(In fourth grade I move to a new school. On my first day of school, a group of girls comes up to me and claims me as their friend. I become really good friends with one of the girls, and the rest are fun to play with at recess. Some of the girls aren’t as smart as I am, and one is missing a leg. All of them have another class that they go to for part of the day, but being nine, I don’t really think much of it. This happens in sixth grade: My teacher has asked me to stay behind so she can talk to me before I go to recess.)

Teacher: “[My Name], I see that you’ve been playing with [Friends #1, #2, and #3]. You shouldn’t be playing with them; we will find you new friends.”

Me: “But I like my friends, and all the other kids in class are mean or are into things I’m not interested in.”

Teacher: “Well, if you stop being friends with those girls, then people wouldn’t be mean to you.”

Me: “But my friends are friends with me, no matter who I hang out with. Why should I be friends with people who don’t like me because of who I am friends with?”

Teacher: “[My Name], those girls are Day School children and you’re not. You are one of the brightest students I have, and you shouldn’t be playing with them.”

Me: *looking at my teacher in confusion* “But [Teacher], I’m a child and I go to school during the day. What am I, if not a day school child?”

Teacher: *pauses* “Just go outside and try to make new friends.”

(It took me a while to work out that “day school children” meant kids who were in special ed. By the end of seventh grade, I was no longer friends with most of the girls that I was friends with in fourth grade. Some had changed schools, and some had just drifted naturally into different groups. I’m glad I never took my teacher’s advice to abandon a group of people who had welcomed me with open arms just because my teacher thought they were different than me. I’m now in my 30s and still count one of those girls as one of my closest friends.)

(My kindergarten teacher doesn’t like me, probably because I am a bit of a smart-a**, correcting her on math, grammar, and seasons. Each student in the class has brought in a bag of rocks from our neighborhoods as homework. I am partnered with a boy in my class to talk about our selections.)

Me: ”These rocks are really hard. See?”

(I tap the bag on the kid’s head, not too hard.)

Partner: “Ow. Those are hard.” *continues eating snack*

(Then, my teacher proceeds to call me inside. She takes me to the reading corner, the one spot of the room that can be completely counted on to not be reached by security cameras. She then hits me over the head with the rocks so hard that I’m surprised I don’t get a concussion.)

Teacher: “Did you like that?”

Me: “No! I’m sorry! Please don’t do that again!”

(She then emailed my mom and let her know what happened. She never mentioned how she punished me, probably because physical punishment is illegal in my state’s schools. I didn’t tell my parents what really happened until about third grade because I thought it was my fault. She was retired by then, but if I had told my parents a bit sooner, we would’ve taken it to court and probably sued her.)

(I am at my school’s choir practice. Our instructor is going over the alto part for a section of a song and no one is getting it right.)

Teacher: “Come on, guys. Make it sexy!” *noticing our looks* “What? Gospel can be sexy.”

(Pause…)

Teacher: “JESUS CAN BE SEXY, TOO!”

(Cue an uproar from everyone else.)

(The UK has very strict gun laws. One day, there are police everywhere and helicopters in the sky. Social media informs me that two people were spotted with guns. The next Monday when I’m in my films and media class…)

Teacher: “Before we start, I just want to thank you guys for being so eager to do your coursework. Next time, though, please alert both the college and the police if you’re going to be filming with realistic replica firearms.”

(He looked pointedly at two of my classmates. I think we know who caused the stir.)

(In anatomy and physiology lab we are learning about the skeletal structure.)

Professor: “And this is the collar bone. Which quarterback broke his this past weekend?”

Me: “Aaron Rodgers.”

Professor: “Yeah, so, basically, the Packers are screwed for the season.”

(The professor then goes on a rant about why Rodgers is out for the season, and about recovery of collar bone breaks.)

Professor: “You know, since the Packers’ season is over, we should be, too. Class dismissed.”