Teachers

Teachers, a bunch of violent ignorant thugs.  That's what I remember from infant school.

This "Dear Teacher" letter was posted on Asperger Syndrome Awareness on Facebook and sums up what so many of us as adults, now wish we could have found similar words to say or write to our teachers.

Dear Teacher,

You wrote my mother and father a really formal letter today and they became stressed which made me very sad. I wanted to cry but I struggle expressing my emotions. I got angry instead and pushed mother which made me shout and scream. Daddy, I mean Father, took me to my bedroom for a timeout. I said “Father” because I copy those around me and I wanted to imitate your style of writing. Miss Teacher, I have autism and I want you to understand me because I don't want to be called “bad.”

I am not a bad child when I talk over you in class. I do not mean to, I just didn't process what you were saying to me.
When I shout at you I instantly regret it. The lightbulb in the classroom keeps flickering and it is causing me great discomfort.  It hurts me. I become anxious and can't find the right words to tell you what is bothering me.

When you give me several verbal instructions at the same time I become confused, anxious, and then I forget what you asked me to do. I did not do this on purpose. I have a great long term memory but a terrible short term memory.
I communicate better when information is written down and I become anxious when you ask me to stand up to talk in front of the entire class.

My mother and father cry when you send them a letter to say I'm badly behaved. They blame themselves but I can't comfort them — the words just do not come. This makes me upset. Living with autism is not easy. It's really difficult.
But I believe we can do anything when we put our mind to it. All we need are people that are willing to understand us. I need you to understand me.

So, Miss Teacher, I want us to work together and I want us to understand each other. A famous quote I like is, “If you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will spend its entire life believing it's stupid.” I don't learn things in the same way as everyone else. I don't expect you to become an autism expert but I want you to understand me enough not to call me “badly behaved” — it hurts me more than you know.

Thank you teacher for reading.

From, every single child on the spectrum

Being so close to the borderline, my parents did not disclose my condition to my schools. The professional who diagnosed me at age 4 gave them difficult advice, with me being so borderline, disclosing it could mean being labelled "incapable", but not doing could mean being labelled "difficult" and a "less tolerant" environment (i.e. more telling off), and they went with the latter.  Some teachers were of the nature of just telling off harshly for the most minor infraction, and I don't know if disclosure would have made much difference to them, especially if they were ex-military as per Roy's quote

Roy said:

Physical violence was quite normal with some of the older male teachers as they had been in the war and discipline is all boys understand.

but where credit is due I had some good teachers who had more holistic attitudes, saw my positives and I got on well with them, though would still describe my school life as unhappy overall.

What is wrong with chemistry teachers? I did the exams at 16 when there were two separate exams 'O' level and CSE - the best mark at CSE was equivalent to a C pass at 'O' level. I did not get on well with my chemistry teacher, for some reason she thought I was less able at the subject than I was. In the run up to the exams she told me that she was entering me for the CSE, not the 'O' level. I then became unusually assertive. I had come third in the mock 'O' level exam in her class, which was the top set in the year. I asked her if she was only entering the top two scorers from the mock exam. This proved not to be the case, so I insisted that I be entered for the 'O' level. I ended up with a much better grade than C, proving my point.

God, these stories are awful. I’m thankful for the bit of unity this has brought to us, but I sort of regret asking the question! My brain is now poised ready for more memories to come back, and I don’t really want it to recall anymore. I can’t bear that thought of us, as naive children needing help and guidance, but instead being treated in such a vindictive and cruel way

Goodness me. I wish I had a brother!

It’s great when you do connect with a teacher. I realise I did, when I was in junior school. My teacher just seemed to get me. She never pressured me to speak, never made a fuss when I done something good because she knew I hated being in the limelight. She would just go and staple my work outside the class for people to see. She did send me to the head teacher quite often to show him my work, and get some sweets as a reward. She always let me go with someone, as I always got lost on the way back. She also let me stay in at break sometimes to read, and read books in the library corner when I’d finished my work, becuase I always finished ahead of everyone. I think she was ND. She never really said much unless she needed to. She didn’t mix with the other teachers at lunch etc, and looked very stern. I think everyone in the class feared her, but I thought she was lovely.I cried when we went up a year and I had to change teachers!

All of the time. My Chemistry teacher said that there were 2 exams (we were the first year for GCSE 1988 ish?) and that we needed to attend both of them, then he added, "except Alan who only needs to turn up for one". 

I didn't realise he was being sarcastic and I did, of course, only turn up for one, this resulted in me getting a D; probably would have achieved higher had I gone to both of them. 

The slipper was actually a size 9 plimsoll and the user of the pandybat was Irish! The bat was like a mini cricket bat but flat.

It was PE teachers who tended to use footwear for corporal punishment at my schools. Luckily, from the point of view of possible inappropriate sexuality, the strap was always used on the hands. I think that 'children beaters with handles' were called 'pandybats' in some areas of Ireland.

I was certainly singled out in junior school in the mid 90s. One teacher in particular who favoured the popular students used me as the most unpopular to show her favourite pupils the definition of a stupid boy. She made my school life hell and she always went out of her way to call me a stupid boy and recommended that I was put standing towards the wall most lunchtimes where she encouraged her students to pick on me and call me a stupid baby. From then I went home for lunch and as far as I know this teacher still teaches and I really hope she's changed her attitude towards kids with ASD or any other mental condition. She was to me a complete monster who was more of a bully than a respectable teacher. Shame on her!

My worst teacher was also my first. It was at nursery school, aged 3 to 4, and I had never encountered other children before. I would have meltdowns and try to run away, due to the noisy and overwhelming environment of the playground. As a result I was punished almost every day.

The punishment was being made to sit in the corner, cross legged, facing the walls for the remainder of the school day. If I as much as tried to turn my head towards the rest of the class the teacher would yell at me and tell me to face the wall again. If I cried I was shouted at even more and told that I was behaving like a baby. Those memories are still so vivid for me.

My Primary school had a slipper for girls and the headmaster had the cane for boys. The teacher had named the slipper Willy, the teacher would announce that a girl was going to get Willy on their backside. At that age I had never thought of the double meaning. The deputy head had a thin plank of wood about 18” long, with a handle made of leather, it had “the heat on the seat” ornately  written on it, he had bought it on holiday and was all pleased with himself. He hung it with pride next to the blackboard. To think that a factory actually made this seems quite weird. The age of the children was between 8 and 12.

• Wow! That was brave. I can remember a boy being punched by a teacher. The boy had an older brother, the school had a pay phone, he rang his brother and he came out of work and marched up the hill to the school. He walked straight into the class and knocked the teacher out. He became a folk hero. I do agree though that words can hurt just as much. These teachers were supposed to nurture young minds, not destroy them. One teacher was brilliant and I always kept in contact with him. He was my sports teacher, traditional they would be the most insane but he wasn’t. I got bullied quite a lot when doing sports. I have no coordination, I can’t throw, catch or kick a ball and when running seem to have too many legs. The bullying was particularly bad one day and he took me off the pitch and said that he realised that sport wasn’t my thing, but something out in the world will be. He then said to not worry about any of them on the pitch, in less than a year I would be leaving and will  most probably never  see any of them again for the rest of my life. He was right. I sometimes only takes one decent teacher to stop someone doing something serious to themselves.

I have remembered a few more instances from high school in the late 80’s. An English substitute teacher often ridiculed me, and often made me read to the class despite knowing I was ‘shy’. I excelled in English Lit and Language! Maybe she was jealous? She forced me up to the front of class to explain why ‘someone like me’ thought I knew more than her, considering I was a nobody, and she had been to university….!  I refused, but then she said the whole class won’t continue until I get up and come to the front…unless I’m too scared too, and she smirked.

By this point (after weeks of bullying from her), I was full of anger. I went up, stood an inch away from her face and reeled off her inadequacies, and her poor ability to handle a class of 15yr olds. The class whooped in support, because I was right, and they all hated her. She tried to slap me round the face, I stopped her. I looked at her and warned her that if she was going to hit me she better be ready for the consequences, she left the room red faced. I was shaking with anxiety, but I was glad to finally stand up for myself.

Another teacher, in design and tech was much the same. She ignored me, didn’t respond to my requests for help or explanation, consistently marked down my work, regularly ‘lost’ my work, and regularly ‘damaged’ my work so I had to re do it. Again, after months of this, I stopped participating in the lesson. I just came in, sat down, and done nothing. This was another subject I excelled in. Perhaps she didn’t like that. I don’t know.

Abuse doesn’t always have to be physical. Sometimes it’s words, or just a look that makes you feel small and insignificant.

I was schooled in the 70’s. Primary school wasn’t nice. I got put into remedial lessons as I wouldn’t bond with others and my spelling / handwriting was terrible and still is.  I then went to Secondary school and learnt to stay under the radar. My English teacher would mark my homework in the classroom in front of the class and laugh at all my spelling mistakes and get me to repeat the words in front of the class and how I spelt them. She would say that if I didn’t improve then I would be put into the lower sets with, “ the pond feeders”. Turns out obviously that I’m dyslexic.  Physical violence was quite normal with some of the older male teachers as they had been in the war and discipline is all boys understand.

Martin said:

was entirely pointless.

It is

unless your mind works that way and you treat it like mental excercise, and you can actually do it faster than 'proffessional calculator operators' I had at college, except they already had jobs as accountants LOL while I never got one

We had the strap at school, called a 'tawse' in Scotland. Most of England had canes for corporal punishment, but some areas, such as around Manchester, the strap was in use. They were about a foot long, made of thick leather. Hard to imagine today, but companies actually manufactured 'weapons' for hitting children with. Totally barbaric.

Though my maths abilities in general are reasonable, I have never been able to do mental arithmetic and I have difficulties remembering things that do not interest me, so I could not reliably remember 'times tables'. At primary school, having to stand up in class and work out some addition or subtraction in my head or recite a 'times table' was horrendous. I remember getting my first electronic calculator and thinking that all the trauma of trying to master mental arithmetic was entirely pointless.

i was slammed against the wall by my neck, fhat teachet fot struck off. i was just bored and counldnt concerntrate, so he got frustrated, but yeah thats pretty bad.

these days you would get counselking for it. but in the 90s becauss i am male i suspect, they assumed i would be ok with it. they encouraged me to stand uo for myself.

I then got bullied, so i broke that kids nose. the bullying stopped and i got suspended.

but i have always resented having to defend myswlf for just being a 'colourful character' (autistic). Im actually a very gentle, soft, thoughful individual who, if i love you, you will find im very loyal.

But often, at school, kids are arseholes to each other. So you will see a lot of defensive behaviour in that most alien of environments - from the teachers included!

I went to primary school in September 1986, so shortly after Chernobyl disaster in april and moving out of my granpa's house in a village to the nearest city in august. we got a flat in a block. I didn't realise it back then but now I think that being bullied by some teachers and students initially was an outcome of my dad being drunkard. Everybody knew. But it quickly became apparent that I'm not like others and I'm not one of the obediant kind, I wasn't because I can;t stand shouting at me. plus my ADHD was distracting me, there was so many completely alien to me things and people everywhere, so I was constantly berated by teachers for not paying attention, while I did, I still don't understand why answering question asked by teacher was not proving that. Most of the time short answer was what was needed so I was hiding my stammering. it was coming out only when emotional or confronted, so I often remained silent to hide it. By middle of 3rd year I was already losing my mind, I was punished for everything I did at school by my dad when I got home, and my mom did not want to hear anything, and so I came with brilliant idea that if I burn the school down I won't have to go there. Unfortunately I was caught by janitor and dragged to principals office (I've been there before many times). I was expelled I don't know how my mom managed to arrange it, but I started going to different school the same year. It was exactly the same there. Even math teacher was against me I think he thought I must have found a way to cheat because it wasn't possible for me to have max marks from tests always.

It went like that until 7th year when we got new math teacher. She quickly realised that I actually understand it, and I'm the only one in class that does. After some tests she decided that I'm actually more than just that and approached me with offer to train me for math olympiad, Since then I had a bit of respite at school, and something to focus on.

But literature teacher hated me, If I did write and essay myself i always got ''2'', it was the lowest grade, crossed everywhere with comments ''idiocy', ''out of context''. ''ridiculous'', and out loud they often said that I shouldn't be allowed to do it because it offends them to read it. if I copied somebodys work I did get ''3'' and so I stopped writing on my own. I struggle to  remember names as well so whenever i was called to answer during classes I always got ''2'' as well because first question was always ''what's the name of main character?'' 

I wouldn't be allowed to sit down GCSE in polish if I failed classes by getting ''2'' at the end of year, but my math teacher arranged the deal. that if I joined school theatre to get those roles nobody wants they would be leniant and let me pass.

At uni I had physics teacher that didn't let me pass exam  because I wasn't able to 'talk at length about the matter'', the reason why I dropped out, 3 years of failing to get a pass was enough for me.