In sixth grade I was at a new school, and I was a bundle of nerves.  I've always hated to eat where it's noisy or pee when people are around, so by the time my last class rolled around, I was starving and really had to 'go.'  Unfortunately, my final class was languages, and I was over my head.

I'd been something of a whiz up to that point.  I never had to study, just skim the textbook before tests.  In Latin, that technique wasn't helping, and I had a D.  I didn't know that what I was doing wasn't studying in any sense of the word, and I thought that my smarts had just dissolved.  So I stayed late to talk to my Latin teacher.  This was about three weeks into sixth grade, so neither of us knew the other very well.

She was a short lady with blond hair, and she didn't look happy to see me.

"I'm Bike, and I have a D!" My chin was all ready shaking.

"Yeah."  Her arms folded over her soft looking pink sweater.

"Is there anything I can do to raise my grade?"

"No!" Her hands clenched.

"But I'll do extra, I'll write the Roman numerals a thousand-" I was crying in earnest now.

"NO YOU WON'T!  Extra comes from the Latin, above and beyond, but I don't suppose you'd know that?"  She seemed so angry.

"I'm-I'm sorry."  

"You know what?  Every day, you come in hear, you put your hand on your chin, and you sigh!  You just sit there like the queen on the hill, and then you're surprised that us commoners won't help you!"

I was tired, so maybe I did sigh, and I did (do) often sit with my chin in my hand, but that's a sign of concentration, not arrogance.  

"I don't-I'm not-"

"Just go."

So I went.  I was 11 at the time, and for many years, I thought I deserved that teacher's wrath. Now I wonder why she didn't at least tell me to study harder or make flash cards.  I didn't deserve extra credit, but I certainly didn't deserve that kind of dressing down.  I was too ashamed to tell my mom, and I wonder how many other children she terrorized.  Anyone else got a bad teacher story?  (Yours or your child's.)