Wednesday, May 20, 2009

B*tch Look At Me Now

When I was in the 7th Grade my homeroom teacher, Ms. Gordon, told me that I’d never amount to anything in this world. She thought I had a learning disability and she basically just beat me down. I didn’t care for that bitch too much, but the funny thing about it was, I clearly showed her. LMAO.

I have nothing against teachers, but I truly believe this woman was racist. I remember countless times when she made all the Black boys in the class stay behind while she would lecture us for hours. Now the thing about this was that it wasn’t like, “You young men need to do better” it was more like “You little boys will never amount to anything.” She was a Black woman too. (Her boyfriend was white and she wore a wig.) She graded us more stringently. She let others slide with things she would let us slide with. And let me be clear, I could understand if her goal was to build us up, but it was clear it was not.

I remember the parent/teacher conference in which I thought my mother was going to slap the dog spit out of her. It went something like this:

Mrs. Gordon: I sincerely think there is something wrong with your son. Like, something is wrong with him. He just will not sit still, he’s disruptive, he doesn’t do his homework, he can’t seem to pay attention, etc. etc. etc.
(She was one of those people who actually said, “etcetera, etcetera, etcetera”)
My mother: Can you give me examples? Because I’m sure he can sit still.
(At this time I’m sitting right next to my mother, sitting still.)
Mrs. Gordon: Oh he’s just over here and then he’s over there. And he won’t leave this one alone and he won’t leave that one alone. I mean, have you tried… medicating him?
My mother: Excuse me?!
(At this time, I have this grin on my face like, “This finna be good.”)
My father: (interrupts an imminent slap coming across the table) All of that is irrelevant. What can we or what can he do to fix the situation?
My mother: No wait, Andrew! Medicate him?!

You can see where that one ended up.

She told me I’d never make it out of Hardy Middle School. When I graduated from High School, the same day with my green robe on and all, I went back to Hardy. I was walking through the halls while class was in session, laughing with my other friends who had attended Hardy. I walked pass where her classroom was located, she stepped out to see the ruckus. I had passed her and cut the corner of the hall way when she yelled out, “Uhhh EXCUSE ME, WHAT ARE YOU YOUNG PEOPLE DOING?!” I turned around and her face turned white. She said, “OH MY LORD! THEY LET YOU OUT OF HIGH SCHOOL! I need to retire.” I walked back over to her, remained cordial, told her that I planned to attend college. It was a wayyy better college than the one she attended. I told her that I had applied to 13 schools, and I was accepted into 12, waitlisted into 1, which I later got into. She had this look on her face like she could not believe it. At no point did she ever congratulate me or admit that she was wrong.

When I graduated college, I thought about going back again, but then I thought no it’s not worth it. I had heard stories from other Black students who went through the same things with Ms. Gordon. I knew she would never change. She gave me fuel to do what I did. I proved her wrong and so many like her on my way to where I am today. God is good, life is good.


True2me said...

good you proved that no good wench wrong..and we know you aint do it for her

I wouldn't have even giving her the satisfaction of going back so she can have more smart spit to say

eff her

missv463 said...

ohh this reminds me of the sequential math teacher i had in middle school, Mrs. Plotkin. i mean, she never said i wouldn't amount to anything, but she used to take mad points off tests/homework because i had my own way of solving the problems... she didn't appreciate that. she made me bring my mother to parent-teacher conference, too. when i got a 5 on my AP Calc B test, i wanted to shove my little AP certificate in her face and be like "BAM!" lol.