March 1, 2011

• My First Grade “monster”

  It was one of those days I looked forward to with both excitement and dread. It was the day we were to get our “class” pictures back. In that day and age, I don’t remember going through a picture selection process before we received the typical portrait package of 8×10′s; 5×7′s and wallet photos, so naturally, I was curious to see how they turned out. I had no clue. In fact, all through my school years my youthful vanity would set me up for the inevitable disappointment on this day and I would muse, ”I thought I’d look better than that”     

   

   

          

  3 years old (?)                                                   4 years old (?)

   

  

  5 years old (I was the tallest in my class until 9th grade)

   

   

  But on this day 40 years ago, I was standing at the back of the classroom as the teacher called the children up one by one to receive their portraits. The envelope containing the pictures had a transparent cut out on the front so you could see the happy student smiling back through the plastic film. It seems to me that I was the 3rd or 4th student called. The first several kids were summoned unceremoniously to the front but as she came to my photo, my teacher paused to examine it. It was then her students seemed to freeze in unison. She was an unpredictable sort, though at this point in the school year there was one thing we had all come to count on, and that was careful consideration of anything by this woman never resulted in anything positive. 

   

   

   

  We waited for the insanity bomb to drop and she didn’t disappoint. After chuckling to herself, she held my picture up to the classroom for inspection and laughed derisively, “Have you ever seen a more ugly thing in your life??!!” I remember glancing over to my right and seeing one of my classmates standing with her mouth open; eyes wide and standing stalk still. As I looked around the room I noticed the entire room held the same posture. Nobody laughed. Nobody spoke. No one even flinched. Once again, they were stunned. I could almost hear them wondering to themselves, “Sure, we kids can be cruel, but what kind of adult ridicules children?”    Not normal ones.   After finishing a long critique of my photo, she called me to the front of the class. At this point, the evaluation of my picture had been made and as I walked back to my seat I looked down at the image staring back at me and I saw exactly what my teacher saw.  Ugliness.  

   

   

   

  Fortunately for the rest of my classmates she had vented her illness on me that morning and they were able to acquire their pictures in peace. Years later, the parents of children from her other classes found out that she had locked kids in the closet for “misbehaving”. I seriously doubt any of her students really misbehaved. She was just crazy. At any rate, this never happened to me. I was often berated for being ugly and stupid but she never did anything physical to me and I don’t recall her treating others in my class this way. No doubt, she had a model classroom. The woman knew how provoke the very best behavior from her students. I suspect she could have single handedly driven the mischief out of Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer.  

   

           

  *My teacher was “Larsonesque” in appearance*

   

   

   

  My first grade year had a tremendous impact on my life. It was the kind of impact that wasn’t readily apparent but would manifest itself in the decisions I made later on in life.  Decisions I’m thankful about. For instance, it was my first Grade teacher that was the very breath of inspiration behind our decision to home school our children. In that way, she was a role model. Even now, she is a constant reminder of what NOT to be; how NOT to act; what NOT to do when teaching/raising children. It wasn’t until recently that I told my kids about this crazy tenured public school teacher who provoked my adolescent struggle with self image. Even after I had determined this lady was just plain nuts, there was still a certain shame in recalling these stories aloud. Perhaps part of me thought she might be right. Maybe I WAS ugly and stupid? ….. What if speaking these memories out loud should spark some suspicion in the minds of those who heard them. They might believe these things to be true too.

   

   

  Nonsense!

   

   

  

  Guess which one of these poor kids is me?  

   

  To this day though, I can still see her in my mind’s eye surveying the classroom with her high beehive hair and black cat eye glasses. The ill fitting, long suffering polyester pantsuit she wore was a favorite of hers. She forever wears it in my mind. The turquoise material did an adequate job of restraining her generous girth but the elastic waistband always seemed to strain at the task of containing her. 

   

  I even felt sorry for her pantsuit.   

   

  At any rate, it serves as an appropriate metaphor for the thin veil of sanity she wore to disguise her super-sized mental pathology. Once my mother and I were out shopping and happened to run into her. To my horror I realized she was the mother of a beautiful little baby. Even as a child I understood that a “mean” person could modulate their temper to suit their favorite people. But this woman wasn’t mean. She was mentally ill and untreated at that. I really feared for that child. To this day, I still wonder how she faired.

   

  But I didn’t tell my mom about her behavior and treatment of me. I was far too embarrassed to tell my Mom that I was ugly. Because in my childish mind, telling her that my 1st grade teacher said I was stupid and ugly meant revealing to her that I was stupid and ugly. Up to this point she appeared blissfully ignorant of these facts and I wanted her to remain that way.    Nevertheless, my mother did find out she was nuts and I realized very young that it’s damn near impossible to conceal 100% pure fire crazy. Not that it did any good for the 1st graders that would continue to attend that school through the years. 

   

  It all happened the day of the parent teacher conference. All the students had off and the parents filed into the school with their kids throughout the day. My Mom and I showed up and I sat in the hall outside that horrible classroom. Never in my wildest dream did I think my teacher would have a psychotic break and unload on my mother who was a mental health professional herself.

   

  Well, she did.

   

  I don’t think the two were in there more than 15 minutes when my Mom whipped open the door and stormed passed me with a look of pure determination on her face. The Polyester Pantsuit followed closely behind her. My Mom was TICKED!!  You’d have to know my Mom to appreciate how unusual this was. My Mom is about the most even keeled, professional person you could ever possibly meet. Seeing this was quite disturbing to me because she very rarely was upset or angry. One thing I did know, she wasn’t mad at me. Something pretty outrageous must have been said to provoke that kind of reaction from my Mom. After they blew by, I peaked around the corner and saw the two of them head into the principals office.

   

  My Mom was taking my teacher to the principal’s office!    how cool was that? 

   

  As we drove home that afternoon, I questioned her about what had happened. She lied, “Nothing really, Beth Ann.”  I continued to press but information was NOT forthcoming. It wasn’t until I was an adult that she told me (minimally) what happened. 

   

  For whatever reason, my teacher felt it necessary to tell her that she thought I was stupid and that my mother was stupid as well. Hearing the details of the conversation years later was a relief in many ways. My mom is anything but an idiot. The woman graduated Summa Cum Laude from the University of Pa. for crying out loud. Having this bit of information helped to dispel much of my doubts about myself. I know that my Mom could not and should not have shared those details with me then. How could she? But I’m thankful she told me later.

   

  Unfortunately talking to the Principal that day proved unfruitful. He informed my mom that she wasn’t the first to complain. This lady was an on going problem and firing her would be next to impossible. In fact, it just wasn’t going to happen. I have no idea what happened to her after that. We moved from the area 2 years later. 

   

  As awful as that experience was, I really am grateful for the things it taught me. It has shaped me in positive ways and it certainly was not an accurate picture of my experience with public school teachers (thankfully). Most of them truly cared for their students. One of the biggest ways God has used this in my life is to help me reflect on where I derive my sense of worth and the worth of others. 

   

  But that’s a philosophical discussion for another time…..  

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

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