I sure hope we're past the time when teachers thought/acted this way. I also hope that sharing these stories allows you to "put them to sleep" so to speak - at least in their ability to hurt you. You seem to understand that this is now and that was then. You have nothing to be ashamed of or apologetic for. Not then, certainly not today.
Keep them coming. I have put all of our email exchanges into a blog format. It's private, not indexed or google-able in anyway. Password protected too. If you ever want to see it just let me know. We're up to about 80 messages exchanged.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Amy
This is a story I have repeated over and over in my head. I have finally written down. Perhaps now I will stop rehearsing it and be free of it. Thanks. Amy
I sat in a row along with the other Kindergarten children. We faced a green felt board that was in front of the classroom. Each of us children took our turn to identify a red letter that the teacher stuck to the green board. It was my turn. I saw the green and red contrast; but I hesitated to answer.
Although I was only four-years old, I knew what the task was, if only I could see that darn letter. Perhaps it was a lack of confidence, was it an "M", should I have guessed? She (the teacher) was soon beside me. She pulled me up from the floor and shook me as she yelled “What is the letter? Say it.”
That was probably the first time I realized that my visual disability made others angry. I admit it, I started to cry. I was confused, hurt, and ashamed. That same day I went home and told my mother that “Mrs. Moore shook me for not telling her what the letter was.”
My mother immediately called her on the telephone. The woman did not deny what she had done. She proudly declared that she knew I could not see the letter on the board in front of the room. She explained to my mother that she shook me because she wanted to teach me to say “I can’t see it.”
Mrs. Moore is still alive and I have in recent years bumped into her at the market when I visit my parents in my hometown. My mother and I graciously greet her.
I sat in a row along with the other Kindergarten children. We faced a green felt board that was in front of the classroom. Each of us children took our turn to identify a red letter that the teacher stuck to the green board. It was my turn. I saw the green and red contrast; but I hesitated to answer.
Although I was only four-years old, I knew what the task was, if only I could see that darn letter. Perhaps it was a lack of confidence, was it an "M", should I have guessed? She (the teacher) was soon beside me. She pulled me up from the floor and shook me as she yelled “What is the letter? Say it.”
That was probably the first time I realized that my visual disability made others angry. I admit it, I started to cry. I was confused, hurt, and ashamed. That same day I went home and told my mother that “Mrs. Moore shook me for not telling her what the letter was.”
My mother immediately called her on the telephone. The woman did not deny what she had done. She proudly declared that she knew I could not see the letter on the board in front of the room. She explained to my mother that she shook me because she wanted to teach me to say “I can’t see it.”
Mrs. Moore is still alive and I have in recent years bumped into her at the market when I visit my parents in my hometown. My mother and I graciously greet her.
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