(I am playing with some of the kindergartners I teach when one comes over to give me a drawing.)
Me: “Thank you! I’ll put it on my wall when I get home!”
Other Kid: “You have a HOME!?”
(I have to walk off since I am laughing too hard to speak.)
(I am student-teaching at a local elementary school. While supervising recess one day, a second-grade boy approaches him.)
Me: “Hey! What’s up?”
Kid: “How many kids would it take to lift you onto the merry-go-round, tie you down, and spin you until your brain exploded?”
Me: “Uh… I don’t know. Why?”
Kid: *ponders for a second* “It would probably take 10,000 of us.”
(The kid trots away contentedly, leaving me to wonder what is going on in his head.)
(My year-seven class participates in Friday afternoon tennis lessons. Our coach isn’t a very nice or patient man. I have knee issues that prevent me from running; my classmates know this.)
Coach: “Okay [classmate] and [me], you’re up.”
(We walk to our spots and start hitting the ball back and forth. After the third time of me missing it due not being able to run to it, the coach has had enough.)
Coach: “Oh for heavens sake, run for it girl.”
Classmate: “But, sir, she can’t run; she has bad knees.”
Coach: “Well why isn’t she in wheelchair then? Get off my court!”
(I get upset and go sit against the fence followed by a couple of my friends until the end of lesson. Thankfully, a few of my classmates inform my teacher why I am upset when we get back to school. I am told I don’t have to go if I didn’t want to. The coach is later fired for swearing at some younger students for not hitting the ball properly.)
(I am in first grade. A boy steps on my finger during recess. It hurts a lot, and I can’t move it, so I go to the school nurse.)
Me: “Mrs. [Nurse], somebody stepped on my finger and it hurts. I can’t really move it.”
(It is very painful, but I am not really showing the pain beyond a grimace.)
Nurse: “Let’s have a look at it.”
(She examines my finger, manipulating it, looking at the way the bones are aligned, and looking for swelling and bruising, which are there. Of course, this hurts like h***, but I don’t scream. It’s an easy diagnosis though.)
Nurse: “…well, it looks like it’s bruising a little, so I’ll give you an ice pack.”
Me: “It really hurts. Are you sure it’s not something more than bruising?”
Nurse: “I’m sure, honey. Remember, you’re just in first grade and I’m a nurse. I know what I’m doing. It’s just a little bruise. Stop worrying and go to class.”
(Over my objections, she gives me an ice-pack and sends me to class, where I still can’t move the finger. It has swelled up and bruised even more by the time I get home.)
Me: *walking in* “Mom! I’m home!”
Mom: *sees my finger immediately* “Oh God! What happened!?”
Me: “Oh, someone stepped on it at recess. I can’t move it.”
Mom: “Let me see it.”
(My mom only got to 7th grade in school. She has no medical training whatsoever.)
Mom: “It’s obviously broken! Why didn’t you go to the nurse?”
Me: “I did. She said it was just bruised.”
Mom: “Just bruised my a**! The bone’s out of place, you can’t move it, and it’s swelled up to twice its size!”
(She takes me to the ER, where they find a huge fracture in the finger. By now, it has gone numb from nerve damage. They tell us that the delay in treatment has worsened it, and I will need surgery. The next day, my mother goes for a meeting with the principal and the nurse.)
Mom: “How could you not realize her finger was severely broken? Didn’t the bones look weird? No swelling? Nothing?”
Nurse: “Well, yes, the bones looked a little misaligned, and there was definitely swelling and some bruising.”
Mom: “Was she moving it?”
Nurse: “No, she said she couldn’t, but I came to the conclusion that it was just bruised.”
Mom: “WHY?!”
Nurse: “…because she wasn’t showing enough pain.”
Mom: “WHAT KIND OF A NURSE ARE YOU?!”
Nurse: “Excuse me?”
Mom: “You saw all the symptoms of a broken finger and you ignored them because she didn’t show enough pain?”
Nurse: “Yes…”
Mom: “So you’re saying that her not being able to move it, the fact that the bone was out of place, the bruising, the swelling, none of that counted because she didn’t show enough pain?”
Nurse: “Yes…”
Mom: “And you see nothing wrong with that?”
Nurse: “No…”
Mom: “Even I could tell it was broken! She has nerve damage and a severe fracture! The delay in treatment worsened it! You should’ve called an ambulance, not sent her back to class! You’ve caused serious damage to her through your neglect!”
Nurse: “But she wasn’t showing enough pain!”
Mom: “I never thought I’d say this, but lady, I am suing your a**.”
(I have since grown up and gotten extensive medical training. Thankfully, I can diagnose a broken finger.)
(I am in second grade, and currently taking a test. The desks in my classroom are positioned in twos with their fronts pressed together, so two students are always facing each other. The student sitting in front of me tries to whisper to me as the teacher makes her rounds.)
Student: “Psst… hey, [My Name]!”
(I glance up at him, confused, but don’t say anything.)
Student: “What’s the answer to number five?”
(I look startled that he’s asking me to cheat, shake my head, and continue to take my test.)
Student: “Psst! Hey… what’s the answer to number five? Tell me! Hurry before the teacher comes back!”
Me: “Shh!”
Student: “Come on! Just tell me, please. I really need the help. I didn’t do very good my last test, and I don’t want my mom to get mad at me.”
(When he says this, I feel bad for him, so I quickly tell him the answer and go back to my test. The teacher passes us, but doesn’t notice, and goes to the other side of the classroom again.)
Student: “Psst… hey, [My Name], what’s your phone number?”
Me: “…why?”
Student: “Just tell me!”
Me: “I’ll tell you after the test! Now shh!”
(At this, he nods, and continues taking his test. He doesn’t ask me for any more answers. When we’re finished later, and we’re doing normal work, he comes over to me, smiling mischievously.)
Student: “So, can I have your phone number?”
Me: “Uh… sure, I guess…”
(I grab a piece of paper and quickly jot down a random number, which is not my phone number, because for some reason I don’t really trust him. The number starts with 555, and is only six digits long.)
Me: “Here.”
Student: “Thanks! I’m going to call your mom later and tell her you cheated on that test we just took! Thanks a lot stupid!”
(Surprise surprise, my mom never got that phone call.)
