quach gave each of us a gift; I don't remember if everybody got a dictionary, or if it was just me. But in any case, on a blank page in my big, old, blue dictionary, she wrote, "Wendy, Be a great writer someday!" along with a happy face with a tongue, followed by her signature, which I always admired.
So, maybe I'll be a great writer someday. After all, I already have my pen name (Can you figure it out?)! :)
As I left the group, I said farewell to my dearest, one and only fourth grade teacher. And I asked, "Wait, so... Mrs. Quach, or Tammie?" I think she actually does prefer that I call her by her first name! But I really can't bring myself to... It's so weird. I've gotten used to calling my superiors at work by their first names. But I still refer to my professors by their surnames! And just because I'm older now doesn't mean I should refer to my elementary school teachers by their first names! Something like that... I don't know. I've just always been taught to refer to adults by mister or missus, auntie or uncle. In short, I think I'll just continue calling Mrs. Quach what I've always known her by. So if you're reading this... Hello, Mrs. Quach! And I meant what I said today about how much that first essay contest meant to me! :)
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| Mrs. Quach in all her youth and glamour |
Well, I suppose it's story time!
Distinctly, I remember one day in third grade, when my mother had come to talk with Mrs. Inafuku for parent conference. It was just a few minutes after school, and we three were the only ones in room 16. While the adults talked (presumably about my performance in class), I walked around the classroom and looked at all of the posted work, lingering at the cabinet with all of the third-grader-handwritten paragraphs and third-grader-drawn pictures posted on it. Meanwhile, I overheard Mrs. Inafuku tell my mother that I wrote well and that I had potential in writing. Upon hearing this compliment, I lit up and looked at my own paragraph on that cabinet door, thinking, "Hey... Maybe I should be a writer!"
And it stuck with me.
A year later, in fourth grade, I joined my very first essay contest, thanks to the encouragement of Mrs. Quach. The theme was "Living the American Dream." I had no idea what that even meant! But with plenty of assistance and motivation from Mrs. Quach, I ended up winning first place in my division, yay! And guess what... My mother is still holding on to those savings bonds for me! Talk about racking up (low) interest! Back to the point: third grade was when I realized I wanted to be a writer, thanks to Mrs. Inafuku; fourth grade was when I started to embark on my journey as a writer, thanks to Mrs. Quach. She even told me today that she still has all the clippings of the Daily News contests I won! Sigh.
I used to think that middle school was a significant growing experience for me--and don't get me wrong, it was. I like to think that I learned and realized a lot about life that many people take longer to figure out, and I used my writing to express most of that. But now that I've written the previous paragraphs, I realize that elementary school was just as significant, because while I may not have learned about life, I did learn what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. And that, ladies and gentlemen, makes Mrs. Inafuku and Mrs. Quach the two most important teachers I have had. It's hard to believe that I realized my passion that early, and it's even harder to believe that I almost lost sight of this in the midst of my recent "I don't know what I want to or am going to do for the rest of my life!" turmoil. Undoubtedly, the passion is still there. Unfortunately and admittedly, the effort has been lacking. But perhaps it is precisely this lack of effort--definitely a euphemism for utter laziness--that has landed me in this uncertainty about my future. I could easily say that I'm going to change that, but as well all know, easier said than done.
But okay, I will try.
Oh, and an addendum: At the end of the year in fourth grade, Mrs. Quach gave each of us a gift; I don't remember if everybody got a dictionary, or if it was just me. But in any case, on a blank page in my big, old, blue dictionary, she wrote, "Wendy, Be a great writer someday!" along with a happy face with a tongue, followed by her signature, which I always admired.
So, maybe I'll be a great writer someday. After all, I already have my pen name (Can you figure it out?)! :)
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