My sophomore year, while stuck in South Campus, the legendary Andy Freeburg entered my life. I heard remarkable tales of Freeburg from my older siblings, ranging from the (various meat related) jokes on his AP English quizzes to how he proposed to his wife (a simple, “Hey, do you want to get married?” while they brushed their teeth one morning). Being the youngest in my family, I thought having Freeburg as a teacher was an initiation into adulthood, and I lucked out, receiving him for Modern Literature in my junior year.
Freeburg started the first day of class by giving us our seating arrangement. Then he discussed how assigned seats were disrespectful and said from then on, he would treat us as adults. He was trusting us to handle ourselves and do our work. Continuing with typical first day housework, he did roll call. Upon reaching my name, he let out an intrigued “Isberner...” Although obviously reflecting on previous experience with my siblings, he resisted commenting, further proof he thought of us as real people. We were not just students he was forced to teach. We were not carbon copies of older siblings. We were individuals with our own stories.
He never failed in this effort. Every day, he opened the floor for our interpretations of the previous night’s reading, always willing to listen to our opinions. If we had questions on the symbolism of a scene, he answered after weighing each word. He refused to tell us there was a right way to view the books we studied. This frustrated many students, but pushed so many others to further develop their own opinions.
The projects we did in Modern Literature also encouraged us to compare the books we read to things we had read in the past, discover archetypes, and do further research on the topics that interested us. If students were not comfortable doing this, he would give them essays, but he still pushed them to improve their writing by making teacher edits mandatory. The tests we took were impossible if a student had not read the book. He pushed us in order to demonstrate answers in the future would not be spoon fed, in class or in real life.
Inside the classroom, Freeburg showed his humanity by being interested in what he taught and in what his students had to say. Outside the classroom, he showed his humanity by setting aside time for his students. He responded to emails no matter what. When I began writing poetry, thanks to a haiku writing activity in his class, he was willing to read my work and give constructive criticism. In turn, he trusted me to give feedback on some of his poems.
When I approached him with my family issues, he listened and reminded me I was almost out of the house and it would get easier over time. He pointed out my life was whatever I made it. This advice melded with a lesson I had learned in class--how to be introspective. I came to carry greater respect for myself and my opinions. This was key after spending most of high school criticizing everything I did. I was increasingly aware I create something worth reading, so trusting him with my work was important. I submitted poems, articles, and the beginning stages of a novel for his evaluation. With a mix of glowing reviews and constructive criticism, I became vastly more confident in my ability to not only write, but to write well.
As my junior year ended, I was helping Freeburg sort his papers into piles of AP English, Modern Literature, and Miscellaneous. While sorting, he handed me a familiar paper, and said, “One of your articles: Miscellaneous. I’ll keep it for when you’re famous.” Whether I live up to his predictions or not, my friendship with Freeburg has made me a better writer and person, propelling me closer to success, in all areas of life, than I would have been without him.
Having Freeburg as a teacher was not an initiation into adulthood, nor was it exactly how I imagined after hearing about him from my siblings. Being in his class was never easy or monotonous. He knew what his students were capable of and pushed us to reach that end. This is why Andy Freeburg deserves to win this contest.