The last time I was in school was over twenty years ago, when I decided to drop out of college. I decided to go back to school because I woke up one morning and had the revelation that there is no future for an old working man "aging out" like me in a small town like Jamestown. This is why, at the age of forty-eight, I decided to sit in a classroom to do what is necessary to pursue a decent career. In my first semester in the classroom, I not only learned what kind of student I am, but I also learned that there are good and "bad" teachers and I don't know which one I'll get. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an Original Essay In most cases, good teachers are defined by students as “interesting,” “easy,” or “helpful,” and my personal definition of a good teacher is someone who has a positive contribution to my educational journey. A good teacher is someone who will teach me what I need to learn, so I don't look like a fool when I enter the "real" world of work. In my first semester at Columbia College, I had experienced teachers who were good. They were good because they provided emotional support when overwhelmed students felt the workload was too much to handle. One teacher not only hugged me during one of my "stress test" moments, but also made sure to give me all the support I needed so I wouldn't get discouraged. Basically, a good teacher will go above and beyond the call of duty to help a student achieve his or her goal. Unfortunately, as much as there are good teachers, there are also bad teachers. I had witnessed and experienced such atrocity. I had a teacher who reduced students' attendance at school by blurting out "you don't learn in class, you only learn by doing homework" and all I can do in response is give her that questioning look without saying it out loud "what do we do at school?" and “what do we need teachers for?” I took English 151 earlier this semester, and as excited as I was to entertain the thought that I could learn to write decently, that excitement had instead turned into a nightmare. My excitement stemmed from my passion for writing and the belief that writing can be such a powerful tool; it can be used as a weapon capable of destroying a person, place or organization. Writing can also be used as a positive tool to open doors, minds and change a life, build a civilization, create a country and even the world. Not only did I not learn to write correctly, but I also developed a strong "fear" of it from all the homework I did, the grades of which confirmed that my writing had not improved. Months had passed, still waiting for that light bulb to go on, but instead I watched my self-esteem slowly dissipate and I developed paranoia that "I'm not good enough nor do I have the wits to write." I stopped writing my diary; I have a sweaty panic attack while writing a quick note to an employer. I didn't drop the class because I was failing, in fact I was getting a "B" before the class was dropped. Deep inside me there was something wrong. My vote didn't reflect what I had inside, which was a big bungled confusion that made me realize that "I just don't understand". I had decided that I would not have a grade dictating what I know and don't know, which gave me the courage to drop that class. I confided in my counselor, in tears, shaking with frustration, and then she suggested I take the course with Mr..