Oh, I know, but this is a button for me. I was a huge over-achiever in school (I made a model of The Spirit of St. Louis out of posterboard, people), and teachers getting overly picky on projects make me all squirrley, cause it makes over-achievers (or even just achievers, really) crazy go nuts.
I just felt badly for him, too. He worked so hard to get caught up, and did all his make up work on his February vacation, plus read the book. He also had to take a huge math test his first day back from being absent (with Strep, pneumonia, and then a virus). That was another teacher, though. He got a 93 on it, though.
Eta...
ita, my parents never protested to teachers either, except I did have an Algebra teacher in 9th grade who was also abusive (just verbally, and I didn't get the worst of it, really) and my mother did go down to the school about her.
Now something about a sea otter. Apparently, we are sending sea otters. On a knock down road.
Writing algorithms for translations from ideo/picto-graphs (whatever the term is) has got to be a bitch.
But man, the results are inadvertently hilarious.
Um, yeah....
It almost goes without saying....
My parents never complained to the school about anything, but I really only had one teacher that was abusive/intimidating. And I tended to cope by metaphorically fading into the wallpaper in his class.
Though if it had been my finger he broke by slamming his pointer stick on a student's desk, the coroner would have had to surgically remove the thing from him after my mom was finished.
I am going home in a few minutes, and when I get there, I will take Benadryl and then there will be nappy-times!
Shut up NPR dude! I don't care if DST is a capitalist conspiracy. I want my hour of daylight after work!
When my uncle was little (elementary aged, I want to say 3rd grade), he wise-cracked to a teacher, and she took him into a closet, and beat him.
It is reported that my grandmother went to the principal and said, "Put her in a closet with me, and see who comes out."
I'm not sure why my parents didn't do anything. They seem a little startled with the vehemence with which I can talk of Mrs. Seung, but the bitch threw hangers at me and yelled at me for reading ahead in the book she'd been reading us.
The next year I had Mrs. Cummings who brought me in books from her own bookshelf because she saw I had read everything in the classroom already.
Year after that I was prevented from taking the Common Entrance exam by the headmistress because, I thought, of my age. Turned out they needed a ringer for the year afterwards. My mother pulled me from prep school after that year and got me into high school on the strength of her own good academic rep, instead of the exam that all J'can students take at age 12 or so, and whose results were published in the national paper and scrutinised laboriously.
It was kind of a messed up grade school experience. Highs and lows.
