I never got over the hell you put me through from 4th to 7h grade. Do you remember when you called me to your desk and repeated about five times that you "just didn't know what to do with me anymore"? In front of the whole class? My eyes were brimmed with tears and you just kept going, all because I had difficulty with my mathwork. I was a good student and a polite child, but that didn't matter. Instead of being patient and helping me understand, you gave up after your second try and publicly branded me a failure. I can pretty much pinpoint that incident as the moment my academic development froze. I was never afraid of asking for help before I entered your classroom, but now I won't ask questions because I'm too afraid. I'll turn red and stutter if I'm asked to answer a math question out loud and I'll shake if I have to work it on the blackboard. My heart beats a mile a minute when the teacher is deciding who to call on- the relief of hearing another name is absolutely undescribable. You're the reason my voice is so soft- I'm scared of speaking loudly and saying something stupid. You turned my life into a game of Avoid Ridicule and permanently tuned my mind to no-win. And you bullied me overtime when the children at school were already tearing me apart.
You were never in the room when they said I was ugly.
You were never paying attention when they threw things at me.
You were chatting to your colleagues when the kids excluded me from their games.
I spent some time sitting on the staircase during recess, Mrs. A. Do you remember? I do; it was a sad way to spend my 12th birthday. I'll forever credit you with using my most impressionable years to make me believe I'm a failure. If there's anything valuable you taught me, though, it's to never judge others or make them feel bad. Now I help others whenever I can and treat them as equals. I'll defend anyone who's being mistreated because no one deserves the heartache.