That Time a [Former] Teacher Blocked Me

I remember the moment very vividly. I was sitting cross legged on a pull out bed, and I was on vacation with my mom.  (Who, by the way, woke me up every day at 8am to watch animal videos she found on Facebook). Anyway, I was scrolling through my Facebook feed when I saw it.  Someone had tagged a former teacher of mine in a post, and I realized I couldn't click the name.

I remembered a few months ago searching for this teacher on Facebook, and being unable to find her.  I was sad, but assumed she must have deleted her Facebook account.  I may have even messaged another former teacher to tell that first teacher I said hello, or possibly even sent an email to her school email account. I'm not really sure, I can't remember that detail now.

Never, in my wildest dreams did I imagine that she--someone I thought of as a mentor to me during high school--had blocked me. But, sitting in that hotel room, I knew that's what happened. I tried to search again, to be sure, and nothing. I logged in from another account, and was able to see her--that's when I knew for sure, without a doubt, she had blocked me. That information hit me like a ton of bricks. 

I distinctly remember my mom asking me what was wrong, and I tried not to cry as I told her "Mrs. _____ blocked me on Facebook." My mom didn't remember her, but she could tell I was upset, "Don't let it bother you." She told me, no doubt knowing that was futile--everything bothers me.  I searched through this old teacher's profile for the last post I remembered seeing, and then tried to correlate it with something controversial I had posted on my Facebook around that time. I really could find nothing, and I started to cry.

Now, it didn't ruin our vacation or anything even close to that, but it bugged me for awhile.  It's no secret that I am a very sensitive person, and so having someone block me on Facebook might sting no matter what.  But, this person was a mentor, someone I really looked up to in high school, someone who wrote me a letter of recommendation for college, someone I named in a blog post about good teachers, so it felt even worse--felt even more personal. Never mind that 8 or 9 years had passed since I was even in high school, and I had become a much different person than I was back then (this teacher probably had, too).

But it still bothered me. I couldn't fathom what I had done to make her block me--and, you know? I still can't.  Sometimes I still see her tagged, and I think 'I wonder what I did?' But then, something else comes to mind: I don't care.  I really genuinely do not care anymore what I did, or even that she blocked me in the first place.  Which is actually kind of a revelation.

You see, my whole life I have been a people-pleaser. As far back as I can remember, I remember being (and enjoying being) the teacher's pet.  I was kind to teachers, I looked up to them, and just like [most] everyone else, I wanted them to like me (and often wanted them to like me the best).  Now, whether they did or did not like me the best isn't really the point (and, I really don't know/care now whether they did or not). But, truth be told, I was a good student--and I loved school, so teachers held a special spot in my mind--they were on a pedestal.  In high school I used to debate with family members telling them that teachers should make way more money than they make (I still believe they should).  At several points, I even wanted to be a teacher.  So, even 8 or 9 years later, being blocked by a teacher I really liked in high school genuinely bothered me.

But it also taught me a couple of lessons-- we are not who we were 8 or 9 years ago.  None of us are.  And knowing why I was blocked doesn't really matter in the long run.  Who I was then is a part of who I am now, but I don't have to let it rule--I don't have to be that same girl who seeks approval from her teachers (past, present, or future. Or even from her peers--but maybe that's a different blog). And it's okay if these people don't approve of me, even if they did at one time.  People are allowed to change.

Social media is really great sometimes.  It allows you to keep in touch with people you wouldn't have otherwise, and some days I am thankful for it (other days, I swear I'll delete it).  And if the day ever comes where I do hit that little delete button, I'll probably be relieved, and yet thankful for the lessons it taught me.

Had that teacher not blocked me, I might never have learned that it's okay if I leave the past in the past.  She and I were close (ish) a very long time ago, and she was a pretty good teacher most of the time, but that time has come and gone--and that's okay.  I'm different now, and truth be told, I like who I am now a hell of a lot better than I like who I was then--and if that teacher, for whatever reason, decided the opposite was true? Oh well.  I haven't lost anything except another reason to cling on to the past.

And, as sad as I was for a few days, the truth of the matter is this:

How I feel about the blocking now (and, indeed, all blockings)

So, thank you, Teacher, wherever you are--for the past, and for the present. For the lesson it taught, I am happy to not know you now.

I Was Bullied by a Teacher: Giving Educators What They Deserve

I want to take a moment today to talk about teachers.  There's been a lot of debate going around over the last few years about teachers, their rates of pay, their worth, their impact. One side says that teachers are waaaaay underpaid, that they work extraordinarily hard and receive very little in return. And, another side argues that teachers are paid perfectly well because they don't do that much anyway.

As with most things, there is, of course, more to it than that. But, that's the general break down of it.

I tend to side with the former camp-- teachers do a lot for children and young adults every single day.  To ignore that is to ignore the fact that many of us are likely where we are today because of teachers, even if it is just one, that has impacted our lives. Sometimes, in no small way.  I've read so many stories about teachers saving a kid's life--or helping a kid get back on the right path, helping kids go to college, when no one else thought that would an impossibility.  Teachers providing inspiration where there is none.

The same people who critique teachers and how "little they do," are the same people who got into college with the help of a teacher or two by way of a letter of recommendation.

In my life, I've had some amazing teachers, that's for sure.  

Mrs. Collier was my first grade teacher at Box Springs Elementary School in Moreno Valley, CA circa 1992.  This woman inspired in me a deep love and passion for reading.  My mom had always encouraged me to read, but Mrs. Collier really took it to the next level.  I can't even recall how, but I know for a fact that it was in her class that I learned the power of a book, and how magical it was to get lost in one.  It was in her class that I read 100 books in one quarter.  That's right, one quarter (not semester).  This is also probably around the time my mom would beg me to go outside and play, and I would insist that I just wanted to read. I remember absolutely devouring Ann M. Martin's The Babysitter Club Little Sister books.  (Despite what the Barnes and Noble cashier said, I know these books exist [i still have some of them], and they were centered around a little sister (step sister, I believe) named Karen to one of the girls in the Babysitter's Club, though I can't remember which one).  Anyway, Mrs. Collier inspired me to become a voracious reader who, in 9th grade, would read before the morning class began, while everyone else chatted.  She inspired a love of reading that still exists to this day--and which likely led me to major in English, and go on to receive my Master's in the same subject.

Yes, I have indeed been lucky to have some amazing teachers who inspired me and really taught me a lot.

In middle school, there was Mrs. Blakemore--she taught science with such passion, that I couldn't wait to go to her class every day (and not simply to pet the class bunny named Darla), Mr. McMahon, Mrs. Kent, Mr. Branstetter (who had more faith in me than I did in myself when it came to math), and Mrs. Jennings.

In high school, my very first teacher on my very first day of class was Mr. Kossak.  He remained a part of my life all through high school, acting as a second father to me.  I still keep in contact with him, and I am thankful for the leadership he gave me back then.

There was also Mrs. Nagy, Mrs. Lofquist, Mr. Williams, Mr. Karlan, and Mrs. Williams (who insisted, after I came to her class after the Senior AP test that I was sure I had failed ["I'll be lucky if I even get a 3!"] that she would be surprised if I didn't get at least a 4. [I got a 5--not without the assistance of Mrs. Nagy, Mrs. Lofquist, and Mrs. Williams, who spent years fostering a further understanding of and passion for the English language/written word]).

In college, I was so lucky to work with amazing professors like Heather King, Claudia Ingram, Fran Grace, Anne Cavender, Ralph Angel, Bill Rocque, Karen Derris, Emily Culpepper, and a myriad of other professors who were so brilliant and passionate about what they do. The University of Redlands was the absolute best place for me, as an undergraduate.  In Grad School, Brad Campbell, John Hampsey, and Kevin Smith proved to be great resources in furthering my studies.

All of these people have inspired me in one way or another--many of them still continue to inspire me, even now.

But, unfortunately, there is another side to this story.  While I have been extremely lucky to have these fabulous instructors in my life, all of whom fostered my love of learning in one way or another, I have had some bad terrible teachers. 

I feel like this notion of a bad teacher falls into one of two categories: it is of the awful, news-making, our kids are not safe variety.  Or, it is of the quiet kind--some sort of nebulous idea of a bad teacher, but no one really knows what it consists of (not following a lesson plan/appropriate curriculum, sitting at the desk eating donuts/jack in the box, 'read the book' as a lesson, showing up but not caring, etc.).  Yes, everything in the parenthetical might be said of a 'bad teacher,' but an actual bad teacher can be so much worse than that--can be so much more damaging than that. 

My story happened before the invention of cellphones with cameras in them--I know, it seems like a lifetime ago now.  But, it was the late 90s, and I was in the 6th grade (Middle School at Elsinore Middle School went from 6-8 grade).  I was excited, I was nervous, I was a bit green, I was scared, and I was insecure.

First, though, a little about me prior to entering the 6th grade: as you might have guessed based upon my previous exaltation of Mrs. Collier, I was an extremely good student.  I got straight A's pretty much throughout elementary school, and scored in the top percentile on my standardized tests.  

So, imagine the surprise of my parents when, in sixth grade, I started bringing home D's, instead of A's. I was going through a rough time with some friendships (perhaps another blog for another day), but the crux of the problem was this: I was being bullied by a teacher.

I know, I know--there's this thing going around about how millennials are so spoiled, and we got a trophy for everything, and it was always the teacher's fault... and no.  It is not always the teacher's fault.  Believe me, I get that.  However, to say it is never the teacher's fault would also be an inaccuracy.  Because, in my two first period classes (Language Arts, and another subject at which I had previously excelled), I began pulling the lowest grades I'd ever seen--and, it turns out, I would ever see again.  And it wasn't my fault.

For whatever reason, Ms. Jackson had decided that she didn't like me.  To this day, I cannot tell you why.  But, at 10-11 years old, I was bullied by my sixth grade teacher, a grown woman, for an entire school year.  She would make me feel stupid for asking questions in class, she would not call on me if I raised my hand to answer a question, and eventually she began to belittle me in front of the entire class.  For some reason, back then, I had this odd habit of talking in a baby voice-- I'm not sure why, but she chastised me for it in front of the whole class.  I was stunned, and always one to easily cry, I had to sit there and fight back the tears, as my classmates snickered around me.  The progress report came to the house, and my parents were completely shocked.  They had never seen grades like that from me before.  

Concerned, my mom called Ms. Jackson, and my mom told this teacher that she didn't understand--how had I gone from getting straight A's in elementary school, to getting D's in her courses?

Ms. Jackson said that that happened a lot with students from my elementary school.  They came in extremely behind, and etc., etc., etc.  Went from straight A's to D's and F's.

At one point during the school year, we had to do a book report on a book of our choosing-- we could choose any project to do at the summation of reading our selected book.  Some students did a diorama, some students did a report, etc.  For my project, I decided I was going to be unique and do an "Interview With the Author."  Of course, I couldn't really interview the author, but I made the report like I was a journalist asking the author questions about her book--it was creative, and it showed that I had read the book.  I even used information from the 'About the Author' page regarding where the author lived, etc.  I took some liberties, sure, but right on the cover page of the report I had written "An Interview with the Author" (Fiction) By: Natalie McDonald.  I received an F.

Then, came the parent-teacher conference, where Ms. Jackson told my parents how terrible I was doing--how the work I was turning in was completely sub-par.  "Like this," Ms. Jackson said, waving my book report around, "What is this?  I can't tell what this is--did she actually interview the author?!"

My mom responded by taking the report from her, and pointing out where I had clearly marked it as 'fiction.' My final grades in both of those classes were D's.

To this day, they are the only D's I have ever received.  After I got out of Ms. Jackson's class, I entered 7th grade, and was met with some brand new teachers--any guesses at what my grades were that year?  Yes. Straight A's.  I was not, as Ms. Jackson claimed, "way behind" the other students in my grade.  In 8th grade, one letter dominated my report card: A.

I still don't know why Ms. Jackson hated me so--I don't think I'll ever know.  Bad grades would have been one thing, they didn't ask me on my college applications what grades I got in 6th grade Language Arts class, but the actual thing that Ms. Jackson did was publicly humiliate a 10 year old girl in front of her peers because she arbitrarily decided she didn't like her.  Or, I don't know, maybe she had a really good reason, I'll never know.  Either way, her actions weren't appropriate.

This is the first time I am telling this story in a public forum, and I am doing so for a very specific reason. The number of good teachers I have had far outweighs the number of bad teachers I've had (I've had more than one, but Ms. Jackson went above and beyond), but no one seems to talk about the bad unless it is in the extreme (teachers committing crimes, etc.).  Ms. Jackson could have done far worse damage to me than she did.  And I am extraordinarily lucky to have parents who believed me--who didn't just think that I was blaming my poor performance on a teacher to get out of accepting responsibility for my behavior.  As far as I know, Ms. Jackson was never held accountable for what she did to me--and I can only hope that she didn't do it to anyone else, either.

My grades suffered that year, my self-esteem and self-worth suffered that year, my psyche suffered that year--and that was due, in large part, to Ms. Jackson.  Luckily, I was able to pull myself out of it the very next year--others might not have been so lucky.  The truth of the matter is this: bad teachers are dangerous.  Which brings me back to the beginning of this post--bad teachers are dangerous, which is why it is absolutely imperative that we treat the good ones in the manner that they deserve.

Obviously, this is still something I think about from time to time, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a traumatic experience.  But, the truth of the matter is: it hasn't impacted my life in the slightest. 

So, Theresa Jackson, wherever you are, despite your best efforts circa 1997-98, at Elsinore Middle School in Lake Elsinore, California, your behavior and actions had absolutely no impact on my life whatsoever.

And to everyone else mentioned in this blog: thank you.  Without ever knowing my story, every single year you helped reaffirm that it was okay to trust teachers, a sentiment I lost a little bit in the late 90s.