When you think of elementary, kindergarten, and preschool teachers, you think of that pretty but slightly boho blonde fresh out of college who loves children but isn't ready to have her own, so she goes for a teaching job in a quiet town where she can have her own class of thirty.
No.
Not in this case.
My teachers Mrs. DH, and I got along very well for quite a long time.
I thought she was perfect.
Her hatred for me started during one mundane show-and-tell day.
She asked everyone to bring their favorite something from home. Now, what I brought was pretty awesome; I didn't bring it to brag, but that must have been what she thought.
Everyone came with Barbie dolls (of which I had many), their favorite football, or a book they liked to be read at night.
Not me,
I brought my favorite stuffed animal:
Yes. It was a six-foot orca whale. And I was damn proud of that thing. I curled up with it when I slept.
The kids thought it was pretty cool. It should have blown their minds, but they weren't very cultured, so I didn't blame them.
Mrs. DH on the other hand, she became hideously jealous of my orca. She favored him, petted him, stood by him. I could see her beedy little eyes watch him from across the room. She wrung her hands as if she was fighting the disgusting urge to take my whale.
That's a felony.
I was able to save him from her, but this was only the beginning.
There were small events during which she departed her anger and jealousy on me.
But there was one time that has scarred me until this day.
It's hard to talk about...
We were given a project to make a tipi.
She gave us a flat of cardboard, some sticks, a paper bag... and that's it.
We were supposed to rub and crinkle the paper bag until it was soft, and then wrap it around sticks to make the tipi.
She told us to go home and bring it in at the end of the week.
I went all out.
Mine was majestic.
Downfall.
I brought my project to school, hoping to get the praise and admiration my hard work deserved.
But little did I know, Mrs. DH had it out for me.
When she saw me coming, holding my cardboard set in front of me like the Queen's crown, she knew that I had exceeded her expectations.
She looked upon it, baffled by the glory before her eyes; my tipi was flawless, I had created a little fireplace, glued rocks and my Pocahontas doll on....
She ripped me a new one and sent home a note for my parents, who she yelled at for the greater part of the afternoon. She was angry that I had added elements not supplied by the school. It wasn't gradeable on a fair scale. She failed that assignment.
Moral of the story?
It doesn't matter how hard you try, because someone will always shit on your tipi.
Coming soon:: Illiteracy
No comments:
Post a Comment