Big Bad World
I had one semester of school remaining and was asked if I wanted take a break. I knew that my dad would have liked to see me finish school and I figured that nothing would be more difficult to get through than what had just happened; that I could in fact handle a semester of student-teaching.
A week after my father’s death, I arrived at my cooperating teacher’s home. She had invited me over for tea and to discuss the next twenty weeks. Although she was kind, hours dwindled away as I listened to her story about her recent divorce. I knew she was hurting but so was I. I decided to be sympathetic.
When I arrived the first day, I saw a gift on my desk. How thoughtful. As I let out a smile, I heard her begin to scream, “Johnny, I said, SIT DOWN! Molly how many times do I have to tell you, worksheet now!” I began to cover my ears without realizing as I saw little Molly begin to cry. “Wow,” I thought, “these are only second-graders, why all the yelling?”
I continued to observe the chaos until the teacher asked me to get the principal from the office. “Molly is just not listening today,” she said. I did as I was told. It was time for specials. The students were taken to Music and I heard my cooperating teacher begin to explain Molly’s misbehavior to the principal. “Molly, sit right there,” she said. “No!” yelled Molly. The principal grasped Molly’s small framed body and forcefully held her wrists to the seat. Molly wrestled her grip and yelled, “No! Stop it!” She cried and struggled until finally she muttered, “my hands are turning white. Please let me go.” The principal continued to hold her as I watched tears roll down Molly’s face.
I couldn’t believe what was happening. I watched in disbelief as my coordinating teacher talked at me: “What a day! They have been terrible. And Johnny, I don’t mean to sound rude but Johnny must have been born of the devil.” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I felt entirely powerless as if there was an massive force holding me down at my seat. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t say a single word. I couldn’t even cry. I could feel anger building up inside of me. This wasn’t the first time I felt powerless. The first time was when my father was killed and taken from me. This was the second time I felt powerless as I was forced to watched little children physically and verbally abused by authority. I couldn’t believe this world.
I went home that day and cried until I had no strength left. My boyfriend was as shocked as I. How could something like this happen in today’s times, especially during my student-teaching experience? He helped me write an email to my supervisor expressing what I had seen in detail. I was terrified. I couldn’t return the next day. I was so afraid to feel that kind of pain again. It was too much for me to handle. I felt as if I didn’t have any energy left to live, to student-teach. I felt traumatized.
The next morning I received an email from the chairman of the college instructing me to report to a new classroom with a new teacher. I felt relieved, but what about the children? When I asked my supervisor what could be done in regards to what I had witnessed, she told me that it was not my place to comment on such a situation and that my job was to student teach. I couldn’t believe it. I walked by my old classroom and heard yelling. Once again, I felt powerless but then realized that there was anger brewing inside of me. These children were powerless.
The next day, I didn’t have the energy to return to school knowing that nothing would be done to help these children. I skipped my student teaching assignment. I reached out to my school chairman and she advised me again to continue with my new student teaching placement. I complied through email but once again, I couldn’t go to school. I had found it strange because I had always been a diligent and punctual student. I very much cared and gave full effort to all of my assignments but my body wouldn’t budge. I realized I was deeply depressed. My father was just killed and now I felt that these children were being killed, only for them, it was worse because they had to feel pain every single day returning to a place they didn’t feel safe, school.
My protests led my university to drop me from my assignment and in turn, drop me from my university. The chairman told me that she had cancer but she still managed to come to work and that I should have done the same. I couldn’t believe it. Not only did I not finish my very last semester that year but I felt abused by my university’s chairman. That year was one of the most hurtful years of my life. The next semester, I did return however and found myself at Ideal Elementary school, the most ideal teaching placement imaginable!
