First Do No Harm
Before I write this, let me preface this by saying I have the utmost love and respect for teachers. I have friends who are teachers and I know most of the time they get a raw deal. They spend way more hours than they are ever compensated for working for their students and classes, and often spend money out of their own pockets that they will never see back - even with the measly $250 tax credit that Republicans want to take away. So if your response is going to be to tell me how much good other teachers do, relax, I already know.
I saw this meme today, and didn't think much about it until someone wrote a comment: Those discouraging words stick as well. Sadly, students are more likely to hear those.
I remember those discouraging words. Those discouraging words are probably the reason I don't write professionally in any way and never pursued a career in any kind of writing, no matter how much I enjoyed it when I was younger.
I was in the 4th grade and the assignment was a book report. I don't know how I came around to it, but I was writing on the subject of Marco Polo as a neighbor had given me the gift of a book about him. I really enjoyed the topic and wrote my report. The teacher I had at the time was quite revered at the school. She had been there for many years, and would retire at the end of this one. She was thought of as a kind woman and well-liked. My mother even corresponded with her for a time after she retired. I didn't open up about what happened until many years later.
All I remember was standing in the coat closet at the back of our room. The rest of the students were outside. She came to me in the coat closet and accused me of copying the book report right out of the book. I hadn't, so I denied it. I can't remember the exact words, but I remember the feelings. I remember being a 10 year old and being scared and beaten by the words and accusations she hurled at me until I finally said that I had copied it right from the book. I hadn't.
The simple way for her to figure out whether I had copied it straight from the book would have been for her to ask me to bring the book to school. I have a faint recollection of doing that but being too afraid to show it to her.
I wrote stories for myself after that, and showed them to no one. I held back in my writing in school because I didn't want to go through that again. I always was wary that if I wrote as well as I could, no one would believe it was my writing, so I didn't. One time I slipped. In high school, we had an assignment in my English class to submit something to our school literary magazine to be considered for inclusion. I procrastinated, and was sitting on the train on my way home from a Mets game when I had an "Oh shit" moment. On the back of my scorecard I sat writing my impression of that train ride and handed it in to my teacher as a poem. It made it to the literary magazine.
That should have been my encouragement to start writing again, but it wasn't. I kept writing stories for myself about people and places and the science fiction franchises I loved. Fan-fic is what that is called, although I didn't know it at the time. The next time I showed anyone my writing was in a fan-fic group for one of those franchises and the writing got a good reception.
The damage was done, though. I could never shake those feelings from what happened in the coat closet all those years ago.
Like doctors, I would implore teachers to consider it their oath to "first do no harm." I think what happened to me is much less likely to happen today as teachers are more afraid of parents confronting them over why Sally didn't get an A on something sub-par. Back in my day, teachers still weren't questioned that much. I can remember having teachers in high school who openly mocked students for a variety of reasons. I didn't realize how horrible that was at the time.
I saw this meme today, and didn't think much about it until someone wrote a comment: Those discouraging words stick as well. Sadly, students are more likely to hear those.
I remember those discouraging words. Those discouraging words are probably the reason I don't write professionally in any way and never pursued a career in any kind of writing, no matter how much I enjoyed it when I was younger.
I was in the 4th grade and the assignment was a book report. I don't know how I came around to it, but I was writing on the subject of Marco Polo as a neighbor had given me the gift of a book about him. I really enjoyed the topic and wrote my report. The teacher I had at the time was quite revered at the school. She had been there for many years, and would retire at the end of this one. She was thought of as a kind woman and well-liked. My mother even corresponded with her for a time after she retired. I didn't open up about what happened until many years later.
All I remember was standing in the coat closet at the back of our room. The rest of the students were outside. She came to me in the coat closet and accused me of copying the book report right out of the book. I hadn't, so I denied it. I can't remember the exact words, but I remember the feelings. I remember being a 10 year old and being scared and beaten by the words and accusations she hurled at me until I finally said that I had copied it right from the book. I hadn't.
The simple way for her to figure out whether I had copied it straight from the book would have been for her to ask me to bring the book to school. I have a faint recollection of doing that but being too afraid to show it to her.
I wrote stories for myself after that, and showed them to no one. I held back in my writing in school because I didn't want to go through that again. I always was wary that if I wrote as well as I could, no one would believe it was my writing, so I didn't. One time I slipped. In high school, we had an assignment in my English class to submit something to our school literary magazine to be considered for inclusion. I procrastinated, and was sitting on the train on my way home from a Mets game when I had an "Oh shit" moment. On the back of my scorecard I sat writing my impression of that train ride and handed it in to my teacher as a poem. It made it to the literary magazine.
That should have been my encouragement to start writing again, but it wasn't. I kept writing stories for myself about people and places and the science fiction franchises I loved. Fan-fic is what that is called, although I didn't know it at the time. The next time I showed anyone my writing was in a fan-fic group for one of those franchises and the writing got a good reception.
The damage was done, though. I could never shake those feelings from what happened in the coat closet all those years ago.
Like doctors, I would implore teachers to consider it their oath to "first do no harm." I think what happened to me is much less likely to happen today as teachers are more afraid of parents confronting them over why Sally didn't get an A on something sub-par. Back in my day, teachers still weren't questioned that much. I can remember having teachers in high school who openly mocked students for a variety of reasons. I didn't realize how horrible that was at the time.
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