My 7 year old son was shot down by his 1st grade teacher
is this to kill a mockingbird
this is literally to kill a mockingbird right here
once again, showing us that school is only about following directions and passing, and not about learning
Story time!!! When I was in kindergarten, I had a calendar thingy that said the names of the months in cursive. I thought that looked cool, so I decided to teach it to myself. I got most of the letters right except for the ‘s’, which I literally drew triangles for. I wrote my name on my paper at school, not even one that was to be turned in and graded, it was on a picture I colored. My teacher looked over my shoulder and was like ‘you can’t write cursive yet. You’ll learn that in third grade. You’re doing it wrong anyway.’ Literally instead of taking 1 minute to teach me how to do it correctly, she told me not to do it.
Also, one time in 4th grade I said something about negative numbers and my teacher flat-out told me negative numbers don’t exist. And yelled at me for confusing the other kids. I kept my mouth shut during math after that
I learned to read when I was three. By the time I was in Kindergarten, I was reading some fairly thick books. When my teacher saw me reading a big book instead of playing with blocks, she took the book out of my hands and said that kindergarteners were not allowed to read and that I should stop pretending to read. I told her that I really did know how to read, and I cried so much when the teacher didn’t believe me. My mom, a first grade teacher on that faculty, was outraged when she found out what my teacher did and she reported her to the principal. She also had me tested for the gifted and talented program. In first grade, my IQ was about 3 points away from genius level…
I don’t know what it is with teachers who a) tell kids they can’t do something or b) tell them they’re doing it wrong. I’m sorry, aren’t you supposed to be nurturing young minds and helping them develop their interests? In the 4th grade we had to do an art project every month, which was hung on the wall. I was always a big art lover, and for November I made a drawing with a teepee, and used paper to make a little flap. I really liked it. At school, my teacher ridiculed me in front of the whole class for what I had chosen to draw, and actually asked, “why would you draw this?” I was too mortified to explain that I was thinking about Thanksgiving, about pilgrims and Native Americans. When I went home and my mom asked me how the art project went, I dejectedly told her what had happened. In one of the very few times I ever saw my mother in rage, she told me to get into the car. She drove back to the school and yelled at the teacher in the parking lot about what in the hell she thought she was doing and how she ought to be ashamed of herself.
So that’s how my worst childhood memory because the best one ever. I always hated that bitch.