The "I Hate My Teacher Song"

Mmmmm yum we went to the Korean restaurant (which we call the Chinese place for reasons unbeknownst to me). It's right across the street from school and I had Dongas, (three slabs of pork cutlet with some rice and two tater tots). It was totally delicious and filling and perfect. We can't order anything off the menu so we stole one and everyday we try something new and write a description next to the Korean name. It's always a gamble and I'm dreading the day that I unwittingly order the chicken foot soup.
In my first class today my favorite student Nathan, told me that he overheard the girls talking about how they "don't like Ms. Megan". The three girls instantly and vehemently denied that the conversation ever took place. All of my students are tattle tales and despite my efforts to break them of the annoying habit it's a practice that continues day in and day out. "Teacher, Joseph spoka Korea" is the one I hear most often since our school employs a strict policy of suppressing anything distinctly Korean, especially the language. Anyway Nathan's bit of information wasn't surprising to me since I've heard two of the three girls asking each other before, somewhat foolishly in English, whether they liked me or not. At the time I didn't get a chance to hear the answer but it's obvious that the question wouldn't have been asked if the answer wasn't decidedly in the negative. I'm not hurt by this news but I still had to muster all of my maturity not to shout back at them "well that's fine cause I can't stand you either!" Somehow I don't think this would have been a good solution but in truth I totally despise two of the girls in that class and consequently I pick on them more often than most. Their problem is that they're both stupid. The one, Gena, continuously gets the lowest scores in the class and struggles to answer a question when called upon to do so. This fact however, does not stop her from raising her hand anyway and then acting all coy and forgetful when I call on her. Both girls cheat off of their peers because they're too stupid to come up with the answers by themselves and this drives me crazy. Anyway so I'm not getting any teacher of the year awards from that class. Oh well. The point of this entry is that it reminded me of a similar childhood experience that I had.
In the first grade my teacher's name was Mrs. Evanoff. I didn't like her very much and I obviously thought it was necessary to share my sentiments with my desk partner Erica. Erica was a hateful little fat girl that I thought I could trust because she was a good little Catholic just like me. Well I probably should have taken my confession to a priest instead because Erica, soon after hearing that I didn't like Mrs. Evanoff, saw cookies rather than dollar signs and got a keen idea. Erica told me that if I didn't give her my snack every day for a week (or was it a year?), that she would tell Mrs. Evanoff the truth about my feelings. Being the bright little girl that I was, I knew full well that Mrs. Evanoff finding out that I said that I wasn't fond of her would result in my certain death. Not wanting to suffer such a fate I, unlike the U.S. government negotiated with the first grade terrorist and succumbed to her blackmail.
It had only been a couple of days when the lack of a daily snack began to show in my sunken, hollowed out face. My mom asked me why I was so hungry after school and why I wasn't eating my snack. I crumbled under the penetrating eyes of my mother and told her the whole story with all of the sordid details. I made her swear that she would never tell Mrs. Evanoff, but my mother being a fellow educator and a cold-hearted woman promptly went to my teacher, not in an attempt to protect me from Erica, but to encourage Mrs. Evanoff to use this information to her benefit and to milk the situation for all it was worth. My mom thought for sure Mrs. Evanoff would have a good laugh at the whole thing and then move on. Although that may have been my mother's approach, it certainly was not Mrs. Evanoff's and I knew instantly the day she called both of us forward to her desk that I was in for it. Well to make a long story a little less long, Erica and I both received a worm each on our apples, the laminated symbol of your safety in the first grade, three worms in one's apple warranted a letter home and the impending end of the world to a six year old. My relationship with my mother suffered as a consequence and things wouldn't be the same again for at least another day or two.