When you were teaching fractions to Anthony, you made a sarcastic remark.
I knew immediately it was okay for me to ridicule and chide Tony, too.
When Jeffery was late, he explained the problem, but you punished him anyway.
I learned that you really don’t care about kids’ reasons--just your rules.
When you put “Zero” on the worksheet Juanita told you she didn’t understand,
I could tell that only grades, marks, and correct answers really matter.
When you rolled your eyes at Jason’s explanation for not doing the worksheet,
I knew you don’t believe explanations or care about kids’ reasons.
When you shouted angrily because Gary got out of line to tie his shoe, I learned
that shouting and anger are the way to handle deviation or misbehavior.
When you explained clearly, “I will give the instructions once and only once”,
I knew when I didn’t understand instructions; all I could do was to flunk.
When you stared at me as though I were stupid to ask permission to turn an
assignment in late, I decided never to ask permission for any reason.
When you included trick questions and included material you said would not be
included on the test, I knew I couldn’t trust you. I saw no reason to study.
When I got an F on the first assignment in the new unit, I had to give up trying.
I knew that future assignments and tests could only get more difficult.
When you knew I was trying to ask a question and you deliberately ignored me,
I knew it was no use to expect help or consideration next time I need help.
When you told Jeffrey he couldn’t be trusted and that you didn’t believe him,
I was certain that you intended that message for me as well.
When you scare me with your mean looks and with yelling loudly in my face,
I can only think about how I hate you and know that I will forever.
When my stomach churns and my eyes tear-up waiting for tests to be returned,
I act like grades don’t hurt and like I don’t care about tests; but I do.
When you talk to my mother, adults, and other teachers, you are so nice,
Why have you never talked to me in a pleasant voice like that?
Don’t worry if kids aren’t learning the lessons; they are always observing.
I watched, listened, and learned a lot by being in your class. I thank you.
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Bill Page, a farm boy, graduated from a one-room school. He forged a career in the classroom teaching middle school “troublemakers.” For the past 26 years, in addition to his classroom duties, he has taught teachers across the nation to teach the lowest achieving students successfully with his proven premise, “Failure is the choice and fault of schools, not the students.”
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