My third grader's teacher is not treating him fairly. He's always getting singled out/in trouble - yet he assures me his teacher just doesn't like him. How can I address this situation with his teacher without making it worse? - Parent of a Perturbed Pupil
Hi PPP:
Great question. I asked several educators and school administrators to weigh in, all of whom would only consent to be quoted on condition of anonymity.
Geraldine W. is a social worker at a school district near Milwuakee. She observed: "It's possible that this child has some undiagnosed neurological deficit that makes him a lying sack of shit."
Lyla C., a middle school teacher in Carlsbad, noted: "I'm not sure how to answer this question. In order to do so, I should have a Professional Development Day. Shut the school district down for the day, have some overpayed and desperately underqualified Education Consultant come in and stand by a whiteboard verbally beating off at us for half the day, then we can break into smaller working groups or "bitch sessions," then go have margaritas in an offsite working group. By the next day you will have forgotten the question, and I will have slept with that busboy at the Mexican place."
Geraldine W. is a social worker at a school district near Milwuakee. She observed: "It's possible that this child has some undiagnosed neurological deficit that makes him a lying sack of shit."
Lyla C., a middle school teacher in Carlsbad, noted: "I'm not sure how to answer this question. In order to do so, I should have a Professional Development Day. Shut the school district down for the day, have some overpayed and desperately underqualified Education Consultant come in and stand by a whiteboard verbally beating off at us for half the day, then we can break into smaller working groups or "bitch sessions," then go have margaritas in an offsite working group. By the next day you will have forgotten the question, and I will have slept with that busboy at the Mexican place."
Vernon G., a fifth grade teacher in Nashua, had some sobering insights: "Look. It's a numbers game. Lotta these kids are frankly super-dumb. And all of them are annoying as fuck. And you got almost 40 of the things in your classroom. You know their fucking names by November, that sets the bar pretty fucking high. I'm just a push broom, man - shoving these fuckers on to the next grade. You got a smoke?"
Charles G., an Assistant Principal at a middle school outside of Toledo, had this to say: "Listen. Lemme tell you something: you know a good synonym for 'third grader'? 'Future arsonist.' These little fucking villains are either elbows-deep in some nefarious shit already, or they're just a skipped Ritalin away from unleashing all that latent goddamn criminality that's pent up in those little fuckers. Each goddamn one of them is a fucking crime wave waiting to happen, and the '3 R's' should be changed to 'Restrainin', Wreckin', and Retaliatin''. If the goddamn economy wasn't soo fucking deep in the crapper, and I wasn't such a pants-pissing drunk, I would totally be looking for another gig."
Angela V., a fourth-grade teacher in Phoenix, adds: "Third grade is a pivotal transition year for many students. This is the year when many of them discover about themselves whether they'll be popular and successful, or whether they'll be a bunch of shit-speckled losers like the rest of us. I'm sure this teacher is just trying to set realistic expectations for this student - namely that life will be an unendurable litany of failures and frustrations, and that he had better get good and goddamn used to being thwarted at every fucking turn until they run out of options and drop through the career sluice that fucking dumps them into the bleak fucking trough of teaching fourth fucking grade in motherfucking Phoenix. I swear to fucking fuck, every day I don't spear my fucking jugular with a dull pencil right in front of these wild-eyed little monsters is a miracle of such epic fucking proportions, I cannot even tell you."
Jason G., a Virginia Beach principal, said only: "Bitch, please," and kept walking.
Jason G., a Virginia Beach principal, said only: "Bitch, please," and kept walking.
Angelo D., a Teach for America veteran who's been teaching sixth grade outside of Detroit, opined: "You know what? God fuck yourself. With your fucking questions. I'm sick to fucking death of answering questions all the fucking time. You know what? I don't fucking make enough to answer one more motherfucking question from you or anybody else. I'm not so much earning a wage doing this shit, so much as moldering away as an indentured fucking servant to my student fucking loans. My answer to this question, and every fucking question ever that comes after it: lick my balls. Lick my dimpled, lop-sided, low-hanging, damp, smelly, wart-covered, salty, encrusted, fur-bearing balls. You hypocrite dickwads."
Cheryl T. is herself a third grade teacher in Houston. She seems to be in the grip of some kind of PTSD or something, because she just stares unblinking and grinds her teeth.
Sarah D., a seventh grade teacher in Tuscaloosa had this to say: "It's… it's like I have Bieber fever. Except it's for that Randy. Third period social studies. He's pretty near got a mustache." We failed to see the connection to the inquiry above, and were about to say as much when she further volunteered: "It's true. I did let him finger me in the utility closet. But it was during his Health class. So it was, like, academic."
Valerie B., a Mobile high school history teacher, was pretty adamant about every damn thing she had to say. "You know what? Maybe his teacher has other things on her mind. MAYBE his teacher was dealing with a bunch of PC thugs on a school board that DEMAND you cover "The Civil War" in your class, when the documentary record is spotty at best. Maybe his teacher had spent her summer months wrangling with a bunch of thought police fascists who compelled her, under penalty of dismissal, not only to do an entire unit on "slavery", but to condemn the whole practice, with no regard for the context in which it takes place. And that, to me, is just bad scholarship. I mean, is slavery nearly always wrong? Yeah, sure, OK. When you can prove it took place. Which the "Library of Congress" - so called - has never done to my satisfaction." She then offered us a shit-ton of shoddily printed pamphlets with titles like What the Lincoln Lovers WON'T Tell You, and Cotton Gin Full of LIES. So, just… wow to that.
Lyle C., a custodian at a school outside Salem OR, offered this: "I put the tennis balls on the chair legs. Try to scrape off the gum. I don't know what to tell you, man."
And lastly Bradley M., a fifth grade teacher on Chicago's South Side, summed it up this way: "Tired of parents talkin' bout 'gun violence this' and 'gun violence that'. Always cryin' about 'don't shoot my babies'. Look - guns ain't goin' no place. A week don't go by I ain't been in some kinda gunfight. I shot one of my students earlier this week. Because I TOLD those children: 'There will BE a motherfuckin' quiz today, bitches. We WILL review the structure of the cell, and if you ask me again, I will shoot you in your arm.' They don't listen. Next week I'll shoot one of 'em just to see are they paying attention."
Food for thought. Food for motherfucking thought.
Post script: Zander P., a second grade teacher in the affluent Chicago suburb of Wilmette could not be reached for comment, as the smart board in her classroom had not been working for the better part of a school day, and she was confronted by a mob of concerned parents as she made her way through the school parking lot to her car. The parents dragged her by her hair back to her classroom and stood over her as she tried in vain to repair the device. She was executed on the playground, and the legion of educators awaiting her position had a Thunderdome-style tournament to determine a winner. It was a great day for education.
Valerie B., a Mobile high school history teacher, was pretty adamant about every damn thing she had to say. "You know what? Maybe his teacher has other things on her mind. MAYBE his teacher was dealing with a bunch of PC thugs on a school board that DEMAND you cover "The Civil War" in your class, when the documentary record is spotty at best. Maybe his teacher had spent her summer months wrangling with a bunch of thought police fascists who compelled her, under penalty of dismissal, not only to do an entire unit on "slavery", but to condemn the whole practice, with no regard for the context in which it takes place. And that, to me, is just bad scholarship. I mean, is slavery nearly always wrong? Yeah, sure, OK. When you can prove it took place. Which the "Library of Congress" - so called - has never done to my satisfaction." She then offered us a shit-ton of shoddily printed pamphlets with titles like What the Lincoln Lovers WON'T Tell You, and Cotton Gin Full of LIES. So, just… wow to that.
Lyle C., a custodian at a school outside Salem OR, offered this: "I put the tennis balls on the chair legs. Try to scrape off the gum. I don't know what to tell you, man."
And lastly Bradley M., a fifth grade teacher on Chicago's South Side, summed it up this way: "Tired of parents talkin' bout 'gun violence this' and 'gun violence that'. Always cryin' about 'don't shoot my babies'. Look - guns ain't goin' no place. A week don't go by I ain't been in some kinda gunfight. I shot one of my students earlier this week. Because I TOLD those children: 'There will BE a motherfuckin' quiz today, bitches. We WILL review the structure of the cell, and if you ask me again, I will shoot you in your arm.' They don't listen. Next week I'll shoot one of 'em just to see are they paying attention."
Food for thought. Food for motherfucking thought.
Post script: Zander P., a second grade teacher in the affluent Chicago suburb of Wilmette could not be reached for comment, as the smart board in her classroom had not been working for the better part of a school day, and she was confronted by a mob of concerned parents as she made her way through the school parking lot to her car. The parents dragged her by her hair back to her classroom and stood over her as she tried in vain to repair the device. She was executed on the playground, and the legion of educators awaiting her position had a Thunderdome-style tournament to determine a winner. It was a great day for education.
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