#821 ·
My teacher was one of those people who absolutely lived for anyone who pampered her. Basically, she had favorites among the kids whose parents would show up with birthday gifts or give her a little pat on the shoulder just to stay in her good graces. She really leaned into the kids of doctors, cops, and even that one kid whose dad was some big-shot judge back then.
It was one of those coastal towns, you know? Tons of vacation rentals, hotels, and upscale restaurants everywhere.
She just loved the kids from the "important" families.
And man, did the straight A's fly out of her mouth for them.
But me? She couldn't stand me. It all started because my dad went to her at the beginning of the year and basically told her, "Look, lady, it’s only natural my daughter is getting an A in reading when, honestly, she’s barely pulling a C. You’re doing us both a massive disservice by handing out easy grades; she doesn't need an A, she needs someone to actually tell her what she's failing at so she can fix it."
From that moment on, she froze us both out.
At the time, I thought my dad was being totally unreasonable—like, even his worst enemy wouldn't have said something like that! But thank God he did. It made me realize where I was actually struggling, and it taught me that if I wanted to be good at something, I had to work ten times harder than everyone else.
My grades were average, but they were earned. By fifth grade, I realized that conversation between my dad and that teacher was actually the best thing that could've happened to me. If I got a B, I knew it was on me. If I got an A, I knew it was because I actually earned it.
Fast forward to high school: that group of kids who were getting unearned A's thrown at them in elementary school ended up staying in school way longer than they should have.
I still remember this one guy who sat right next to me; he struggled to spell basic words, yet somehow always pulled an A in English. He’d just copy the math homework every single day, and the teacher knew exactly what he was doing, but she gave him an A anyway.
He failed his freshman year. His mom tried to claim he just "couldn't adjust to the new environment," but let's be real—he adjusted just fine; he just never learned how to actually work or study.
Then there was another kid whose mom showed up to parent-teacher conferences and actually had the nerve to say, "My son is passing with a B, and plenty of kids with special education plans pass with a B too, so why shouldn't he?"
Well, guess what? He didn't even make it through high school.
It was one of those coastal towns, you know? Tons of vacation rentals, hotels, and upscale restaurants everywhere.
She just loved the kids from the "important" families.
And man, did the straight A's fly out of her mouth for them.
But me? She couldn't stand me. It all started because my dad went to her at the beginning of the year and basically told her, "Look, lady, it’s only natural my daughter is getting an A in reading when, honestly, she’s barely pulling a C. You’re doing us both a massive disservice by handing out easy grades; she doesn't need an A, she needs someone to actually tell her what she's failing at so she can fix it."
From that moment on, she froze us both out.
At the time, I thought my dad was being totally unreasonable—like, even his worst enemy wouldn't have said something like that! But thank God he did. It made me realize where I was actually struggling, and it taught me that if I wanted to be good at something, I had to work ten times harder than everyone else.
My grades were average, but they were earned. By fifth grade, I realized that conversation between my dad and that teacher was actually the best thing that could've happened to me. If I got a B, I knew it was on me. If I got an A, I knew it was because I actually earned it.
Fast forward to high school: that group of kids who were getting unearned A's thrown at them in elementary school ended up staying in school way longer than they should have.
I still remember this one guy who sat right next to me; he struggled to spell basic words, yet somehow always pulled an A in English. He’d just copy the math homework every single day, and the teacher knew exactly what he was doing, but she gave him an A anyway.
He failed his freshman year. His mom tried to claim he just "couldn't adjust to the new environment," but let's be real—he adjusted just fine; he just never learned how to actually work or study.
Then there was another kid whose mom showed up to parent-teacher conferences and actually had the nerve to say, "My son is passing with a B, and plenty of kids with special education plans pass with a B too, so why shouldn't he?"
Well, guess what? He didn't even make it through high school.