Day 13 - Ms. Williamson

I've written two teacher raves, and it's time for a pan. Ms. Williamson is the teacher about whom you wonder, "did she become a teacher just to torture kids? or for the power?"

It's my first year in middle school, I'm awkward, my bangs are growing out, I want so badly to be popular, my confidence is thin at best and none of my classes are with my best friend, Christie. In walks my teacher, Ms. Williamson.

Okay, her entrance did not set the tone; I don't even remember the first time I met her. I remember small events where she tore my self-esteem into little bits. Granted, I didn't do all my homework, I occasionally talked during class, and I had no interest in learning the scientific names of the plants in the xeriscape garden we had to maintain. I still don't think that's enough to warrant her treatment of me. (The fact that my disobedient brother had her two years prior may have sparked some of it.)

The one example that I can still get blood-boiling angry over almost made me cry in class: it happened after lunch one day. I return to the room before most other kids because my locker mate and I didn't get along and I didn't really have friends to dilly-dally with in the hallway. Ms. Williamson sits at her desk, eating a salad. She says something to put herself down (like about needing to eat a salad, or being a mess that day, I don't remember exactly) and I respond with, "You look really nice today, Ms. Williamson." (Now, let me explain that potentially brown-nosing statement. For some reason, a lot of the girls I wanted to be friends with liked Ms. Williamson and I tried to accommodate to this by making Ms. Williamson like me. I didn't do a good job of it.)

During this exchange, the bell has rung and my peers are filing back into the classroom. Ms. Williamson chooses this moment to respond in a way that implies I was complimenting her because I am a lesbian and I obviously am attracted to her.

...


No, I'm not kidding. And yes, that's only one example.

She was awful.