I guess I was fortunate Ruth, as I had supportive teachers throughout my educational journey. I am still in contact with a couple via Facebook and texting.
One in particular changed my life by asking me to help coach a 5 & 6th grade basketball team at my former school after he learned I had been cut from the HS freshman team. I accepted the offer and ended up coaching at various levels for 48 years. I was also cut from my sophomore and varsity teams after trying out.
Making friends at 6 or 7 years of age was easy and I've kept a couple of those throughout my life. A true blessing. I'm glad they supported. I hope you still have those gemstones.
I had a high school English teacher who was just a terrible person. As the kid who was bullied by others in my class, I would report problems to this woman who just brushed me off and told me to sit down. For a period of time, a girl in the class would sit behind me and write on the back of my neck in black Sharpie pen and said teacher would do nothing. Finally, upon arriving at class one morning, I told this instructor I was not responsible for what I did to stop this girl from her daily writings. Again told to sit down, I just waited. My wait was rewarded with a renewed attempt at writing on my neck, only this time I turned in one fluid motion, swung my fist, connected and broke her nose.
The teacher, of course, denied having been told anything. She waged a war to have me expelled as a problem child who needed help. My father, God bless him, waged an equally fierce war against her as he knew I was telling the truth. He couldn't understand why this woman had gone to battle, until finally meeting her face to face.
This woman and her then fiancee apparently approached my father about being married in my father's church (Dad was a UCC minister). Since the woman was, at the time, not yet divorced, he refused. She held a grudge ever since. When I arrived in her English class, her revenge was hatched.
Dad's war was as ruthless and intense as could be possible from a 74-year old minister. It resulted in her being terminated by the town for cause. And while she eventually hooked on with another city to teach, the point was made.
And what happened to the girl who's nose I broke? I honestly don't know as I haven't kept in touch with classmates, nor do I want to. But that's a story for another time.
Oh, I must politely disagree with you. A teacher calling you Motor Mouth in 2nd grade? And keeping it up later in your school years? That's reprehensible and, frankly, disgusting. What a terrible person. I wonder...what made her such a terrible person?
I had a meanie for fourth grade. Once she added a note to my parents on my report card that I talked and combed my hair too much in class (that was in the era where keeping a big comb in your back pocket was "fashion"). I was outraged and denied it vehemently, so my parents went and talked to her about it; turned out she had me mixed up with another girl in class.
Later in life I thought about her as a person, rather than the mean teacher. I learned she had been a nun, and that explained a lot about her approach to her job.
I rarely opened my mouth in class in first grade at a Catholic school. When we lined up to go to the bathroom, we were supposed to be silent. That was enforced by a fellow student who our teacher, a nun, appointed as bathroom monitor. So, one day I dutifully stay silent and return to the classroom. A while later, the monitor returns and says, "Sister, Kathy talked in the bathroom." The nun calls me up in front of the class and asks if I talked. "No, Sister," I reply. Wham! She smacks me across the face for lying to her. Then the monitor meekly says, "No, Sister, it was Kathy S" (the other Kathy in our classroom). The nun never apologized and I never forgot it. She lasted one year as a teacher.
Maybe 10? We were organized alphabetically, so I sat next to the true hair comber (I was far more outraged by being erroneously accused of preening than of being chatty, an position my parents shared, I believe) -- she and I were both "LBs."
After reading Kathy's comment, I tried to remember if she ever struck us. I don't really recall specifically either way, but I do have icky feelings about the long wooden pointer she used, so I suspect maybe it was used on at least one kid at some point. Or maybe that was part of her legend. She was DREADED.
My parents told us about the vicious corporal punishment they got from teachers as kids in South Africa. Beating their knuckles until they were raw and bleeding. I don’t understand at all what lesson that teaches other than to hate school.
I guess I was fortunate Ruth, as I had supportive teachers throughout my educational journey. I am still in contact with a couple via Facebook and texting.
One in particular changed my life by asking me to help coach a 5 & 6th grade basketball team at my former school after he learned I had been cut from the HS freshman team. I accepted the offer and ended up coaching at various levels for 48 years. I was also cut from my sophomore and varsity teams after trying out.
Making friends at 6 or 7 years of age was easy and I've kept a couple of those throughout my life. A true blessing. I'm glad they supported. I hope you still have those gemstones.
You write beautifully. Thanks for sharing.
And it’s wonderful that you still keep in touch with some of them, and made lifelong friends. That’s special.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read all of these. Means the world to me.
I had a high school English teacher who was just a terrible person. As the kid who was bullied by others in my class, I would report problems to this woman who just brushed me off and told me to sit down. For a period of time, a girl in the class would sit behind me and write on the back of my neck in black Sharpie pen and said teacher would do nothing. Finally, upon arriving at class one morning, I told this instructor I was not responsible for what I did to stop this girl from her daily writings. Again told to sit down, I just waited. My wait was rewarded with a renewed attempt at writing on my neck, only this time I turned in one fluid motion, swung my fist, connected and broke her nose.
The teacher, of course, denied having been told anything. She waged a war to have me expelled as a problem child who needed help. My father, God bless him, waged an equally fierce war against her as he knew I was telling the truth. He couldn't understand why this woman had gone to battle, until finally meeting her face to face.
This woman and her then fiancee apparently approached my father about being married in my father's church (Dad was a UCC minister). Since the woman was, at the time, not yet divorced, he refused. She held a grudge ever since. When I arrived in her English class, her revenge was hatched.
Dad's war was as ruthless and intense as could be possible from a 74-year old minister. It resulted in her being terminated by the town for cause. And while she eventually hooked on with another city to teach, the point was made.
And what happened to the girl who's nose I broke? I honestly don't know as I haven't kept in touch with classmates, nor do I want to. But that's a story for another time.
Wow. This is quite the story. It seems like we all have one. But mine was nothing compared to this!
Oh, I must politely disagree with you. A teacher calling you Motor Mouth in 2nd grade? And keeping it up later in your school years? That's reprehensible and, frankly, disgusting. What a terrible person. I wonder...what made her such a terrible person?
Not to make excuses for her, but I think she hated her job and probably kids. But there wasn’t much else she could do as a woman in that era.
I had a meanie for fourth grade. Once she added a note to my parents on my report card that I talked and combed my hair too much in class (that was in the era where keeping a big comb in your back pocket was "fashion"). I was outraged and denied it vehemently, so my parents went and talked to her about it; turned out she had me mixed up with another girl in class.
Later in life I thought about her as a person, rather than the mean teacher. I learned she had been a nun, and that explained a lot about her approach to her job.
How many girls were in your class that she could have mixed you up like that??
I rarely opened my mouth in class in first grade at a Catholic school. When we lined up to go to the bathroom, we were supposed to be silent. That was enforced by a fellow student who our teacher, a nun, appointed as bathroom monitor. So, one day I dutifully stay silent and return to the classroom. A while later, the monitor returns and says, "Sister, Kathy talked in the bathroom." The nun calls me up in front of the class and asks if I talked. "No, Sister," I reply. Wham! She smacks me across the face for lying to her. Then the monitor meekly says, "No, Sister, it was Kathy S" (the other Kathy in our classroom). The nun never apologized and I never forgot it. She lasted one year as a teacher.
We do never forget. I'm not sure why these people get into the profession when they are not cut out for it. Or seem to enjoy hurting children.
Maybe 10? We were organized alphabetically, so I sat next to the true hair comber (I was far more outraged by being erroneously accused of preening than of being chatty, an position my parents shared, I believe) -- she and I were both "LBs."
After reading Kathy's comment, I tried to remember if she ever struck us. I don't really recall specifically either way, but I do have icky feelings about the long wooden pointer she used, so I suspect maybe it was used on at least one kid at some point. Or maybe that was part of her legend. She was DREADED.
My parents told us about the vicious corporal punishment they got from teachers as kids in South Africa. Beating their knuckles until they were raw and bleeding. I don’t understand at all what lesson that teaches other than to hate school.