by Anna Fand
On my first report card in Kindergarten I received a failing grade (an “F”) in Cooperation.
Whenever I think about it, I still feel hurt and wonder “Why did Mrs. Powder treat me so harshly? Didn’t she know that two months earlier, my family and I had just arrived from Europe on a ship filled with immigrants? That we were Holocaust survivors and spoke no English? And that at barely five years old, I had already experienced enough trauma and fear to last a lifetime?”
I now understand that Mrs. Powder mistook my lack of responsiveness in her classroom for an uncooperative nature, thus demonstrating her incredible absence of empathy. Yet, I am still angry all these years later.
She was not the only teacher who was unkind or insensitive. In fifth grade, the Art teacher – Mrs. Tarry – ensured that I would never develop any artistic motivation or skill.
“Anna”, she would say whenever I presented my art assignment at her desk, “This is terrible. You do not have any talent in this area. Go sit back down.”
Clearly, Mrs. Tarry destroyed any artistic potential I may have had, as evidenced by the stick figures that are now my version of portraits.
“Probably,” I sometimes ruminate, “Mrs. Tarry was just plain mean! She could have encouraged me so that I could try again! Maybe if she had, I might have been another Picasso, Georgia O’Keefe, or Grandma Moses!”
And let me not forget my high school Biology teacher in 10th grade. At a time in life when looking reasonably attractive felt important to girls my age, Mr. Stockard glanced at me one day when I raised my hand to answer a question.
“You look like something the cat dragged in,” he announced, in front of the whole class. He then continued teaching. Needless to say, this unprovoked statement resonated in my brain for quite some time.
“What an idiot!” I thought. “Mr. Stockard should be fired for talking to me like that! I should ask my parents to go to his office about it.” But I knew that my parents, who were struggling, working hard to keep us all afloat, and still not speaking English well, would never consider talking to the school principal about my experience.
Although each of these setbacks affected me negatively at the time, I went on to be a good student overall and, after graduating from college, became a sixth grade teacher. I know that my own earlier experiences affected my career decision.
My goal from Day One was to treat my students with empathy, caring and kindness, while helping them enjoy learning and do their best each day. Hopefully, my interactions with the children I taught provided more compassion than Mrs. Powder, Mrs. Tarry and Mr. Stockard had ever shown me.
