Mostly I cried. Or hid in the bathroom and cry. My teacher usually told me to buck-up. Stop crying. As a nine year old girl I felt lost and alone. All I wanted was for someone to stick up for me. For someone to tell me it was okay.
It never came that year.
Is it weird that I looked that teacher up? She still teaches at that same school and that same grade. Is it weird that I want to write to her and tell her she failed me? That when I needed a champion she wasn't there. That instead of bringing me up, she tore me down. That she failed to see my home life sucked bananas and that school made my life a living hell.
What would she say? What could she say? You think after 25 plus years she'd even remember me? Would me telling her all this make it any better for another girl or boy who struggles or whose school is their only safe haven.
Isn't funny that to this day she has this on her parent site...
"I do not shield them from all unhappy or trying experiences in the classroom or the playground, or fight their battles for them. Instead, I try to help them meet and face their problems now."I almost laughed. Not because it was funny. It was an uncomfortable laugh. That uncomfortable laugh you have when you are too sad to cry or too angry to yell. That laugh of 25 plus years of hurt and pain bottled up so there is no other emotion then uncomfortable laughing.
She doesn't get it and she never will.
I am not sure a emotional email from me will help.
Because 25 years later it wasn't her ignoring the problem that helped me face "all my battles."
And as much as this one bad teacher caused me hurt, there has been nameless others who have guided me on the right path. Those are the teachers that taught me, in a loving and caring way, to fight my battles head on. The teachers who saw my hurt and worked tirelessly to help me, these are the people I want to remember.
I still remember their names and classrooms. When I close my eyes I can still smell the chalk and remember every inch of their classrooms. Where the books rested. Where the pencil sharpener was. I still have a Christmas "Thank You" note, from one of my favorite teachers. I gave her potpourri sachet. And I remember all this because she touched me in a positive way. And gave me hope and love.
To all the good teachers out there, Thank you!!!
And to that one bad one: please remember we are little and we need you.
So advice: as much as I know this one bad teacher will not change, should I contact her? Would you?