Graf #2
Worst Teacher
“Can anyone tell Amy what she did wrong besides showing up this morning?” I stood at the board looking at the answer I had given. I thought that it looked right and, red-faced was trying to search out the mistake before anyone else could find it. The room was silent. Apparently they couldn’t find the error or were as embarrassed for me as I was for myself by Mrs. Connelly’s obvious disdain for my very existence. The problem was correct. All of the numbers were in the right place and the equal sign was surrounded by figures that made it a true statement.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with it, Mrs. Connelly.”
“That’s because you don’t have the sense of a mule.”
I walked out of her class. I didn’t bother to pick up my books or my bag. All I wanted was out.
Mrs. Connelly was my tenth grade Algebra II instructor for six weeks. She was 5’2” with a “distrust of tall women”. Those were her words, several times a day, at least every time I stood up. If, God forbid, I wore the boots with the 2-inch heels of which I was so fond the remarks were more caustic and the “tsks” never ending.
Things were different then, I suppose. I wouldn’t tolerate an instructor treating my sons in that manner but then it was an acceptable means of teaching. Perhaps a precursor to the “tough love” that was so popular in the late 80’s.
When I left her classroom that day I swore with my whole being that I wouldn’t go back. I did. I didn’t have a choice. I was given detention for 3 days and she smirked at me for the remaining days that I was there. Thankfully, at least in this case, we moved before she had the opportunity to humiliate me again in her class and before I could unleash the scorpion temper that I was known for in those days.
She’s dead now to be sure. I estimated her age to be somewhere in the 6.24 x 1022 range and that was in the late 70’s. I consider myself to be a fairly reasonable, forgiving person but there’s a part of me that hopes that in some little way, before her death she got to feel the sting of humiliation that she was so fond of doling out.
“Can anyone tell Amy what she did wrong besides showing up this morning?” I stood at the board looking at the answer I had given. I thought that it looked right and, red-faced was trying to search out the mistake before anyone else could find it. The room was silent. Apparently they couldn’t find the error or were as embarrassed for me as I was for myself by Mrs. Connelly’s obvious disdain for my very existence. The problem was correct. All of the numbers were in the right place and the equal sign was surrounded by figures that made it a true statement.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with it, Mrs. Connelly.”
“That’s because you don’t have the sense of a mule.”
I walked out of her class. I didn’t bother to pick up my books or my bag. All I wanted was out.
Mrs. Connelly was my tenth grade Algebra II instructor for six weeks. She was 5’2” with a “distrust of tall women”. Those were her words, several times a day, at least every time I stood up. If, God forbid, I wore the boots with the 2-inch heels of which I was so fond the remarks were more caustic and the “tsks” never ending.
Things were different then, I suppose. I wouldn’t tolerate an instructor treating my sons in that manner but then it was an acceptable means of teaching. Perhaps a precursor to the “tough love” that was so popular in the late 80’s.
When I left her classroom that day I swore with my whole being that I wouldn’t go back. I did. I didn’t have a choice. I was given detention for 3 days and she smirked at me for the remaining days that I was there. Thankfully, at least in this case, we moved before she had the opportunity to humiliate me again in her class and before I could unleash the scorpion temper that I was known for in those days.
She’s dead now to be sure. I estimated her age to be somewhere in the 6.24 x 1022 range and that was in the late 70’s. I consider myself to be a fairly reasonable, forgiving person but there’s a part of me that hopes that in some little way, before her death she got to feel the sting of humiliation that she was so fond of doling out.
posted by millay at 3:50 PM
1 Comments:
I don't think verbal abuse was ever part of the preferred methodology for teachers, but it did use to be less hidden and was easily rationalized (I've been in lots of teachers' lounges) as putting your foot down, setting boundaries, showing who's boss, etc--all tripe, of course.
Anyway, this works very well. The reader appreciates your bouncing around, the zoom, the pull-back, the voice-over, the double close, and so on. It's all under control, reins all in your hands.
Post a Comment
<< Home