Sandy Supposes....

No Love Lost

PROMPT November 24th

In a previous prompt, I asked you to write about your
best, or favorite teacher. Tonight write about your darkest teacher.

         

         I wrote about my 'darkest' teacher in a past blog and this is that post.

                   

         

                   

March 20, 2020 at 2:41pm

         
642
Mr. Sensitive
PROMPT March 20th

Share a time when your mouth hung open in shock/awe/surprise/wonder etc. What was it that made you feel that way?





It was my second year of university. I'd already made the mistake of queuing in the wrong line for registration. Apparently a marriage and a surname change meant I should've been in the line for the 'm's'. All the classes I'd requested were available and that made me happy. One course I'd enrolled in would feature creative writing and this excited me. The rest of my classes concentrated on scholarly English. Being free to create would be fun. Ya, right...
For the first session of Creative Writing the professor seemed a bit distant, but hey, we were strangers. He spoke with the other students and avoided approaching me with a greeting. He stared at me a great deal and I just shrugged it off. I didn't know him, so I didn't feel as if we should've been familiar.
For the second session, this professor took offense or disliked something I said. Perhaps I sensed he was treating the class as an English-as-a-second-language course and I asked about this. When I'd registered this had not been my understanding. Let me say I have always respected educators, I loved learning, and I earned top grades. He blew up! To say I was flabbergasted is an understatement. I had not been rude. We were adults and I anticipated civil , respectful behaviour. This did not end here.
As if I was a misbehaving child in elementary school and summoned to the principal's office, I was requested to attend the office of the dean of English. Puzzled, I did as asked. Without preamble, the male official explained that he'd like me to drop this class. My mouth probably fell open. What? Did I not have the right to choose my classes? Had I not paid good money for those classes? And more importantly, why?
The professor had complained immediately to this dean. He felt emotionally unprepared to see me and teach me everyday. My presence caused him undue stress. He was kidding, right? How could I have affected him, burrowed under his sensitive skin in just two brief sessions?
The dean asked me to be reasonable. He pointed out that I was young. I should be flexible. Again, I felt confused. It was like pulling teeth, but finally he got to the so-called reason I irked his professor. Unbelievably, the prof claimed I resembled his recently ex-wife, and it had not been an amicable separation. And this was supposed to be my problem?
Anyway, I thought this over and I realized that professor had some serious issues he was projecting onto me. Did I need that grief? Because the term had already begun, registration in alternate classes proved to be of slim pickings. I had to stitch together two part-time classes to replace the full credit one I'd been asked to leave. I also resented the fact that these two part-time classes were only offered in the evenings, and it would mean I'd have to return to the campus then after day classes. Ridiculous, no?

          Back to the current prompt re a 'dark' teacher...I've only ever experienced the unpleasantness of two teachers, the professor I write about above, and a male high school English teacher. Hmmm, what are the odds that both of my worst educators are male and taught the subject English? The majority of my teachers have been inspirational, male and female. I suppose two bad ones are not a resounding number.

         I cannot recall the high school teacher's name, nor do I care to remember it. I managed to put him and his bullying ways behind me. It never seemed to occur to him to act civilly. He liked to toss essays and tests at students instead of handing them over. He'd strut up and down the aisles created by the placing of the desks and fling the papers toward each student. Some ducked. Some cowered. Some threw up their arms in defense.

         His voice bellowed, or as I came to view it, blustered. He liked to be confrontational. Sarcasm spewed from him. Not surprisingly, no one dared to offer opinions, or venture to answer his questions. Being involved in a class conversation was a rare occasion and it felt more like being embroiled. I dare say no one believed him to be their favourite.