Optical Allusionist

When applying at the end of my sophomore year to take mythology, I was only a little apprehensive at the adventure I could be in for. Sure, I'd studied parts of mythology from Disney's "Hercules", and a short fraction of my eighth grade year dedicated to such a study, so how hard could it be? Months later, class schedules were sent in the mail to eager students. As usual, I emailed my schedule out to many friends, interested in possible course similarities. Almost immediately, emails began to pour in. "Mrs. Nehrer? Man, I am so sorry you've got her." "You've got Mrs. Nehrer? Yeesh!"
The class came quickly, and before I knew it, I was sitting in her class, waiting as she took roll. Smiling sincerely, and struggling to read the paper in front of her, she called out each name. Finally, with an inward sigh of excitement, she set the clipboard down, and introduced herself. "Hello, humans!" The day was full of Kohlberg's theory of moral development, and the emphasis on births and deaths in life and in society. Contrary to what I had heard, I was enjoying the class, even if Mrs. Nehrer seemed a little queer in her habits.
Two days passed, and I entered her classroom once again. The board still held signs of the previous lesson, but I was sure that, though elderly, she surely wouldn't be teaching the same lesson again. Unfortunately, soon into the period I realized why what I was hearing sounded so familiar. She had taught us the same thing last time. But delving into Kohlberg isn't that boring, so I still found a bit of enjoyment in the discussion.
The third day in her class, and she had not yet erased her notes. "No," I thought, "No one would teach the same lesson three times in a row." It seems the term "no one" does not apply to Mrs. Nehrer. Settling on an ageist theory, I decided it must be due to her unnaturally old age for the average teacher. "Her brain must not remember things like that 'cause she's just a little too old for this job", I explained to myself, simultaneously pleading to the heavens that she wouldn't teach the lesson again.
The next lesson came, and, throughout the semester, we moved onto Oedipus, Antigone, and Prometheus. I allowed myself the freedom of gaining a new perspective, not only from, but of, Mrs. Nehrer. From the beginning, she saw each student as an individual, and wanted to treat them, and trust them, from what she had seen in her class, instead of what she had heard from fellow teachers.
I spoke with Mrs. Nehrer in the hall once. Somehow the topic of the overly-crowded hallways came up. When I was just about to open my mouth and selfishly worry about any tardies that I might get, resulting from the crowd, she sincerely told me that she worried that such a crowd may make it easy to lose one's identity and individuality. While I saw the crowd and saw problems, she saw the crowd and saw people.
Mrs. Nehrer says "Hello, humans", and "Humans, please listen", and other such phrases. I've heard many students make fun of that, or express their frustration with it. I agreed with them, until I understood why she said that. Mrs. Nehrer puts a heavy weight in her lessons on the importance of the individual, and the need to respect others as human beings. When she calls her students "humans", she isn't recognizing their species; she is recognizing their right to be respected as a human being. Now, if you choose not to show her the respect she deserves as your teacher, it makes it harder for her to display her respect for you.
When Sierra Woodward committed suicide last year, Mrs. Nehrer, knowingly against the wishes of the school board, spoke, and led a discussion with my class about the suicide, why the school board would ask the administration to be quiet about it, and how terribly wrong that was. Mrs. Nehrer gave herself the freedom to be upset about the way teachers or administration ran the school, but each time she was vocally upset, it was because she felt the students had been cheated out of something. She has a strong sense of what is right, and what is wrong. If it had been you who had died, and your death that had been quieted, she would be the teacher talking about it.
You may hold no respect for Mrs. Nehrer because she has lost your papers, or because she refers to you as a "human". Or maybe you just don't like the way she scratches her head with her pen. Perhaps it bothers you that she can become so excited about something she'll spend half of the lesson on it. Whatever measurement of respect you hold for Mrs. Nehrer, I know she holds a respect for you. Now, whether or not you deserve that respect is the question. So, who is this an evaluation of- Mrs. Nehrer, or her disgruntled students?