Rollercoaster called Life: The First Drop

Okay, beginning third grade, I immediately could tell a difference with the teacher. The other teachers' classrooms gave off a feel of learning that each student could easily learn in their own style. When I stepped into my third-grade classroom I felt like I entered prison. It was dark, cold, and small. I knew this class was exactly like I was told by my older foster sibling. The only good news was I had a kindred spirit who started that year. Within three days, all that changed. I went from passing each subject easily to failing almost every one. I would answer each question correctly, as well. At the end of the second week, I had my first parent-teacher conference that wasn't for a good reason. The teacher said my penmanship was worse than her two-year-old daughter's. The foster parents immediately got mad at me. They said I could do better since I've always been able to do it in previous grades. They never realized I never had even close to decent penmanship for my grade level. Upon returning to their home, I was given each piece of work from those two weeks. According to an agreement between the teacher and the foster mother I had to redo every one of them until they were legible. I was beyond mad. That day I realized my handwriting got worse the more I practiced. It took an entire week until that job was done. Yet, the teacher wouldn't receive any work until I completely finished the ones sent home. I knew she was the worst teacher in the school, but this was just cruel and unusual punishment.

Three months passed from the beginning of the school year, and my other brother was also sent with the youngest to Special Education. I was alone except for the older foster brother. At that moment, everything went downhill. I became increasingly irritable to the point of lashing out. The foster parents decided I needed more medicine. This, I went from Seroquel and Risperdal to both of those, Lithium Carbonate, and Methylphenidate. Because of all these medications, I was subdued but not able to stop myself from thoughts brewing in my mind. I looked at the teacher each day after that and immediately nicknamed her Mrs. Dodds. She wasn't any different in my mind.

A few weeks before Christmas break, I broke. I had just finished the STAR test essay preparation she gave the class. She hadn't given any information relating to how it was done other than write as the book says. I finished with five minutes left to complete the assignment. As soon as I turned it in. She looked at me with a smile. Immediately, I knew something was wrong. This teacher took my paper and told me as loud as possible without yelling that I had to redo it. I was embarrassed and enraged. Then she took it a step further. She took the paper as I tried to reach it, and tore it into pieces. She said she wanted to from scratch, and threw the pieces into her trash can alongside her cup of coffee and multiple other liquids. As I turned around, I felt like I wanted to punch everything within reach. Just as I reached my desk, she went too far. She told the class that she was surprised I made it as far as I did with brothers that couldn't even get past second grade. When she openly mocked my brothers, I lost it. I blanked out for a few minutes. But the people who were there told me I terrified them. Apparently, I took my desk and blindly threw it. Everyone moved except for the one person who didn't expect it. According to everyone, that desk went from my spot at the back and nearly made it to the teacher's desk. It clearly went around 13 ft, but it hit the one person who I didn't want to. A budding friendship was broken. I did not see him for two months, and, when the new kid returned, I was already carefully laying low from the foster parents. I was given a restraining order, and the teacher never cared to tell the foster parents about anything at that time.

Within a month, that teacher was acting as if nothing happened to anyone in her classroom. Though she was waiting on something, and I could tell it wasn't in my favor. The last day of school came, and the foster parents said they had work and couldn't be at any graduation ceremonies. I felt relieved, I may have made it without getting caught. Until the teacher decided to call them that I would receive an award. That teacher called them after the ceremony and pulled out a file on me. Half of the file was lies fabricated throughout the year, but the last one was the desk incident. She rewrote it to put no blame on herself, and instead made it look like I was on a rampage for no reason. Within two minutes, the new kid came into the room. The foster parents put the pieces given to them together, and, upon leaving the room, grounded me until the end of summer with lines and a letter of apology to the teacher and that student. As I got in the car, the older foster sibling just mouthed the question, "She got you, too?" I never saw that teacher again. Though, I heard she told the entire story over summer break and was fired over putting my class in dangerous circumstances by mocking and taunting a student.