My College English Professor - Edna?

I wish I could remember her name with certainty, that kind, graceful, generous woman. I was filled with trepidation on my first day in college. As a bit of a wild child, I'd skipped most of high school, really did not think of myself as college material.

One of my worst subjects was English. Failed it twice, finally passed it in summer school with a D, essentially because the teacher wanted me to go away. Those crazy high school days went by in a fog, a haze of years between 1972 and 1975. As a skin-of-my-teeth graduate with a 1.2 grade point average, I was in desperate need of education and training, but imagined myself beyond reclamation.

When I found a small college that would accept a student with my dismal record, I was stunned when I tested out of the first semester of Freshman Comp I, a fact which can only be attributed to my extensive reading. High school English? Still a foggy memory. My professor winked and said "see you next semester." Indeed she did, and that wink, coupled with a smile and her invitation ensured that I would appear in her class January 8, 1980.

We talked about essays and all manner of things I vaguely recalled from classes in junior high and high school. I never imagined I could write with any degree of proficiency, but I desperately wanted to pass the class and get it out of the way. My first essay was a trial. I agonized over the flow of it, the sound of it. I turned it in and awaited the judgment.

What happened next began a relationship that lasted throughout my years at that school. My work came back with an A+ and a scribbled red note which I treasure to this day: "You have a unique voice, I can't wait to hear more!"