#fourth grader

[chaotic-pulsar]

So much love in my heart and only stupid useless little English words to try to communicate them

[allthethingsil0ve]

MUST WATCH: Florida Fourth Grader Takes School Board To Task Over Mask Policy

[pinksheeplyfe]

I feel like if a fourth grader learns what a swear word they kinda go through a transformation, like they step through a portal and come out swearing like Samuel L. Jackson

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Excited 4th Grader Talks to FOX 7 On First Day Of School | 8/22/16

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Cars.

Cars by Gabriel Malvaiz Cars are Low to go, Slow in snow, And know when to go. Stop! You know When to go. Now go Slow and low. I know. 2013.

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[frausto79p03t]

Nicole

Nicole by Melanie Salas Noisy, nice, nosey. Ice cream, ice, isolated. Cake, care, careful. Orange, olive, obey. Love, library, listen. Earrings eat. 2013.

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[frausto79p03t]

Pollution

Pollution by Jose C. Pollution means Doing bad things to the Earth. Like smoke from Factories, cars, and even people Cause pollution Through gases. 2013.

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[theyearofrisinglight]

Fourth Grade Memories and Evil Teacher

If there’s one grade I hated/still hate most from my elementary years it’s fourth grade. It’s that one grade where you’re one step away from being in your final year of plain childhood schooling and move on to the tween phase of nonstop whirlwind that is middle school. It’s that one year where everything nice that ever happened to you in school turns to shit. Or at least that’s what happened to me.

Fourth grade was my second year in the public school system after being redshirted/home schooled for the first and second grades, so perhaps that’s why fourth grade was such a shitty year and took a toll on me then and afterwards. My teacher, Mrs. Murray, disliked me from the first moment. She was such a bitch! She wasn’t a great teacher but she thought and acted like she was. But in reality, she was just a mean, bully of a teacher who directed her meanness towards me. She never missed the opportunity to humiliate me, point out how dumb I was, how I wasn’t a worthy student—she practically made me the laughing stock of the class. Whenever I asked for her help, she was always so sour and impatient I decided to stop asking for her help soon afterwards.

She would always seem to be disgusted by my appearance even though I was a just a normal looking kid. I wasn’t the girly type so I’d wear my blue uniform pants or jeans and school shirt. I’d always wear a ponytail or braid, or occasionally whenever I’d let my mom do my hair I’d sport something different but I wasn’t dirty or stinky. But she sure thought I was. The bitch once sent me to the nurse’s office claiming I had lice when I’ve actually always had a bad case of dandruff and never once got any lice in my life! I could see her and this other teacher who teached next door, Mrs. Moya I think was her name, making disgusted faces towards me and laughing at my expense. It was fucking awful.

On top of it all, my very loving but equally irresponsible parents had a lot of money problems (as we’ve usually always had) back then and that meant sometimes I’d missed several school days. This made Mrs. Murray hate me even more. If I had been opened to her and told her what was going on at home, then maybe her disdain towards me would have diminished a little. But back then I just simply kept my mouth clamped. At least with the adults.

Because of all the absences she sent a note to my parents demanding a meeting to talk about this situation and if my parents failed to come there was a risk of them going to jail. This was devastating and made me feel so guilty. On top of everything, now my parents could end up in jail because of me and some teacher who hated my guts. Eventually that situation was sorted out without me being torn away from my parents—much to the disappointment of Mrs. Murray—thanks to my very kind principal and social workers.

I’ve always been painfully shy but longed for friends, especially since I was home schooled for my first educational years. Back then I didn’t like the feeling of loneliness. I wanted someone my age to talk to, to play with since I was an only child. So whenever I was confident enough with the kids that I made “friends” with, I would talk endlessly. And this was yet another cause of friction between me and the witch who was Mrs. Murray.

One day there was some kind of visitor, I don’t remember who or what they was, but Mrs. Murray and they were talking about whatever. I remember we were sitting in groups of four and were working on some kind of project. We were all talking as it was a group project and we were sharing items: scissors, construction paper, markers, erasers, and other stuff. But to the only one to who Mrs. Murray would chastise and demand to be quiet was me. But I wasn’t even talking about bullshit kid stuff! I was working on the project, asking my classmates to pass some of the items we were working with. Apparently I was an incorrigible case and she had had enough of my talking (it’s worth noting that I’ve always had a strong voice, that’s pretty loud no matter how much I lower it down) that she pulled out a desk and placed it next to hers, told me to pick up all my things and sit there for the rest of the day. This teacher didn’t give a single fuck and humiliated me in front of my classmates, in front of that stranger, all because I was being social and working with my classmates. I only thank my brain for blocking my feelings then and not make matters worse by crying. I guess I was more shocked and embarrassed as to cry and just did as I was told and continued doing my part of the assignment.

In spite of it all, when I went to school I had some of the most decent kids as classmates because never once was this embarrassing episode used against me as bullying tactic. I was never bullied (by my fellow students at least) in elementary or middle school, and I’d like to say I was lucky, but that’s not true. I wasn’t bullied because for most of my school experience I was just simply ignored. To most people, I didn’t exist, therefore I wasn’t worth the time of destroying my life.

The rest of the day thing actually transformed into the rest of the school year. I sat next to this spiteful woman for months, working on the assignments others worked in groups alone. I was a pariah in that classroom. And this paved way in affecting my small friendships. I “talked” to some girls and boys in my class, but for the fourth grade year, I only had two kids I really considered my friends. A boy, Alan, and a girl, Ingrid.

I don’t know how they saw me, maybe, I’ve now realized they just talked to me out of pity, because they felt sorry or didn’t want to be mean. But I did consider them my friends then. We would often play together during recess, we’d joke, I’d help them with class assignments. But after the embarrassing incident, my friendship with Ingrid quickly deteriorated. She went from being a nice person to me, to being really mean to and annoyed by me. It was like one day she was my friend but the next she hated me.

I never understood the sudden change, and still don’t. I asked Alan if he knew whar had happened, dif hr know why Ingrid now seemed to hate my guts, but the boy said he didn’t know. But I’m sure he did. I want to trace something that might have caused the sudden rupture, the irritability towards me, but I don’t find anything. I wonder if I said something about her height or weight, as a joke (though I never did or do those kinds of jokes) that she didn’t like. Did I say something mean or stupid and I don’t remember? However it happened, this has always bugged me.

Sometimes I wonder, sometimes I can even assert, that Mrs. Murray had something to do with this. Ingrid was a good student, and had somewhat of a connection with Mrs. Murray. Maybe she told her to cut ties with me. Maybe she told her I wasn’t good company, that she’d be better off without me as her friend. Maybe she just simply told her to not be my friend and she did as told. Mrs. Murray didn’t like me at all and I think her capable of doing that.

Ironically, sitting next to her made me the best student—at least when it came to writing—and even had to give me a little certificate as award where she wrote down my name in a glittery green marker and wrote how good of a writer I was herself. But added the annoying fact that for a while the other kids would call me the “teacher’s pet”. Ha! To add more salt to the wound, Ingrid and I competed for the chance to write an essay that would be featured on the school’s bulletin board for Career Day. When asked what I wanted to be and write about, I stupidly said doctor and Ingrid shrieked in anger. I wanted to backtrack but it was too late. Now I was to write about a subject I later on would never even be and even then wasn’t so sure I wanted to be. It was an automatic response, as that had been my answer to what I wanted to be when I grew up. I should’ve known better though. Ingrid really wanted to be a doctor too and she had told me so. Now she was to write about another subject she didn’t give a fuck about. This was the final nail on the coffin of our friendship. All that was left was the burial and that came when I won the prize. My essay, along with my photo dressed up as doctor, would hang on the bulletin board for all to read–if they could even read my hideous handwriting. Hey, as consolation prize for my ex-friend, I’m pretty sure absolutely no one at all read the worthless paper. Justice.

Nearing the end of the school year, Mrs. Murray let me sit in a group again but the damage was already done. Any social advancement I had or would have in the future crumpled. The only two true friends I had were no longer my friends. On field trips, I was always by myself and miserable. My shyness grew exponentially. Fourth grade was a horrible year. I have few to no nice memories. High school was pretty miserable too, but that’s expected and loneliness didn’t eat me as much as when I was a kid. Fourth grade is my worst school year ever and this teacher, along with many other people in my life, fucked me up. My self-esteem was always stumped on by tactless adults and now I’m beyond help. But I always try to keep going, pretend I believe the people who praise me or something and just live with the fact I’m a socially awkward, socially anxious dork. (Which reminds me, there’s no such thing as “adorkable”. If you’re not Zooey Deschanel, dorks aren’t liked, ok?)

Anyway, thank you if you–anyone–read through this whole thing and didn’t get bored and leave it. Which is totally valid as on top of everything I’m a really boring person and writer too. But if you didn’t, heart and reblog if you want to, or felt identified with an evil teacher in school that you now hate. Haha.