More than just a few years ago, I was pleased to meet John Taylor Gatto at our NYS LEAH homeschool convention.  He was signing copies of his newest book at the time, "The Underground History of Public Education."  (Take a "History Tour" here)  He was a bit of a hero to me, because he understood.  He was the teacher who walked away from the profession because "he didn't want to hurt children any longer."  That after receiving an award for "Teacher of the Year." 

He was a hero to me, because I had been very hurt in the public school system, and he seemed to understand that.  Honestly, I was so excited about meeting him.  It was a great moment, because I got to him when there was a GREAT speaker in the main hall, and EVERYONE else was there.  John Taylor Gatto was pretty much alone but for an assistant.  I had full audience with him.  I began to pour out my story, which still gets me choked up 40+ years later.

My first grade teacher seemed to hate me.  I'll never forget the fierce look in her eyes every time she looked at me, or how boney her finger looked when she pointed it inches from my face.  Maybe it was because I had wet my pants one day, who knows.  I was terrified of the extreme loudness in the bathroom everytime the toilet flushed.  The noise seemed thunderous.  I avoided the bathroom at all costs.  And boy did it cost -- tremendous embarassment, and the displeasure of my teacher.

One day, I got 100 percent correct on my math paper.  I was so pleased and thought  "Now maybe she'll be happy with me.  These two girls approached me and asked me what I got on my paper.  I mean, it was only about 10 problems, and they were likely super easy, maybe as easy as 2 + 3.  "I got them all right" I answered smiling.  "Really?  Let me see ..." one of the girls said.  She took my paper, and the two girls leaned over it, giggling and doing "something."  What, I was not sure.  They then took the paper straight to my teacher, and said "Mrs. *******, you missed one!"  They had erased my right answer and wrote a wrong one down.  She thanked them as though they were mini-gods, and changed the grade on my paper, then handed it back to me with a slight smirk.  Shy as I was, and terrified as I was in that classroom, I did nothing about it.  Boy, was I sad though.

One day, another boy in my class was holding a very large jar, like a canning jar, of pond water.  It may have had something live in it, I don't remember.  What I do remember is the look of horror on his face when it slipped from his hands and onto the floor - glass shattering and water splashing everywhere.  The poor kid.  I will never forget the look on his face.  I was paralyzed with fear, and I was simply an innocent bystander.  There was that boney finger again, this time pointing at him.  "YOU are the WORST kid in the CLASS!"  Time stood still.  Then she caught herself and turned to me, pointing her finger straight at me.  "No, SHE is the worst kid in the class.  YOU are the second worse."  As an adult, today I describe her attitude as infantile.  At the time, her words were seared on my memory.  She disallowed anyone in the class to speak to me for the remainder of the year.  Why?  Why??  Who knows what her twisted mind was thinking.  It doesn't matter.  My classmates listened well to her that year, (shunning me) and the next year (even though the teachers changed, I had been marked in first grade!).  Finally, in fourth grade I had missed so much school for hating it and faking sick all the time, that I was held back and got some new classmates. 

There were other things I shared - the time I hadn't finished my paper, and was afraid to come in after recess - so I just stayed out there, hiding.  Being dragged, heels dug in, to the Principal's office, tears STREAMING down my face.  That year has lots of stories.  Well, John Taylor Gatto, when I finished speaking had one thing to say.  "I wish I'd had my microphone for all of that."   Other people were milling about now, and I bought my book with a bit more exchange of conversation.  I thanked him for exposing a system that was clearly broken, and that had broken this girl's heart when she was very, very small.

Why hadn't I told my parents about this abuse?  I had no idea it was abuse, I thought I was very, very bad.  Way bad.  I recounted this story to my older sister for the first time, when I was in my 20's.  Only then did I say to myself first, then to her "That was horrible!  I was a BABY!!  WHAT was she thinking??"  Of course, my sister was horrified too.

No, that's not ever teacher, and not every child's experience.  There ARE some great teachers out there, and some nightmarish ones.   Good teacher, bad teacher, the whole system is broken and not conducive to true education.   I've quoted this before and I will again here; Spunky once said "Most of us wouldn't let a stranger drive our car - why do we let them have our children?"

My mother has since passed away, but she fully approved of our homeschooling adventure.  She said to me "I wish I'd have kept you all home."  Oh, Mom -- you have no idea.  How I wish you'd have kept me home.  Home where I belonged.

Deb Turner (Homeschooling From the Heart)
The Old Schoolhouse Magazine
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