Right after I got my college degree and discovered that the jobs the academic advisors told me I could get didn’t really exist, I got a job as an aide in an elementary school nearby. They hired four others in the same position at the same time. I learned later that the school hired as many of us as possible in an attempt to save themselves from the deep crap they were in from the state. Why were they in deep 💩? Half the kids in the school were failing their grade. It was a really bad school. They could blame “NCLB” and “parents” all they wanted, but at the end of the day it was just a bad school, and they were bad teachers who didn’t do their jobs. Everyone got laid off at the same time. It added to the reasons why that time period was the onset of my severe panic attacks.
The kids at that school called me “Ms” and by my last name at the time, which was the last name of my first husband and daughter. It’s a very simple name with one syllable and four letters. It’s very hard to mess up. Yet this well meaning second grader drew a picture of me and labeled it “Mrs. Cacks”. My last name wasn’t Cox! Not even close. This just goes to show how far behind these kids were. I forgot about this picture, and I didn’t realize I had it in my phone. It made me think of picking out the cake in Father of the Bride.
I almost hate to say it, but I look at stuff like this, and it’s hard for me to feel bad for bad teachers.
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