The thought of sitting in class pen to paper has always been a very difficult task, never because I did not want to but instead it was always the fact that I always seemed to write about things that did not interest me or I did not like. 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. They told me to wake up prepared to learn but I thought learning was something in which they wanted the people who they taught to be interested in. Maybe I go 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 fr guidance because what I did not learn or what did not interest me was always up to myself to complete. 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 leave. My mom turned the corner as they filled her hands with information about me. In which I always thought was weird being that they are giving out “my information, without me even giving them any information. As we roamed the halls going in and out the classroom conferencing with different teachers about my behavior in school. As 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, nd hearing the yells of parents looking in the eyes of their child, I was stuck in the in between. With my mom not being happy or mad , but instead chill. As we touched 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. tTell her how much she was a horrible person, teacher. 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 you cn just tell that she did not care. 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. In the end 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 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 still refused to help me.
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
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