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View Diary: The Morning F Bomb (50 comments)

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  •  I think I'll have to go with (5+ / 0-)

    my 5th grade teacher. I think I've told this story before; he didn't like me, and I had no idea why, so I could not even grok that he didn't like me and couldn't figure out why I was so unhappy in his class. I had always been popular with teachers, because I was both smart and meek, and so was absolutely no trouble.

    As it developed, this teacher was an idiot. (He really was a terrible teacher, having nothing to do with his relationship with me.) I learned much later that he'd been asked at the beginning of the year, by the school system's curriculum specialist, to identify children in his class he thought might be learning disabled in some way. He put me on his list, apparently because I was so shy and quiet. The curriculum specialist already had her eye on me, because she'd seen my test scores. According to my mother, I was, unbeknownst to me, pretty famous for my "IQ test" performance (note scare quotes). Thus, the curriculum specialist swooped in and verbally dismembered him for his incorrect suggestion, and that made him rather sullen. So: lousy teacher who was also taking it out on me that he got yelled at.

    Since I have engaged in this egregious own-horn-tooting here, allow me to add that my Sicilian-immigrant grandpa, a 4th-grade dropout with skin darker than Obama's, was among those regarded by "white people" 100 years ago as a moronic and subhuman plague upon their lily-white country. His grandchildren have Ivy League degrees, none of them those bogus ones Harvard evidently hands out, so it seems that subhumanness isn't as persistent as some people think. Suck it, Richwhine.

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