I don’t remember much about the first grade, other than how cruel our teacher was. I don’t even remember his name, but maybe that’s because my mind put up a protective barrier.
He had a stern presence. Most days in his class were typical - he taught lessons, we nodded as we followed along. We all knew to obey the commanding authority of the teacher. But one girl in the class, Cynthia, got on the teacher’s nerves. One day, Cynthia was caught whispering to the student sitting next to her. The teacher yelled, “Hey! You need to shut-chyo mout!” When he got angry, his Hawaiian Pidgin English dialect tumbled out. Cynthia quieted down. But several minutes later, we all heard the teacher shout again. “What did I tell you? Shut it!” Cynthia’s mouth was open in mid-sentence.
We all went wide-eyed as the teacher grabbed Cynthia by her arm, and made her stand in front of the class. He rummaged through his desk, and drew out a large roll of masking tape. “Dis will teach you,” he muttered. He tore off a piece of tape, and stuck it over Cynthia’s mouth. He added another piece of tape to create an "X" on her face. Then, for good measure, he took a longer piece of tape, and wrapped it completely around her head. Tears were running down over the tape on her face. She was made to stand there on display for the rest of the morning period. I wondered how painful it was going to be when the tape was removed from her skin and hair. But I also knew that the residual emotional pain was going to be far worse.
After school, I went home and reported to my mom what had happened. Concerned and angry parent phone calls were made. The teacher got reprimanded by the school. Cynthia was transferred to a different first grade class. Those of us who remained in his class learned to listen intently and follow instructions, and simply tried to survive the rest of first grade.
He had a stern presence. Most days in his class were typical - he taught lessons, we nodded as we followed along. We all knew to obey the commanding authority of the teacher. But one girl in the class, Cynthia, got on the teacher’s nerves. One day, Cynthia was caught whispering to the student sitting next to her. The teacher yelled, “Hey! You need to shut-chyo mout!” When he got angry, his Hawaiian Pidgin English dialect tumbled out. Cynthia quieted down. But several minutes later, we all heard the teacher shout again. “What did I tell you? Shut it!” Cynthia’s mouth was open in mid-sentence.
We all went wide-eyed as the teacher grabbed Cynthia by her arm, and made her stand in front of the class. He rummaged through his desk, and drew out a large roll of masking tape. “Dis will teach you,” he muttered. He tore off a piece of tape, and stuck it over Cynthia’s mouth. He added another piece of tape to create an "X" on her face. Then, for good measure, he took a longer piece of tape, and wrapped it completely around her head. Tears were running down over the tape on her face. She was made to stand there on display for the rest of the morning period. I wondered how painful it was going to be when the tape was removed from her skin and hair. But I also knew that the residual emotional pain was going to be far worse.
After school, I went home and reported to my mom what had happened. Concerned and angry parent phone calls were made. The teacher got reprimanded by the school. Cynthia was transferred to a different first grade class. Those of us who remained in his class learned to listen intently and follow instructions, and simply tried to survive the rest of first grade.
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