Coming here was all wrong. Wrong country. Wrong school. Wrong scene when I gazed out my window--cows grazing instead of children playing. Making matters worse my brother was newborn, and the move took place well into my grade one school year.
Dad had accepted a promotion but we had to move from Canada to the States. Looking back, I can't see that he had much choice if he was going to support his family in a middle-class fashion. But we gave up a lot, not the least of which was our entire extended family and all of our friends, a neighbourhood full of families and sidewalks, and people that spoke proper English and had proper manners. It was quite a trade-off and given that the veracity of crystal balls couldn't be relied upon, I suppose that it was on the surface the best choice.
I transfered into Judson School Elementary into a class full of openly hostile children. I found out within the first month the reason why: Miss Libby.
For the most part, I have only faint memories of what was the worst year of my pre-adolescent childhood. I remember the first day of school--in December when Miss Libby insisted that I stand up with her in the front of the class as she explained to them that I was from " Canada." I could tell from the quizzical looks on the kid's faces that Canada could have been Siberia for all they knew.
That was about the only courtesy I recall in that class. What stands out more was how many days I would either dissolve in tears at my desk or, if I was particularly strong that day I waited until the bus dropped me off and then sobbed on the walk home. All I could think of was how much I missed my Grandma. She was the polar opposite of Miss Libby.
Miss Libby had a "thing" for orderliness and it's seems I couldn't conform to her standards. While the other kids had months to have "adjusted" to her standards I was expected to adopt them immediately. When I didn't, Miss Libby did not attempt to mask her disgust.
Two instances of how she showed just what she thought of the 6-year old foreigner in her class stand out.
Once, when we were taking turns printing our names on the chalkboard when my turn came I did so, only I hadn't quite gotten the hang of the "N" in CINDY. I made the N in it's mirror image and for some reason I'll not ever understand this infuriated her. She lashed out at me verbally, calling me stupid and sending me into yet another round of tears. Boy, did the kids eat that up.
On the heels of that one day, I think just before Christmas break, she examined my desk and found that the extra papers I'd crammed in there upset her greatly. With a stream of insults spewing from her thin lips and in front of the entire class who had stopped to take in this spectacle, she ordered me out of my chair and then tipped my desk to it's side, spilling the entire contents on the floor. If a person could die from embarrassment I would have gladly done so. Then she ordered me to get down on the floor and clean it up while they watched. Again, tears spilled from my eyes blurring the sight of the jumbled mess of books, papers, and pencils.
Miss Libby left an indelible mark on me. I'd bet if one could actually see one's psyche there it would be, angry and red.
I tend to be of a forgiving nature but I'll will never forget nor forgive this creature who was my first grade teacher.
Just a bit of advice on this, National Teacher Appreciation Day. Teachers make a tremendous impact on their students. Please, if you don't like children do not become a teacher. It's as simple as that.
Also, thinking that the stick-figure characters look much like what they mean?
Not so good either.
That said, I think it is the best site I've seen this year.