Really there was only one really mean person. It was in a school in Ottawa, Illinois, Central Ottawa many years ago, in the times when teachers could strike children with no fear of consequences. But one mother of a second grader, a Mexican woman, did come to school and slapped the hell out of Mrs. Wolfe for hitting her little second grade girl. But it was not unlawful then to hit.
Even so, most teachers did not do it at all. But my fourth grade teacher was a true sadist. Her name was Miss Crawford, an Irish lady, I mean from Ireland, and I never saw her smile. Her face was sort of drained, and without emotion of any kind unless she was hitting someone, then she became hard-jawed and gritted her teeth.
I'm sure she was to be pitied. Thirty-five or forty, no chance of finding a husband, she owned two dresses, unless she had one just for Mass. She wore one one week and then switched for the next week.
She kept a piece of leather harness on her desk, and she used this on the palms of her victims' hands. The first day when we came in the room, one entire square of the blackboard was filled with the "code." She was nuts on waste. There were three whacks for sharpening a pencil when not necessary, the same for throwing away paper not used on both sides, and there was one whack for crinkling paper to throw away instead of folding it. For talking or leaving your seat, the punishment was colossal.
I was terrified, and never even opened my mouth the entire year, but the hero of the class was a little kid named Bradley Reynolds who lived over near the canal in a real tarpaper shack. If you pulled your hand away, the whacks were doubled, but Brad seemed to challange her to do her best. And she cheated. She gave him more than the code allowed, and we all knew it. But she could not make Brad cry, or even flinch. He was in control, and it was she who had lost it. On the playground we would all look at his palm, all red and swollen. We admired him as much as we hated her.
Sometimes I wonder what happened to Brad, he would be 75 now if still living. Even more, I wonder how it ended for Miss Crawford. Did she ever remember and regret slapping some child in the line for the fountain. Was she even able to control the impulse to cruelty. Did she feel guilty at all; did she take it to confession, and if so, what did her confesor tell her? Did fate slap her around when she was an old, shriveled weak and lonely creature with her two dresses and her goddam beads.
2007-05-28 14:19:39
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answer #1
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answered by john s 5
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In third grade, I would come home from school and cry because I thought my teacher hated me. Then, after my mom went to Parent/Teacher Night and met my teacher, she told me that my teacher just talked really loudly. And, here I thought, that my teacher just yelled at my everyday cuz she hated me.
: D
2007-05-28 09:06:29
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answer #2
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answered by Anonymous
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One teacher in grade 3, Ms.Rice, grabbed my friend by the neck and spat in his face, she was suspended for like 1 day..it was grade 3 my friend was traumatized
2007-05-28 09:06:07
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answer #3
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answered by .BAD.m0nki3 2
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Yes and I still got one. She's my art teacher Miss West.
2007-05-28 09:05:16
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answer #4
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answered by Anonymous
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Sure, who among us haven't had such a techer at one time or another?
2007-05-28 09:04:49
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answer #5
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answered by WC 7
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Mrs.Wasney my 2nd grade teacher
2007-05-28 09:04:33
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answer #6
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answered by Lizzie Mcguzzie 2
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yea i have a mean teacher, all he does is like insult people saying they are dumb and that they wont get anywhere in life!
2007-05-28 09:05:17
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answer #7
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answered by Wut 2
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we had nothing but mean teacher in the catholic we went to
2007-05-28 09:10:22
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answer #8
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answered by Anonymous
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yes
2007-05-28 09:04:47
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answer #9
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answered by ☺DQ☻ 3
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Had 4. They're all dead now, so I'm over it.
(No, I didn't kill them--they were old).
2007-05-28 09:06:28
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answer #10
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answered by Alice K 7
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