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Creative Nonfiction Contemporary Teens & Young Adult

This story contains sensitive content

[CW: Child abuse, Self-Harm]

“Okay, class! Pop quiz.” The aged educator, Mr. Crowe, swept into the room drawing an agonized groan from the collective students. No one was more discontented than I was at that moment. It was just another quiz I was going to fail. The stack of papers hit my desk as a soft breeze blew from the slanted windows on the far side of the room. “Take one and pass it back.” Mr. Crowe was a lanky man with thinning wisps of gray hair that sat flat against his head as if they had been painted on. I couldn’t bear to look up at him as I shuffled the papers together and placed one on my desk before handing off the rest to the row behind me. I always took the first seat as I walked in because I wanted to be able to leave as fast as possible when the bell rang. I found myself staring at the door wishing it was time to run out of the room and on to whatever came next.

The test was simple, in theory, Mr. Crowe would call out one of the twenty-five words we had spent the week learning at home and we had to write it down. At the bottom, we could write a single sentence using any of the words to show comprehension. The more words we could put in that sentence correctly the more bonus points we could earn.

“Language.” The bird-nosed elderly man called. “Language.”

“Why am I even here?” grumbling in my head. It’s a waste of everyone’s time. I don’t know these words. I’m never going to know these words. “But I also can’t turn in a blank page.” I scribble down my best attempt. “Langauge.”

“Diagram” came the next word as I barely finished getting out the last couple of letters of the first word. “Diagram”

My brain feels like it is going to explode, and I am only two words into this stupid quiz. “Dieogram.”

The quiz didn’t get any easier. I missed about a dozen words because I was still attempting to spell the one before and, in the end, I maybe got one or two correct. Kids around me were writing out their bonus sentences, others were starting to get up and walk to Mr. Crowe’s desk at the back of the room to turn in their tests. My palms felt hot as I tried to fill in a couple of the words that I had missed and hoped I remembered from the assignment. I had sucked in a breath at some point and had forgotten to release it due to the tension I was holding. It wasn’t until the blackboard started going squiggly that I realized I wasn’t breathing and gasped for air, accidentally drawing the eyes of those around me. I just wanted to die and maybe be a ghost who didn’t need to read or spell. Plus, then I could haunt all the bullies and make books attack them. It was a small smile that I kept to myself as I got to my feet. The sooner I turned this in the sooner this would be over, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

The dragging of metal feet on the tile sent shivers down my spine. Keeping my eyes on the floor, mostly watching for someone who might kick their bag or hang a foot out as I went by, I moved towards Mr. Crowe’s desk. The paper clenched in my hand so hard it was starting to crinkle on the edges and the sweat of my palms soaked into the fibers. Stopping at the corner of his desk I gave a last glance at my work.  I knew it was abysmal, but I had to turn it in. Reaching out I placed it face down on the pile on the corner only to watch Mr. Crowe scoop it up and give it a once over. A soul-shattering click of his tongue as he tsk’ed and put the paper back on the pile face up.

“You know, we only have a couple more months of school. You might want to think about taking some of my extracurricular worksheets home.” His voice was soft and calm but there was a clear hint of annoyance that I was still failing after the better part of a year with him. I thought if the frog in my throat grew any larger it might croak and alert the whole class to my humiliation. I gave a nod and took a couple of the papers he handed me. I wouldn’t do them. I think we both knew that. I was in detention at least once a week for missing homework assignments across all my classes and at least once a month I was given in-house detention for all the detentions I was given. Why would voluntarily add more work to a pile of work I wasn’t doing?

It's not like I was skipping assignments because I was off doing other things. I wasn’t playing with dolls or Nintendo. I certainly wasn’t hanging out with friends; I didn’t have any. When you can’t read well the homework assignments that take most of the average fifth grader 20 or 30 minutes usually takes you hours. I had six classes a day all assigning 30-60 minutes of homework a night. So, on my hour bus ride home I would take out my assignment notebook and rip out the page from the day, re-write only the assignments I thought I could handle, then use the colored pens I kept at the bottom of my bag to forge the teacher’s initials on the fresh page. Even still from the time my father got home from work until bedtime, which for my household was around 10 o’clock, I did homework with only a break for dinner. And still, I was missing a dozen or more assignments a week.

Eventually, the teachers and my father gave up on them initialing my assignment book. No one could figure out how they were signing off and he was checking I had done everything in said notebook, but I was still not doing it all. This tipped my father’s scales from understanding to fixing the problem to punishment. One day of grounding for every assignment I missed, however, when a letter is getting sent home every week with as many as 14 assignments missed… there was no end in sight.

I heard my father’s car pull into my Grandmother’s driveway from my playroom off the kitchen. The pop quiz had been graded and returned to us earlier that day. A big red 20 in the upper right corner of the paper with a frown that had a tear dripping from one eye. Mr. Crowe had written a little note under it as well. For a spelling teacher, his penmanship was ghastly. It was in cursive and most of the words were flat or had very little distinguishing features. To the best of my ability, all I could read was “sad.” I didn’t want my father to see it, just another reason for him to be upset with me. Crumpling the quiz up I quickly stuffed it up into the pull-out sofa that sat at the back of my playroom. No one had ever found the previous test I had stashed there before like a rat’s nest.

Zipping up my bag, I said my goodbyes to my Grandmother. Sometimes wondering if it might really be my last. My father had a strict hands-off policy but made up for it with a vicious tongue that always cut to the quick. I, on the other hand, often thought about ending my own life to escape the misery. My father and older brother were bullies, the kids at school were bullies, and my mother was a recovering addict who had switched her addiction to religion. My father’s mother was my only support, she was much more of a mother to me than the woman who had birthed me. She still had some rose-colored glasses that her baby boy could do no wrong.

Head down I climbed into the car and settled my backpack between my feet.

“Seatbelts.” My father chimed.

“We’re only going next door.” My older brother gripped from the front seat.

“I don’t care. Put it on.” He had a bad day. I could tell from the scratchy rasp in his voice and the way he placed his hands on the wheel. Not wanting to try him I quickly did as I was told.

“You’re not putting on yours.” My brother complained aloud as he was reaching for his own belt.

“Do as I say, not as I do.” My father’s favorite proverb was unceremoniously dumped on us once more as we pulled out of the driveway and drove the thousand feet home.

I climbed the edge of the 2x4 lined stairs that were supposed to be filled with gravel and dirt that my father had just never gotten around to finishing. Dad and my brother just walked the hill and jumped on the edge of the deck pulling themselves up like Uncle Jessie getting into the General Lee. The front door opened into the dining room with an attached kitchen, and most of the table was cluttered with past-due bills and junk mail. The far end was cleared, and I could feel my mouth dry as I looked at the spot.

“Kiddo, start your homework.” Motioning to the clear spot at the table. My brother, Mister straight A’s even though he skips half his classes, breezed past me down the hall to his room. I shifted the bag off my shoulder and dragged it to the table.  I sat. My father tossed his keys into the pile of papers before heading to the kitchen to get himself a beer and a frosted mug. I pulled out my assignment book and papers, on today’s bus ride I decided to work on the handouts given by my math teacher, a science chapter and its questions, and a history lesson about Greek mythology. We were going to be making puppets to act out stories which made it exciting enough to struggle through the reading.

If by chance those three assignments didn’t take me the rest of the night, then I had to take my chair and face the corner of the dining room until bedtime. No one was allowed to talk to me. I couldn’t use the phone. I couldn’t watch tv. Radio was also out. No toys or entertainment of any kind. And so, I sat listening to the voices from the television in the other room where my father sat. Occasionally an image reflected in the framed print on the wall above me and I would get to pretend like I was sitting with everyone and enjoying the show. I had to be careful, if I let my legs tremor or sway, or if I looked around too much and it made noise, or my father saw then I would get yelled at for screwing around. Getting caught not being a statue meant another day might be added to the already endless sentence.

I looked forward to being sent to bed, I had a small radio shaped like a Tropicana orange that used the iconic straw poking out as an antenna. I would hide it and at night, after my father had turned off my light and closed my door, I would retrieve it and put it under my pillow. It could only receive the classical station, but I didn’t care. It was something. I would turn the volume so low you could barely hear the sound through the pillow because I didn’t want to risk it getting taken away. Listening would help ease my racing under-stimulated mind create stories and craft dreams to help me fall asleep.

My father’s alarm clock was making a horrible beeping noise that I could hear from two rooms away. 5 in the morning already. Without getting out of bed I reached over to my dresser and pulled the clothing I wanted for the day while the room was still dark. My eyes were heavy, and I was sluggish after getting about five hours of sleep. Shifting under the sheets, I struggled to switch from pajamas to jeans and a sweater. Even though it was spring, early in the morning it was still cold. The oil heat had been turned off a month ago to save money so the room felt icy beyond the cocoon of warm blankets I had piled on top of me. My door pushed open without so much as a knock. Dad just flicked on the light.

“Get up.” He barked before walking across the hall to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“Dad! The door!” I shrank like a vampire from the sun, equally as hissy. I had to rush to finish getting dressed before someone came in and pulled my covers off. It was just another usual start to another usual day. My brother and I were dumped at my Grandmother’s house so she could cook us breakfast and get us on the school bus. Another hour-long bus ride from our far corner of town to the other corner of town to pick up the kids no other bus would touch because of their behavior and then finally arriving at school, already exhausted.

Most of the classes and teachers barely made a dent in my memory because I slept with my eyes open until after lunch. I liked it best when I had an art class. It was the only non-academic class we had aside from gym class. The school just didn’t have money for all those fancy classes like home economics or industrial arts. Unfortunately, today after lunch was spelling.

As per usual, I was one of the first kid in the door. Most of the other kids were in the hall talking to their friends before they went their different ways. Setting my things down on my favorite desk, I lifted my eyes enough to see Mr. Crowe setting up some sort of game on the blackboard. If I had to guess, some sort of hangman or jeopardy. It wasn’t like me, but I wanted to work on being a little bolder.  I softly cleared my throat, my eyes already starting to water with nerves.

“What are we playing?” I tried to sound as casual as I could despite feeling like my nerves were on fire. Instant regret washed over me. Mr. Crowe had wheeled himself around, almost throwing the chalk at the lip on the bottom of the board. Taking three long steps towards me, looming like a lion about to devour his prey.

“YOU’RE NOT PLAYING ANYTHING!” His voice boomed like a cannon as he shouted down at me. His fingers wrapped around the top of my left arm. His grip was so tight that my fingers were starting to tingle as he jerked my body away from the front desk. Dragged to the back of the classroom, my feet tripped and stumbled unable to keep up with him. Without letting go of me he tugged a chair back out of the line before he tossed me down onto the compressed brown plastic seat. Half seated and struggling to get my balance he wheeled a desk around and it slammed into my left thigh. While I tried to right myself and make sense of what happened, he collected some of the extra credit worksheets and slammed them on the desk in front of me. “YOU’RE DOING THESE!”

Students were already starting to come in from the hall and take their seats. I could feel their judgmental eyes and hear their snickering. I could feel the bruises forming under my clothing. While I knew crying wasn’t going to help, it would only make me a target for further mockery.  I cried.

“It was all my fault. What business did I have asking him anything when I am so shit? I deserved this. If only I could be better. If only I could be like everyone else. If only I could be smarter.” I muttered in my sobs for the rest of the class.

I never told anyone what he had done that day. I thought that was how adults were supposed to treat kids. I thought I was the one in the wrong; for not being able to read or spell, for not living up to the expectations of the adults around me, or for not having any peers to notice any of the bruises. They stayed on me for weeks; the one on my hip where I impacted the chair, the line on my left thigh where the desk was thrown into me, and the thick finger marks that wrapped around my upper left arm. No one ever saw them, or they didn’t care. I still don’t know which.

It would take years to undo the damage he caused in that single moment. Not just in how I see myself but in how I expect others to react to me. I am sure for him there was a slow build-up of anger after watching me fail and give up all year. Maybe even some selfishness of not wanting to fail a student before he retired at the end of that year. At that moment that isn’t want I saw.  My experience was asking a simple question and having rage explode at me. 

I was almost a sophomore in high school when I finally taught myself to read. Spelling and grammar still give me trouble, but I keep striving to improve. Adults taught me but not in the way I think they probably wish they did. 

Every story I write, every word I read, and every breath I take is done in defiance. My life grew on the wings of spite and that carries me higher every day. 

May 13, 2023 15:29

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48 comments

Joe Smallwood
20:53 May 13, 2023

Hi Shana, I shed a tear for this story, an unhappy childhood brought on by learning difficulties and unaware, uncaring adults. I especially liked the defiance at the end. The revenge one seeks for such suffering is the will to live and endure until we can be happy some day. This story makes me think of my own "This will be my life." Thanks and keep it coming!

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Shana Fox
21:07 May 13, 2023

Thank you for reading, Joe. Many people experience hardship in their early life, too many worse than I faced. My only hope is that telling a little bit of what I experienced and how I came out the other side will be a reminder that things can get better. Obviously, I am no longer a functional illiterate. I still have dyslexia and ADHD, which were great sources of my learning challenges. I have learned to work with what I have to improve my chances of success.

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Mary Bendickson
04:08 May 15, 2023

I think your success has been phenomenal.👏👏👏

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Shana Fox
12:47 May 15, 2023

Thank you very much, Mary. ^~^ Though, if I am perfectly honest, I have no clue where I would be without spell check. LOL

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Mary Bendickson
14:22 May 15, 2023

Always thought I did okay spelling but find myself scratching my head at times 🤣 Feel same way. Been told I should use grammar tool ,too. That would take some tech knowledge for me. I think some of the rules have changed since I learned them.

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Shana Fox
17:56 May 15, 2023

I write all my stuff in Word, which has a built in grammar checker. Then I put my draft into Reedsy which I have Grammarly on and it find completely different issues. But sometimes it goes back and forth like, this words should be hyphenated. Oh you fixed it? These words should not be hyphenated. *face palm* When in doubt I hyphenate.

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Mary Bendickson
18:06 May 15, 2023

And sometime s when Word correct s what I am trying for I get space s before the plural version??? If trying to write period or colloquial language a grammar checker could drive one mad.

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Scott Taylor
00:47 May 18, 2023

Shana, The story I originally wrote for this prompt I cannot post. The reasons are that it parallels yours. Mine is too personal as it accurately describes a child before they discovered ADHD and dyslexia. The child was me. I never made a 100 on a spelling test in my life. Growing up, I thought my name was 'Hey dummy, or Stupid.' The characters on the board were jumbled and didn't make sense. My IQ was not the problem. Anyway... your story brought back memories from a long time ago. It was only by accident did I discover that if I allo...

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Shana Fox
04:30 May 18, 2023

Scott, I'm sorry to hear that they will not allow it to be submitted. As you probably guessed, I have dyslexia and ADHD (inattentive). I also had a floating focal point in one eye which would literally make words lift from the page and float about. All of which made reading and learning a struggle. I am sorry that you had your own version of Mr. Crowe in your life. They have such a knack for cutting to the quick. Though to see you here and know, like me, you are writing your self taught heart out; I couldn't be more pleased to meet you...

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Scott Taylor
06:02 May 18, 2023

Shana, They are not stopping me from posting that story. The story was simply too painful to relive. I admire you for having the courage to post that story. Mine turned into a memoir of sorts. When I attempted to write that story, it went way over the 3000-word limit, and again I fell into the hole of what it was like back then vs. now. There is an inner child. No matter how old we get, that child is still there. Those were dark times. With thousands of dollars of therapy, that history will be part of me until I perish. My past made ...

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Shana Fox
14:44 May 18, 2023

I see, sorry I misunderstood before. I can appreciate that even the process of writing can be like opening old wounds. Then to share and show that fresh vulnerability to others is not for everyone. For me it was cathartic. I never told anyone what Mr. Crowe did, nor did any of the other students that saw it. He retired and lived the rest of his life, likely without ever thinking on it again. Posting this story was a bit of a release of that for me. You're an inspiration. I've often thought of writing books but was never confidant. I ...

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Scott Taylor
13:31 May 23, 2023

You have to start somewhere. As a child, I chronicled one family vacation. There were very few, and this vacation was to California from Texas. The car broke down mid-trip, and we had to find a dealer to work on that particular car. To me, at that time, everything was an adventure. An overturned truck with cows running around everywhere was the trip’s highlight. Crammed into a car with the entire family, and the dog was the lowlight. Fast forward to early in my career, I wrote and taught from technical manuals. Fast forward to 2016, a show ...

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Will Oyowe
16:33 May 23, 2023

Indeed, I am just coming to terms with being ADHD and dyslexic. It becomes apparent when you share your life with someone, in my case, my girlfriend, that I realize that this will stay with me. Hope you are doing well, Scott.

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Scott Taylor
06:21 May 24, 2023

There is so much out there today for this, from meds to exceptional teachers. Never give up. I have a friend with Aspbergers. It isn't a negative. It is just different. These things make us different, not anything less than anyone else. My brain processes things differently. I use that to my advantage. I think differently than most, and that is ok. I have had a promising career, White Collar, and I write exciting novels. -Best

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Will Oyowe
09:51 May 24, 2023

""My brain processes things differently. I use that to my advantage. I think differently than most, and that is ok""" Haha, funny my girlfriend said something similar to me yesterday! indeed!

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Helen A Smith
17:06 May 17, 2023

A powerful story Shana. It’s sad that the MC was treated like this by someone who could have done so much better. Says more about the teacher’s inadequacy than anything else. Teachers can do so much good, and alas, so much harm which can take years to get over. Well related.

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Shana Fox
18:42 May 17, 2023

Thank you very much, Helen. It is unfortunate that teachers, like Mr. Crowe, are out there. But equally unfortunate are those with in the school system that are blind to what is going on. I was reading "Please Stop Laughing at Me" by Jodee Blanco; which resonated much with my own school traumas. I had to stop reading around chapter 6 because it was very intense. I allowed my Mother-in-Law to borrow it. She also stopped reading it, however her reasoning was because that doesn't happen in schools. What was most concerning about her state...

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Helen A Smith
19:41 May 17, 2023

Let’s hope it goes on less in schools than it once did when it comes to teachers, but turning a blind eye is not helpful. Unfortunately, whoever is inflicting the bullying, it seems to be a horrible side of human nature. It’s so painful when a young person’s confidence and self belief gets knocked so badly, literally as well as physically. If you’re have time, have a read of my story “True Beauty” and see what you make of it. It’s from a different perspective. I look forward to reading another one of your stories as soon as I can. It’s...

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Shana Fox
21:08 May 17, 2023

I will do that. ^~^ I really appreciate you taking the time to read and comment because, as you said, it is truly heartening to make connections with other writers/readers.

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Mike Panasitti
14:04 May 17, 2023

I'm sure the cruel Mr. Crowe - if he is still around - would be surprised, jubilant, and perhaps even envious of his former student's literary talent. I hope sharing your wounds has been cathartic and a means of healing them.

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Shana Fox
14:25 May 17, 2023

Thank you, Mike. That is very kind. I would like to believe, where ever he ended up, he is aware and has regret that his actions hindered a child's potential for so long. But sharing has been healing. It is a reminder to that little me, deep inside, that I am okay. I have grown beyond any of my wildest childhood dreams. 😁

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A.B. Writer
23:51 Oct 10, 2023

Wow. This is amazing. I feel so bad for the kid.

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Shana Fox
19:32 Oct 13, 2023

Thank you very much. It means a lot to me that you took the time to read my story.

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A.B. Writer
17:47 Oct 14, 2023

Of course! I loved it!

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09:42 Jun 05, 2023

Shana I love how you make your stories so cool, and how you make it so creative with the prompt. Hope you publish this short story and extend it to a longer book. Can't wait to see your future stories.

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Shana Fox
15:02 Jun 05, 2023

Thank you very much, Sierra. ^~^

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Catherine Hudson
13:51 May 26, 2023

Excellent. As a former special ed teacher and mother, this is powerful to read. No one should experience this. Congratulations. For so much.

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Shana Fox
14:33 May 26, 2023

Thank you so much, Catherine. ^~^

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Timothy Rennels
18:33 May 24, 2023

Very impactful. As a teacher I felt how your story cried out how impactful teachers can be, and sometimes so cruel. I loved the phrase "I could haunt all the bullies and make books attack them." Write on!

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Shana Fox
18:38 May 24, 2023

Thank you very much, Timothy. It's true, all people have the ability to influence but teachers are placed before us during formative years as role models. They are uniquely set to build or crush students. Depending on age and family situation, a teacher may be the first adult outside of the family who informs our opinion of self. Thanks for the read and I'm glad you enjoyed it. ^~^

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56 Independent
13:28 May 24, 2023

Wow... such an amazing story! Left me breathless and reminded me of some of my very own struggles. I could practically feel the ADHD dripping out of my screen and the immersion was great, it just felt like the main character was yet another brick in the wall. Keep it up, if it doesn't hurt to write such good stories!

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Shana Fox
13:52 May 24, 2023

Thank you, 56! ^~^

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56 Independent
18:15 May 24, 2023

You're welcome!

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Martin Ross
18:19 May 22, 2023

My gosh — that was a powerful, powerful story that snuck up on me but made me remember the bullying kids of bullies who weren’t lucky enough to have loving if dysfunctional parents like mine. It read of absolute emotional truth — if you lived this, you recount it darkly and beautifully; if you didn’t, I applaud your empathy and understanding. It needs a little editing, but it is a great story that nails the prompt and reflects how so many grew up even now in these confused, hostile times. Nicely, nicely done.👍👍👍❤️

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Shana Fox
19:23 May 22, 2023

Martin, this is, in fact, a recounting of a personal experience. I was re-reading it a bit earlier and stumbled across a couple errors as well. Normally I have someone Beta read and help me editing but they weren't available prior to posting. I am glad that you were able to still feel moved by my tale in spite of it's shortcomings. Thank you so much. It means a lot to me that you took the time to share your feedback. ^~^

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Martin Ross
20:05 May 22, 2023

Your tale has only a few cosmetic scratches. This is a story that’s rich in human character, and inspires me as a guy from a strange family in hand-me-downs who was told I didn’t belong the night of my graduation. It powered me, and I am truly grateful this adversity powered you. You are a very talented storyteller.

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Shana Fox
20:18 May 22, 2023

Your comments touch my heart, truly. Thank you so much for your kind words. As a child, I was terrified of growing up. The examples presented ranged from apathetic to unpredictable at the best of times. As such, I clung tightly to heroes like Peter Pan who had been released from the fate of aging. It was only after I had grown I realized, the people who made me afraid of becoming an adult had never really done so themselves. Their bodies had changed but deep inside they were still scared children and teens. They acted out with hatred,...

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Martin Ross
21:17 May 22, 2023

👍❤️

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Myranda Marie
17:17 May 22, 2023

You have captured the anxiety of the student perfectly. The twist near the end was unexpected, but very relatable.

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Shana Fox
19:14 May 22, 2023

Thank you, Myranda. ^~^

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Russell Mickler
01:52 May 22, 2023

Hi Shana! I really liked what you did with the Mr. Crowe character, giving him animal-like qualities related to his name! I thought this was a very useful device. Grin - “… all I could read was ‘sad’” - very funny moment. Wow, a Dukes of Hazard reference? The Tropicana orange radio was pretty cool, nice introduction of a unique element. Ooo wow, Mr. Crowe is pretty hard core, like, child abuse hard core :) I really liked the narrator in this story - the voice sounded very authentic - and the detail you provided moving through the evenin...

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Shana Fox
03:05 May 22, 2023

Thank you very much, Russell. This is fantastic feedback. You picked out so many details to speak on. I'm glad you enjoyed the tale.

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Mark VanTassel
16:48 May 21, 2023

Wow. This triggered a bit of PTSD. Sixth and seventh grade were awful. The teacher hated me, and I missed recess and PE for months at a time. My parent's rule was, 'if you get in trouble at school, you get in trouble at home.' You did an amazing job of capturing that hopelessness and the other emotions that go along with such a situation. Well done, and I'm glad to know you're making such great progress moving beyond it. So am I.

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Shana Fox
17:26 May 21, 2023

My father had much the same view. The child is always wrong. Thank you very much for the feedback. I am sorry you went through similar events. But I am so grateful to see many, like yourself, who have lifted themselves up after living through such treatment. It is a testament to the power of the human spirit and a wonderful example of what can be overcome. :)

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23:33 May 20, 2023

This was a sad story to read because like a few others here it is a little too relatable. I had a similar teacher who was incredibly mean but only to me as I recall. And I don't know why. it was the year ET came out. He nicknamed me ET because I had a long neck. He used to make up excuses to give me punishment homework In the form of essays. He would even give me a title for the story I had to write. I remember one very clearly. The Gunslinger. I don't know why he did it. I was only about 10 or 11. I wasn't a trouble maker. I was shy and qui...

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Shana Fox
02:14 May 21, 2023

Derrick, I'm sorry your teacher treated you like that. But I am glad to see that you are here, reading and writing. That your teacher's punishments didn't turn off your creative process or make you feel negatively towards it.

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08:16 May 21, 2023

Thanks Shanna I don't dwell on it! Haven't thought about that guy in decades lol this prompt made me think about the incident. He was actually pathetic but so intimidating at the time. Some people shouldn't be teachers!

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Shana Fox
15:43 May 21, 2023

I couldn't agree more, pathetic. Intimidating, bullying, and abusing children for what? There is no reason that could make what these people do reasonable or forgivable. I am glad you don't dwell on it. As the saying goes, why let people live rent-free in your head?

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