The thought of sitting in class pen to paper has always been a very difficult task, never because I did not want to write because I love writing. Writing has always been my way of finding myself when music was not around. In school it was always the fact that I always seemed to write about things that did not interest me or I did not like. I would have to write essays on things that was considered as important just because I live in America. Write paragraphs on why I used a certain strategy in math. Write things that I did not really care about, not because I don’t care about the history but because it was a history that many individuals changed throughout the years or even try to leave out.I was trapped in a endless cycle of misinformation from learning that Christopher Columbus founded america to learning that we live on stolen land, but as of today we still celebrate Christopher Columbus for “finding the land”. It was all so confusing and at them did not make sense. As they teach slavery, and teach segregation, and teach the struggles we sell walk around seeing confederate flags , statues, and etc. Then we learn about Y=Mx+B and as of today have yet to use such an equation. As I grow older school has always been something in which I was told one thing to be misguided in the future, and that has always been something in which puzzled me. As a result I have learned that I have stories in which I wanna share, stories in which I hope people can relate to but in high school I always felt as if school was something forced, and made to misguide you in the future.

They told me to wake up prepared to learn. As I scrambled out of bed , into the shower, into clothes that was uncomfortable, skipping breakfast , and onto a bus.It was an experience in which I repeated for years.As I walked into a building sleepy from the day before due to family issues, and work that they wanted me to do. As of today I always thought learning was something in which they wanted the people who they taught to be interested in, or found away for the students to be interested in. Maybe I got the wrong memo because the more I hoped for high school to end the more I went falling in the lines between meet, and did not meet, but even then I still felt as if even though they told me I had met the the expectations set aside in the end I had no clue on what I really did or how I did it. Instead I searched the walls , and books for guidance because what I did not learn or what did not interest me was something that ended up being up to me to complete or even try to understand.

As I sat in silence hearing the screeching of the marker tracing the board I looked out the window hoping that maybe just maybe I would be able to see more than I was given.

It was a chilly afternoon of my freshman year. As the sun began to disappear into the clouds, and as we lined up waiting to enter into a building in which i called my school, I traveled the halls of the familiar faces, and wish that I could just disappear. My mom turned the corner as they filled her hands with information about me, they gave her my report card, and things like that. In which I always thought was weird being that they are giving out “my information, without me even giving them any information to begin with. As we roamed the halls going in and out the classroom conferencing with different teachers about my behavior in school, and my grades.So far all the teachers had great things to say like I was “on task” and “quiet” being that it was my 1st year in high school, and I did not know anyone.Soon after we roamed the hall walking into individuals who were happy with their children and others who were not, I strolled the hall along side with my mother hearing the laughs, and hearing the yells of parents looking in the eyes of their child, I was stuck in the in between. My mom was not happy nor mad , but instead chill. It was something I expected with my mother where she would just remain calm and neutral until she finished with the whole parent teacher conference.

We soon reached the door of my algebra teacher I was introduced into an array of disappointment. She was such a disappointment in my eyes. As a teacher she believed that student are supposed to understand the things she teaches right away, and that’s not me. She and I clashed a lot due to are different views. As my mom reached the door I locked eyes with the teacher in which I knew was gonna give me the most trouble. She said things in which I couldn’t even believe for my self as my mom nodded intrigued with all of the “new things” that she told her.She said things like ” Your daughter has a hard time listening”, “She does not pay attention to what I am telling her”, “She always has something to say”, “I constantly have to repeat myself to Daziah”, “Daziah has a hard time staying on task, she always is talking to her friends or partner”. She would say things in which she saw but never cared to ask. I mean she said I was having a hard time without even asking why, and the answer always remained the same I just did not understand, ill listen, and listen, and ask questions but in the end I was still left with that feeling of being lost in a room without a real guide to help me follow through with what I needed to be done. As my mom sat their in disappointment , she gave me a chance to explain myself. There was so much I wanted to say in such a short amount of time. I wanted to yell scream even. Tell her how I personally believed that she was a horrible person, teacher even. I even wanted to tell her how she was so busy worried about getting money instead of doing her job. She did not care, and she was one of those individuals who around others was such a “loving”, and “caring” person but around people who was not considered as authority in her eyes was someone who she believed that she can walk all over. Hate was a strong word but her actions proved to me that hate is something I should feel, but in the end who am I to go against, an adult. Things would go badly on my part regardless if I spoke or not because she taught me to never ever raise my voice or talk back to an adult, and I guess that was because of the Caribbean in us.She as of today has been the reason to why I the despise math, being that when I needed her for help she refused me , and left me to fend for myself in a world where math was something that they told me that I needed, but never really felt as if I needed as much as they claimed.

A Short Reviewers Memo

My intentions in writing this piece was to share a experience in which has stuck with me for years and changed my view on teachers, and math. When writing this I did not really have any hopes but I guess I kind of wondered if there has been others who had faced a teacher or teachers in which tried to prove so hard that they knew who we was as a person without actually knowing anything. I guess I want people to take away from this is maybe that maybe it would be better to stick up for yourself. I think I am having most trouble with giving more imagery , having the readers get a sense of how I look the room look, my mothers expressions, and things like that.Also I know my grammar is probably terrible. I guess I need help with the things that I have listed above. When reading this can y’all highlight the parts that confuse you. Maybe the things that y’all do not understand or want to hear more of.

-Thank you for your time and patience
Daziah Rowe