I've cried several times at school, and in all cases but one it was because of a teacher. One teacher in particular stands out to me, my fourth grade teacher Ms. Pucci. Elementary school was rough for me. I was a little weird, a mostly quiet but when I spoke I had no filter. I was deeply self conscious and didn’t have many friends. So I wasn't the most confident or happy kid. My best subject was writing, so I was excited for our poetry unit. I remember Ms. Pucci going from desk to desk reading our poems and praising each one. She picked up my paper and looked at it for a while. “It’s good enough” she said with disdain. Math, my worst subject, was even worse. When I struggled with a topic she could have told me that if I kept working hard I’d be as good as the rest of the class. Instead she treated me like a lost cause, and I was convinced that she was right. She was the teacher, and to my 4th grade mind, the teacher was always right. What she really taught me was that I shouldn't have confidence in my abilities. That if I was good at something, I was probably kidding myself, and it I was bad at something I could never improve. She knew that no one in the class really liked me, but did nothing to make me feel more liked. I still drew her pictures like everyone else, hugged her at the end of the day like everyone else, but I remember feeling every day as if I was begging for her to forget whatever it was that I did to make her dislike me.
I was bullied in elementary school (like many people) but what stuck with me was the teacher who bullied me. Her words and actions cut especially deep because they carried authority. Ms. Pucci was the first teacher who bullied me but she wasn't the last. I've dealt with many in the past nine years. This isn't something people discuss, and it should be because it does real damage.
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