The Overly Friendly Teacher

Mr. Saltet, my 8^th grade art and German teacher, was vaguely normal for the most part considering that at that point I attended a Waldorf school, a complete wacko teacher magnet. He insisted without explanation that we use turpentine, a toxic medium for oil painting, rather than turpenoid, the nontoxic and just as effective alternative. But other than that, he was usually alright. However, upon occasion he would rub my back as I painted, a gesture that is usually welcome, but from him, a fifty-year-old gray-haired man with a pointy nose, it was just creepy. Once, he made me stay after class to discuss the fact that a friend of mine failed a German test. He wanted me to talk to her about it, to tell her to study harder. I felt odd and singled out while the rest of my friends were out at recess. I never did confront her about it, nor did I ever confront Mr. Saltet about the fact that telling students to study is his own job. 

Where I Went Wrong and What You can Learn from my Mistake

If there’s anything off about a teacher’s behavior, even if it is not blatant harassment, it is important to get in touch with the principal. For all you know, other students may have expressed similar complaints. If enough complaints are voiced, the situation will be looked into. No one should be expected to deal with getting massaged by an old guy while trying to paint.

Rising above the One who Condescends to You

I guess it would make sense to begin with the beginning. Mrs. Doolittle is the first particularly unpleasant person I can recall. I can’t actually remember her name because we only met once, but considering what an uppity old lady she was, I think “Mrs. Doolittle” suits her quite nicely. Anyway, I must have been around seven years old.  I was staying at my aunt and uncle’s house when they were hosting a gathering of some sort. Mrs. Doolittle was one of the attendees. She wouldn’t stop gushing about what an “absolute precious doll” I was. As her words tumbled forth and hurled themselves at me, I felt all my first-grade accomplishments leave me. What did it matter that I could read, write, and had just knitted a scarf? I was an insignificant baby in her eyes. All I had left to be proud of was my cuteness.

I ran into the bathroom and sobbed. Eventually, my aunt knocked on the door, asking what was wrong. “Tell Mrs. Doolittle I know how to knit!” I shouted to her. “Dear, come out and tell her yourself,” said my aunt, but I never did. I was too scared that another series of belittling oos and ahhs would be all that would follow such an announcement. So eventually I left the bathroom and faced the room of adults once again. I crouched in a corner for the rest of the evening, avoiding eye contact with Mrs. Doolittle at all costs in order to protect myself from further disparagement. 

Where I Went Wrong and What You can Learn from my Mistake

I completely submitted to Mrs. Doolittle and let her patronizing manners push me into the corner. I should have swiped some yarn and needles from my Aunt and plopped right down next to Mrs. Doolittle, humming to myself as I moved the needles rapidly, like a pro. I should have knit a doll for Mrs. Doolittle and told her “Here’s a precious doll for you since I know how much you like to gush over them.”  Whether you’re faced with an old lady who treats you like a baby or faced with a boy who treats you like a sex toy, you must show them what you’re worth! When people try and reduce you to a lesser form of yourself—when they look at you and only see a body, when they make assumptions based on age or gender—just ignore them, stay true to yourself, and there’s no way they’ll get through to you. Or you could always try sneering at them and saying the same sorts of things they say to you. If I’d told Mrs. Doolittle she was a precious doll as well, I’m sure that would have put us back on equal footing.