(In second grade I am given a reading test and score at a 6th grade level. In third grade, I was given the test again, and the school called my father in to discuss the results.)

Teacher: “Mr. [Dad], we’re concerned about your daughter’s reading. She’s not improving.”

Dad: “What do you mean not improving? Isn’t she testing above grade level?”

Teacher: “She’s tested at the same level two years running.”

Dad: “Yes, but she’s scoring well above her grade level. Out of curiosity, what’s the highest score you can get on that test?”

(The teacher checks:)

Teacher: “Sixth grade.”

Dad: “…How, exactly, do you expect her to score higher than the test goes?”

(They gave me a different test and I scored at an eighth grade reading level.)

(I am in fourth grade. I have a terrible teacher who does many things that are uncalled for; the following is one of them. Every time we have a spelling test we are required to study with our parents or we have to stay in at recess with our heads down. It didn’t matter what grade we get on it.)

Teacher: “[Student #1], did you study with your parents last night for the test?”

Student #1: “Yup”

Teacher: “[Student #2]?”

Student #2: “No…”

Teacher: “You’ll be in last recess. [My Name]?”

Me: “No, but I got an ‘A’ on it!”

Teacher: “Doesn’t matter, you’ll be in at last recess, too.”

(My parents complained to the administrator, stating that it taught us all to lie. The teacher was actually fired for something else later that year.)

(In sixth grade, someone transferred into my school: the son of the vice principal. Nobody knew why he went to another school previously, but he instantly started acting like he owned the place because of his father. I was a quiet kid so usually avoided him, until one day he decides, out of nowhere, to jump on me and give me a bear-hug, except his arm goes around my neck and I start choking. His father’s the one that breaks us up.)

Vice-Principal: “What do you two think you were doing?!”

Son: “Oh we were just messing around!”

Me: “No, ‘we’ weren’t! You jumped on me and started choking me!”

Son: “Nah, you started the whole thing!”

Me: “NO, I DIDN’T! You’re twice my size; why would I do that!?”

Vice-Principal: “Okay, enough! You’re both getting detention in my office tomorrow.”

Me: “Wait, me TOO!? For getting choked?!”

Vice-Principal: “Fighting back is as bad as starting a fight.”

Me: “I wasn’t fighting back. I WAS GETTING CHOKED AND TRYING TO BREATHE!”

(However, his decision stands and the principal isn’t there that day to complain to, so I show up at his office the next afternoon… Alone. His son isn’t there, and HE isn’t there either. For an hour I sit alone until finally my mother comes to pick me up, at which point she loses it, storms to the front office, and finds one person still there.)

Mom: “WHERE IS [Vice-Principal] and [Son]?!”

Clerk: “Oh, I’m sorry they had an appointment to get to.”

Me: “What!? I was supposed to be in detention with him today!”

Clerk: “Yes, [My Name] should have been told it was moved to tomorrow. He’ll have to serve it then.”

Me: “I was never told! AND I JUST SERVED IT!”

Mom: “There’s NO way he’s doing this again!”

(Needless to say it was a long fight, and she scheduled a personal chat with the vice-principal and principal the day he got back to, as she put it, “put the fear of God into them”. The detention ended up struck from my record, and from then until we graduated 8th grade, the vice-principal’s son never bothered me again.)

(I am in third grade. My class is reading aloud from a book about Native Americans, a topic in which I am very interested.)

Teacher: “The eye-RO-kwis, also known as the Six Nations…”

Me: “[Teacher]?”

Teacher: “Yes?”

Me: “It’s pronounced Iroquois.”

Teacher: “No, that’s not how it’s said.”

Me: “Yes, [Teacher], it is.”

Teacher: “No, I’m an adult and your teacher, which means you need to listen and learn what I’m saying. Now don’t interrupt.” *continues reading* “The name is French, and pronounced… oh.” *grudgingly* “Ir-oh-koi… Their name for themselves is… … [My Name],, how do you say this one?”

Me: “Haudenosaunee.”

(The teacher sent a note home about my ‘impertinence’. Fortunately, my parents knew better and I didn’t get in trouble.)

(In grade four, my teacher hates me. He leaves us in a line outside our class door to get some photocopies.)

Class: *making a bunch of noise in the hallway*

Me: “You guys should really quiet down. At this point all of the second floor will complain about us.”

Class: *still making noise*

(I say that they should be quiet many times. As a failed effort I sit down against the wall waiting for the teacher to come back. When he comes back he complains about us being noisy and gives us a lecture in class.)

Teacher: “Do you little kids even KNOW how EMBARRASSING that was?! To you AND TO ME?! You guys are old enough to keep your mouths shut! I bet [My Name] was talking the most, too.”

(I am about to my end’s wit. I am horribly mad so I get out of my seat.)

Me: “I actually told everybody to stop talking or else this would happen! I only told them to be quiet! Other than that no words came out of my mouth!”

Teacher: “Oh really? Raise your hand if you heard [My Name] talk?”

(A classmate raises his hand. Keep in mind we are not friends.)

Teacher: *shoots me a glare* “And what did [My Name] say?”

Classmate: “[My Name] said that we shouldn’t talk or else we would get in trouble.”

Me: *shoots glare back at teacher and smirks*

(At this point he blushes and doesn’t know what to say.)

Teacher: “J-just go back to your seat.”