When my son was in sixth grade, he came home with a rip in his new sneakers. He told me the gym teacher did it during a sneaker check..."You mean he tugged on your sneaker and it ripped?" I asked.
"No, he said. It ripped when he threw it across the floor and it hit the doorway... if your sneaker comes off, he throws it. My sneaker ripped when it hit the doorway and flew into the hall. Then I had to go get it."
...
I had a hard time accepting my son's explanation, but I couldn't let it go. Either he wasn't telling the truth, or this teacher was way out of line. Both scenarios needed to be addressed. I made an appointment to talk with the principal the next morning.
The principal met my concerns with doubt. When she tired to dismiss me, I told her I wanted to speak to the gym teacher in person.
The minute this man walked into her office, I could tell there was a problem. I knew my son had told the truth. The gym teacher barely said hello. He didn't reach out to shake my hand, nor did he return my smile. He had a cocky attitude, but he didn't even know why I was there yet.
I bit my tongue, complementing him on his concern for safety. He shrugged his shoulders in response. Then I told him that my son came home with a rip in his new sneakers. Another shrug. Diplomacy wasn't working, so I asked him if he threw my son's sneaker across the room. "Yeah, so?" was his reply.
"Yeah, so?" My emotions kicked in. "Who do you think you are? This isn't boot camp and my son is not a Marine. He is a sixth grade student. You mean to tell me you whipped his sneaker across the gym, and then made him fetch it like a dog?"
"Hey, they weren't tied," was all he said.
"Don't you ever, I mean ever as much as touch my son again. If his sneakers aren't tied, make his sit out of class, give him demerits, or call me, but if you touch him again, I'll come into that gym and throw you across the room. Got it?"
"Hey, whatever," he said. "I have rules. His sneakers weren't tied."
For a brief moment, I floundered. The principal's silence made me uncomfortable and the gym teacher's attitude was intimidating. I gathered my thoughts, took a deep breath and said, "Don't you realize how damaging your actions are?
"Is that all?" he said, directing his question to the principal. Then he left the room.
http://www.familycorner.com/parenting/ages/teacher_bully.shtml
I found this while looking for Phys Ed teachers' reaction to the movie Mr. Woodcock, featuring Billy Bob Thorton as a typically thuggish junior high P.E. teacher.
Some P.E. teachers got their jock straps in a bunch over the film. They whined that this was why funding was being cut for P.E. They talked as if they were a persecuted minority.
Everybody's dealt with P.E. teachers at one time or another. The stereotypes don't come out of nowhere.
Now they're arguing that we need physical education because there are so many overweight children. Since P.E. teachers mainly abuse such children, it doesn't seem like a good idea:
From grades first to third our phys. ed. class consisted of playing games outside or in the gym with our regular classroom teacher. Fourth grade changed all that. Now we had "real" gym class. She insisted on weighing us and recording our heights before we began our first gym class with her. A chart of what we should weigh at our age hung ominously next to the scale.
As she weighed each child Miss Pons read out the number to the school secretary who wrote it on a chart. I was dreading my turn. I didn't know my exact weight but I knew I wore clothes bought in the PrettyPlus section of the stores. Even my jeans were a different brand than other girls because they were made for the "larger sized" girl.
The boy in front of me got weighed and I heard Miss Pons say she hoped he was as good a ball player as his older brother. The boy beamed when she told him he looked like an athlete. I was next.
...
I got on the scale. She looked at the number, raised her eyebrows and called out my weight number, 122 pounds. Then she looked me up and down.
"122? Wow! Let's see if we can run some of that blubber off of you this year. What's your name?" When I mumbled my name, she put a red mark next to it.
I heard the kids giggle and I saw the secretary smother a laugh. I got off the scale and was going to the back of the line when I heard her call my name and say, "Hey, where are you going, chubs? I've got to get your height."
That was my introduction into hell with Miss Pons. It was to get much worse.
...
The first time a kid called me fat in front of Miss Pons I thought she hadn't heard it but I was wrong. We were playing softball and, of course, I struck out. This incensed the other players and one girl said if I put all my fat behind my swing I might hit the ball once in a while. The other kids laughed and I walked back to the bench forgetting to give my helmet to the next batter. As I passed Miss Pons I saw her look at the girl and smile.
"Hey, Minnesota Fats! You forgetting something? The helmet!"
It was Miss Pons talking to me! The kids just about rolled on the ground with laughter at that one even though none of us had any idea who Minnesota Fats was. I was devastated. I sat in the corner of the playground with my head down so no one could see the tears running down my face.
...
The kids became her audience and she loved it. They also curried favor with her by following her example. She never stopped anyone from calling me names and she humiliated me if I cried. I tried not to cry in her presence, saving my tears for a stall in the girls bathroom if she would let me go...
I won't discuss my own experiences except this one. I was at the university. I was standing in line for a movie. Some physical education majors were standing in front of me. One of them was doing his student teaching at a junior high school. He was talking with his friends about how he attacked an 8th grade boys, kneed him in the face and knocked out one of his teeth. I don't know what the kid told his parents, or why he didn't report it, but he didn't.
I was listening for the name of the school, but they didn't say. I would have called the school if I had heard.
It is a "profession" that attracts a lot of filth.
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