It was the first day of freshmen year. Looking down at my crinkled purple schedule as I raced through the hallway, I saw I started off with science, health, and math. Two words: Oh boy. On that first day, I had already learned about velocity, quadratic equations, and thankfully, where the nearest bathrooms where. I felt completely out of my element with a hint of nausea; that is, until I walked into my fourth hour. English…finally something I am good at, I thought taking the seat in the last row. I look up, and to my surprise, I see a five foot freckle-faced lady leaning into a microphone chanting “We takin’ ova!” a popular hit known by the teenage generation now butchered by my teacher.
Ms. Frohmader was not a usual back-to-basics high school English teacher; every class started off with a story. Whether it was about her husband (a hypochondriac, as she would describe it) being rushed to the emergency room for a small cut or bump, or ten squad cars showing up at her neighbors house with the green shutters. “It was a drug bust,” she would yell. Never was there a dull moment. Never was there a time I wasn’t smiling so big my cheeks hurt. Ms. Frohmader made my English experience unique from anyone else’s; she made every class personal with ending with a lesson, a moral. She taught us grammar without a single kid falling asleep—that accomplishment should be awarded a gold medal. Her teaching? Special. Her impact on my high school career? Irreplaceable.