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For a grade 1
teacher, I found Mrs. Appelaize to be very mean. My first
year at school was not an easy one. My friend Renee was so
lucky to have her teacher, she would come home every day
with such glowing stories about how wonderful her teacher
was. I never spoke about my teacher, for she scared me to
death. Mrs. Appelaize seemed to be as old as the hills and
then some. She was a well respected teacher in the school,
probably due to her tenure, but she was feared by all the
students. To add salt to the wound, Renee would always tell
me how glad she was that she never had Mrs. Appelaize.
Mrs. Appelaize ruled her classroom with an iron fist and a
very stern voice. When she spoke I just wanted to cringe in
my seat. I am not sure if she even liked children at all.
She never seemed to smile or act affectionate towards them.
She was always aloof.
One
day there was a fire drill in the school, and though the
class was well prepared for fire drill, I panicked. I didn't
follow the line outside to the school yard. Instead I hid in
the cloakroom, hoping that they would forget about me. Come
to think about it I did not even have a plan on how to sneak
out of the cloakroom and back into the classroom once they
class came back. I just felt if this is a real fire then oh
well I will die. It is better than going outside with all
those strange kids that I am afraid of anyway.
But
to my surprise the principle came by checking all the
classrooms to make sure everyone was out safely. Of course
he found me and asked me what I was doing there. I told him
I was hiding because I was afraid. He told me what I had
done was very dangerous and that I should never do it again.
He took me by the hand and marched me up to Mrs. Appelaize
and asked her how she could let this happen. She spoke
directly to him never once looking at me and explained quite
matter-of-factly, that she did not know. I knew the drill
just like all the other children and there was no reason for
her to think otherwise when her job was to usher 33 children
out of the classroom and off to safety.
She
never said a word to me which surprised me but she said she
was sending a note to my grandmother to let her know what
had transpired that day though.
The
next fire drill she had her hawk eyes on me and said ???You??™re
coming with me young lady.??? And that was my punishment for
the rest of the year.
For
most kids, the cloakroom was not a refuge like it had been
for me but it was a place of humiliation. Every morning the
girls and boys were taken into the cloakroom separately and
inspected for cleanliness. I was always clean so it never
was an issue for me. But for many of the girls and the boys
when it was there turn for inspection, it was embarrassing
and uncomfortable. Mrs. Appelaize would look at our hands,
behind our ears, our arms, and if we had stockings on we
were told to pull them down so she could expect the
condition of our legs. If we were found dirty, which was not
uncommon in this ghetto school, then she would reprimand us,
ridicule us and say how disgusting it was to come to school
like that. She was sending a note home to our parents. Good
hygiene was important for our health and our well being.
Though I escaped her wrath on those occasions, I felt it
full force on others. Mrs. Appelaize would write on the
board and we had to copy the assignment. If we were studying
the letter A she would write things like "I ate the red
apple". If it was B then it would be something like "Big
boys play ball". We had to copy it correctly and make sure
that we stayed within the lines, or she would furious and
make us do it over again.
One
particular time I remember that I was not having a good day.
I was not able to keep within the lines and I actually
scribbled in the spaces in all my A's. When she saw my work
she was infuriated with me. She asked me why I had done that
and I told her I didn't know - I just did. She said that
this was totally unacceptable and that I was " a bad girl".
She was not about to tolerate this bad behaviour in her
classroom. Since girl's were never strapped, I knew she
wasn't going to hit me, but if it had been a boy he would
have been sent to the principles office for the strap. She,
of course could have punished me by making me do extra work,
or keep me for detention after school or keep me in for
recess. The latter would have been a blessing in disguise
because I hated recess, no kid would play with me except
Renee anyhow. Or, she could have sent a note home to my
grandmother. But she did neither. I guess she could see by
my quivering lip that I was already terrified so what she
did was write in my copybook "spoken to" in big red letters.
She said that I would be reminded of this conversation and
that I would never do anything like this again.
At
the end of the year when it was time to bring home all our
work. I hid that copybook so that my grandmother would never
see it. I was ashamed of myself and I was afraid of what my
grandmother would say. After all Mrs. Appelaize had said
that I was a bad girl. I never wanted to be a bad girl. I
held that shame until I started high school and was cleaning
out some of my old school work and stumbled upon the
copybook. I reread the comment "spoken to" in large red
letters. And I said to myself was that all I did to deserve
the title of bad girl? All these years I have been carrying
around this guilt in my heart because I scribbled in my
copybook on one solemn occasion!
It
was time to shake the ghost that haunted me. I showed the
copybook to my grandmother, and recounted that infamous day
to her. She looked at me and said is that all you did?
Now
let me tell you what you father did that earned him the
title bad boy and a well deserved title at that.
The
ghost was put to rest. I never again felt like a bad girl in
school.
?©
2003 Carol Roach
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Blessings to you. Have a great day.
Bob Johnston
Minneapolis
Starfish @ Ripplemaker.com
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