During my grade ten, where the stress levels are notoriously high, and the fun levels can be pretty low, one English teacher turned what could have been a snooze fest into a high-octane drama class. Imagine trying to keep a straight face when Hamlet's soliloquy suddenly sounds like a disgruntled old man is delivering it from downtown Brooklyn.

This teacher wasn't just an English fan; he was a one-man voiceover army. Each character we read about got a special voice, making Shakespeare way more fun and turning every class into a comedy show. We were supposed to be serious grade 10 students, barely holding in our giggles as Mr Darcy proposed to Elizabeth Bennet, sounding suspiciously like a lovesick pirate.

But it wasn't all laughs and impersonations. This teacher could spot a dangling modifier from a mile away when writing. He'd take my essays, scribble in what I assumed was some form of English, and patiently sit down with me to untangle my thoughts and syntax. "Let's crack this code together," he'd say, never making me feel bad for my sometimes less-than-stellar attempts. Those sessions were gold—not only did my essays improve, but so did my confidence.

He also wasn't shy about stirring up a bit of controversy with his interpretations. This teacher could make a compelling case for Jay Gatsby being a more effective role model than Mother Teresa—and make you actually consider it for a second. His unexpected takes kept us on our toes and taught us to always look at arguments from every angle, even to figure out how on earth he'd come up with his latest theory.

So, as I bid adieu to these memorable English classes, I have to give it up to a teacher who made us laugh, think, and debate passionately. He made literature come alive in a way that no movie or YouTube video could. Thanks to him, I'm better at understanding the weird and wonderful ways of English and appreciating the weird and wonderful perspectives of people. And I've got a decent pirate accent, just in case it ever comes in handy!