Unfiltered Story #97721

, , | Unfiltered | October 16, 2017

My high school was having an anti-violence week, filled with pep rallies, keynote speakers, hallway decorations, after-school events, etc. After one of the pep rallies we returned to English class. My English teacher was an insufferably prideful and arrogant woman who flaunted her anti-male, women-uber-allies third-wave feminism to us almost daily. Boys were torn down for being male, girls were praised and given a pass on everything. She shared a story with us about how violence affected her. She told us about a student she’d had eight or nine years prior, and how this young woman was brilliant and ambitious and kind. Apparently this girl got into the University of Chicago after she graduated and was near the top of her class, getting ready for med school, when she was walking home one night and was mugged, shot, and killed.

Our teacher had tears in her eyes as she told us about this, and I kept thinking about how human this made her seem. This viciously mean teacher with uneven standards across her classroom based on her personal biases was having this moment of real humanity as she told us about how someone she deeply cared about met such a horrific end. After she told us what had happened to this girl, she wrapped up the story as she wiped away a couple tears, “I just wanted to share that, about how I’ve experienced violence in my own life. I just think what happened to her was a terrible waste of brains, and her loss was a blow to the progress of women.”

“Ah,” I thought to myself, “there it is.”