Blogger Lena Kofman recalled an incident from her childhood and reminded parents of an important rule: never let teachers humiliate your children.
When I was in the 9th grade, a new math book came to us.
Her attitude towards me immediately smelled of grey, Spanish boots and sadism. In algebra, of course, I was not Marie Sklodowska-Curie, but she hated me not for that. No matter what I did and did not do, she immediately put me a deuce in the magazine. Turned back - two. She said something to her desk mate - 2. In general, these deuces had nothing to do with my not so meager knowledge, however, by the end of the half year they confidently formed into a deuce in half a year. But it wasn't the worst.
One day this teacher called me to the blackboard. But she didn’t call me to solve an example or write an equation with unknowns. Look at Kofman, she said. Kofman in breeches. And this is at a time when girls at school take off their pants and remain in pantyhose. Maybe you think, Kofman, these leggings with thongs adorn you? Don't think like that.
I stood in front of the class. The whole class was for me, I knew it. But humiliation rose from below in a hot wave. I didn't say anything, I didn't know what to say. I'm confused.
The next day I went up the stairs, this teacher went down it. We made eye contact with her. And I didn't say hello to her.
- Kofman, why don't you greet me? she asked.
- I don't want to. I won’t say hello to you anymore,” I replied. And I was afraid of these words.
It was a riot, sudden, when you can't take it anymore. It was a riot of slaves, beaten and humiliated. I didn't want to be a slave anymore. Whatever it might be for me. And my dad was called to the headmaster.
My dad - he doesn't talk much. But he speaks in such a way that the interlocutor then has nothing to add.
The teacher spoke first. Then the director spoke. My dad was silent and listened. And then he said:
- Now shut up. And listen to what I tell you.
The meaning of his short statement was that he would kick any teacher who humiliates children, not only from the school, but from the profession. I think he said it in such a way that the headmaster and the teacher did not doubt his ability and determination to do it.
And somehow everything calmed down the next day. At the end of the year, I got my solid C. And at the end of the year, this teacher left our school. But my story with her is not over.
One day I was leaving the school where my son studied. And that teacher goes to this school. We got to know each other. We didn't say hello to each other. And that same wave, a hot wave, rose from somewhere below. Humiliation, indignation, the inability to say something, because you are a student, and she is a teacher, and you have no rights, and she has any power over you, the right of the strong. And not understanding how to react to it all. As if all this was in me, like a dried bouquet, and now it has blossomed again, as soon as I saw this teacher.
But the wave has changed. She was no longer confused. Once another wave rose to meet her - a wave of resistance and opposition.
The same thing happened this time. I immediately went to the principal of the school. Told the whole story.
- Wow, he said, we hired her yesterday. It's good that you told everything. Something she has a lot of jobs in the labor force. We will watch.
But I didn't have to watch her. On the same day, as it turned out, she quit. And the trail of her forever disappeared from my life. You can even say that he caught a cold.
What is the moral of this? Like this, maybe.
A child, a little person, has dignity. And this is not a small honor. And if this dignity is not even very visible, this does not mean that it will not suddenly manifest itself in one's awareness. And at the moment the child realizes that he has dignity - at this moment the child becomes a man. Homo erectus.
And the parting word will be this: take care of your children. Never let anyone humiliate them.