#partly because if mr. c. apologized there must be something worth figuring out

[sweaterkittensahoy]

One of the greatest English teachers I ever had was a slow reader. And I think part of the reason I get so annoyed at people missing the point of character arcs and plot choices is because he taught us all how to look for and understand those things.

He taught 10th grade Honors English (AP without an overall exam at the end). There were 13 of us. We had a running joke that Mr. C. was trying to kill us all because his reading list was super fucking depressing. If I recall correctly:

The Bridge of San Luis Rey (five people die when a bridge collapses)

On the Beach (nuclear fallout)

Hiroshima (about the actual atom bomb hitting the city)

Catcher in the Rye (more on this one in a moment)

Hawthorne poetry (honestly, it's wiped from my memory, but I recall dreariness)

1984 (more on this one as well)

And, after all of those, he handed us Dandelion Wine, a Ray Bradbury book about recognizing you are mortal but also recognizing life is beautiful and wonderful. We teased him unceasingly for waiting so long to give us a book with any positive feelings.

That being said, any time anyone mentions having to read "Catcher in the Rye" and being mad it's just "some sad little fucker who needs to get over himself," I remember Mr. C.

Mr. C., asking us what Holden Caulfield is so upset for at the beginning of the book. And someone said, "He flunked out," and someone said, "His parents ignore him," and someone said, "He realized his favorite teacher is a creep."

And Mr. C. went, "No. No. No. Come on. You know. I KNOW you know. What other things are talked about? What major things happen?"

And one of the quiet kids said something half under her breath, and Mr. C. froze like he'd taken a shock, and he turned towards her and said, "What'd you say?" And she shied away, and he got gentler (a rare thing) and said, "Please, say what you said a little louder."

And she said loudly enough for all of us to hear, "The death of his brother."

And Mr. C.--not a demonstrative man--slapped a hand on his desk and said, "YES! YES!"

And I remember sitting there and thinking, "Okay, I remember there's some mention of that happening, but I don't really recall any details."

And then Mr. C. explained how the whole story is about Holden making terrible decisions because he's lost his beloved brother. At that point in my life, I'd lost a few people who meant a lot to me. I knew the shape and decisions of ignoring my feelings because I didn't want to feel them. But I wasn't yet mature enough to see that in fiction.

Mr. C., the slow reader, taught me how to spend time with a book and see beyond the top layer. He gave me a gift in the messy ways Holden Caulfield deals with his grief because he, like me, was just a kid trying to figure shit out while not really trusting adults.

And I think were it not for Mr. C.'s slow reading, I never would have learned that.

if you make fun of people for reading slowly im going to start handing you a comprehension worksheet every time you finish a book