Jeff Moote said:
I just had to defend all those kids in school who didn't need to follow the structure to get by.
This was me, as well. I got put in the 'Special' class in first grade. This was back when it was called the '******** program', because the only kids who were supposed to be there were the ******** kids.
My Granny taught me to read and write when I was four. So my first exposure to official education came from an ancient crone who was waaaaay beyond retirement age.
She had been a teaching nun until she got to the age that the church expected her to fall over dead at any time, which is apparently how they decided retirement age back then. So they sent her to this little neighborhood of houses in our town(Saginaw, TX) that just had all these ancient priests and nuns in them. She had three or four housemates, who all died. Then they were replaced by a few more, who all died. Then THEY were replaced by some more, who died. This went on for years.
As you can probably guess, the time she took off from teaching while waiting to die, she was bored. So she kept her teaching certificate up. She was hired to teach my first grade class, becaue the district was desperate. But over the fifteen or so years she had not taught,(mid 50's to 1970) a few things had changed.
On the first day of class she had everybody make a mark on our paper. Then she picked up a big ruler and hit Kim, David, and me. She didn't say why. Then all that happened again, and again, and again, ad infinitum. She kept hitting just the three of us, but wouldn't say
why she kept hitting us. Kim was the first one to be so sore she picked up the pencil with her weak hand. She wasn't hit then. The reason we were being clubbed with a hunk of metal and wood was that we were writing with our 'wrong' hands. Any time she saw us pick up something with our left hand, she would lunge at us and hit us with that damned ruler.
So the clumsiness of having to constantly use my non-dominant hand, having to re-learn how to write with a different hand, and the poor ability to pay attention to "learning" things I had already been doing for two years was clear evidence to her that I was ********.
I would have thought it might be evidence that she was just a really bad teacher. I was so relieved to hear she finally died the summer between first and second grade.
I actually had a lot of fun in the special class, until they caught me reading the Three Musketeers and sent me back to the evil old wench.
Added: I have to clarify something. I read back over this because I'm a terrible typist and keep finding typos in my posts after I thought they were good. I noticed in this one that it is phrased like my Grandmother was "an ancient crone who was waaaaay beyond retirement age" . This is not the case. At the time my Grandmother was
in her early fifties. My first grade teacher, however was, depending on where I look for the information, either 88 or 90.