The whole experience was pretty much a non-stop blur of humiliation.

have a fav.

was when I was in kindergarten. My parents had taught me to read before I started school, so I was pretty good at it by the time I showed up in kindergarten. The teacher knew I could read so she made me read a story to the other kids. I was really embarrassed because this ability marked me as odd and a teacher's pet and started me on a long and difficult path of lifelong nerdiness.

The two of us somehow dug and squirmed our way through the metal fence. It was too tall for us to climb. After we played for awhile we thought it was going to be just the same as sneaking in. But it wasn't. I don't even remember who helped get us out(I have blocked that humiliation out of my brain) but I certainly never tried that again.

It was a big deal as we were performing for some sort of state principal's convention or something like that. Anyway, I was also selected to shake a castanet, one of about 4 I think.
We were singing along and at the assigned time, I started shaking my castanet. Then I dropped it. Oh horror of horrors! It was real embarrassing for an eight year old (alleged) wunderkind.

I didn't want to be, but I was teacher's pet.

During a lesson on penmanship, I deliberately destroyed my lesson booklet because I had been trying so hard to fail and was getting passing grades no matter how badly I did.

When the teacher, stunned and outraged (she was 175 years old and had her hair in a bun) asked what the fuck I was thinking (I think those were the words she used), I told her I really want to earn a failing grade for once in my life.

She wrote "This is the failing grade Ronnie so desperately wanted to get" on my lesson booklet and made me stand in the corner for several years. She also contacted my parents, who - to their credit - thought it was really funny.

I later returned and machine-gunned the entire school. I mean, be fair, they had it coming.

in the 4th grade, I’d diagrammed a sentence wrong and the teacher, to punish me, marched me to the front of the class and made me bend over and stick my head in the wastebasket. After a few minutes, I fainted, and when I came to, everyone was laughing and I saw I’d wet my pants.

When I was in the first grade the NUN made me stand in the garbage pail because I couldn't remember the days of the week IN SPANISH.

your teacher did to you, too. I've heard a lot of scary stories about how mean some nun teachers were, but there were some pretty mean public school teachers too, back in the 50s. Some people may wonder why there are now "no touch" laws pertaining to teachers and students. The laws exist because of experiences like ours.

...kidnapping and assault. I'm serious.

but back then, the prevailing attitude seems to have been - at least in my small western Nebraska town - that whatever parents and teachers considered fair punishment for children was fine. My parents were kind and gentle people and never hit or spanked me or my sisters. I didn't tell them about any of the times this teacher punished me for various things, but when my dad found out about the wastebasket incident, he went to the school and called the teacher out of the classroom. A 5th grader who was in the hallway on her way to the restroom at the time told me she heard him say he'd kick her ass up between her shoulder blades if she ever did it again.

My teacher Mrs. Ransom gave us all some orange clay to make Halloween pumpkins we could give to our parents. I distinctly remembered seating at a short rectangle table with my class mates. I started to pound my clay flat into a circle and at some moment later she asks us all to stop and that anyone who was making a flat pumpkin had to give the clay back because I guess we were doing it wrong. There was only a few of us that did that. We never got to make our pumpkins. I will never forget.

Mather Elementary School, Oct. 1960.

I think it was "Steal the Bacon." Well, somebody stole the bacon for us, I squatted down to leap up in excitement, and heard a great ripping sound as my pants split along my butt and exposed my flowered underwear. Luckily a friend had a sweater I could tie around my waist.

I looked down and saw a small puddle and figured no one would notice. All went well until the kid next to me dropped his crayon right into the puddle. He went to get it and put his hand in the puddle. He started carrying on. Big baby. The teacher picked me up and made me sit in the sink the rest of the day.

and someone noticed I had my t-shirt on backwards. Everybody laughed at me. My older brother brought me into the boys' bathroom, pulled my short off and handed back so I coukd put it on correctly. They knew my t-shirt was on backwards because the pocket was on my shoilder blade instead of my chest.

I could not stay in the lines! After we all colored pictures, the teacher would put them up on the walls, the windows, etc. and mine was ALWAYS the ugliest one.

Later in life, however, I learned not to mind so much that I don't stay within the lines!

That was the same teacher who used to shout at me for not being able to use a fountain pen properly (see other post) and for being bad at needlework.

At a slightly later stage, we had to colour in geological diagrams relating to the formation of various types of valleys and landforms during the Ice Age. We were required to colour the ice purple, for some reason; and my friend composed a poem that began:

'Oh, I've got the key of the door.
Never seen purple ice before!'

I was also hyperactive, and Miss May ended up literally tying me to my desk chair.

We were her first class after getting out of college, and her inexperience showed.

The mere fact I already knew how to read totally threw her off.

a 5-year-old could read stories; and claimed that there was something mentally wrong with me, and I was 'obsessed with books' -my parents later found out that that had gone into my medical records. Eventually, another doctor got me to read to him (I still remember this, and being puzzled because it wasn't what doctors usually did); and proved that I could read, which at least put a stop to that claim.

I didn't do it but the teacher made me wash the walls. Decades later I worked for while with the guy who actually did the deed and he still thought it was very funny that I got blamed for it.

write with a fountain pen.

Fountain pens improve your handwriting if it's already good, but in my case, just turned an ugly but legible handwriting into an illegible blot. One teacher in particular used to shout at me for it, and accused me of just being 'obstinate' and 'refusing' to learn. I wasn't; but I ended up making an obstinate resolution that I would never use a fountain pen once I'd grown up and left school, and I never have!

I wish I'd been able to see into the future, and predict the arrival of word-processors.

at random times. Good times.

& continued.

When my mom had to leave early to work and told me to start walking to school at a quarter after
A quarter is 25 cents so I left 25 minutes after and was late
When I got to school and realized it I was scared to walk into the room and face the teachers wrath

The teacher told me to pull out of my ass. To this day I am stunned by the cruelty of that teacher. Everyone laughed and I was mortified to have been spoken to like that.

I was an A+ student but had to work my ass of for a B- in that guy's science class. I just didn't connect with his teaching style and never had problems in any other science class before or after. I was not a screw off. I was not disruptive. I did my homework but in that one instance I truly did not know the answer and was publicly ridiculed for no reason.

Who tells a 6th grader to pull their head out of their ass just because they don't know an answer? To this day I think the answer is an inadequate teacher who has his head up his own ass.

been hungover.

He was one of the few secular teachers.

I got sent home and the next week I got out of class for a whole day to make up the test, so it worked out well

The disruption probably messed up everyone else's scores though!

Being noticeably shorter than normal at the time and kinda' scrawny and not very athletic. Add that to kids are fucking savage at that age. Wasn't fun most of the time.

Tried to hide it. Everyone in gym class saw it. But really, every day in school felt like that.

something interesting. The night before, in our neighborhood,
we all saw a snake (rarity in CT suburb).

But, when I told the story..I blanked out. "The snake _____down our street"

Could not think of the word "slithered" so I said "the snake walked
down our street"

I can still see the entire class laughing hysterically at me. Chanting
"Walked??? Snakes don't walk"

We weren't supposed to leave for the bathroom while we were in the game, and I was too stubborn to throw the game so I could go to the bathroom.

Everyone else in the third grade class thought it was hilarious. I'm still pissed off.

in hair that hadn't been cut. When I was in the eighth grade, we were given bathroom breaks in pairs. One morning, as I stood with a friend looking at ourselves in the mirror, she asked me if I'd ever tried ratting my hair. Since it sounded like fun, I let my hair down and she proceeded to put a quick tease into more than three feet of my mane. The result couldn't even have been described as "big hair"...this was a massive, sticking two foot out from my head all around, tangle.

My friend then left the bathroom, taking her comb and my rubber band, with her. I frantically used my fingers to try to undo what she'd done, but it was useless.

That classroom full of kids must have laughed for half an hour after I sheepishly walked back in. Even my teacher.

Since that experience in elementary school, nobody has ever "styled" my hair again.

been sick to mess in my drawers. I remember going to the teacher and just saying that I didn't feel good. She let me go home - she probably smelled it. So, spraddled leg, I walked home. My mother took one look (or smell) and knew what my problem was.

Nobody told me it smelled just like the stuff they add to natural gas. The fire alarm, followed by the fire truck arriving with all the bells and whistles going, then a visit from by the plumber and school district engineer, made for a most eventful day.

In second grade I was 6 (I started first grade at 5 and didn't go to kindergarten) and my mom had already taught me to write in cursive. So I was all proud of myself for turning in an assignment written in cursive but Mrs. Ockerman of Florence, KY would have none of that. We were not told to write in cursive so I must be punished and she dragged me into a neighboring classroom and beat me with a wooden paddle in front of that class. (one of those rubber ball and paddle paddles). What I learned that day was fuck the system and stick it to the man and I've been ornery and insolent ever since.

Mrs. Ockerman, I hope the name tag on your bunk bed in Hell is written in cursive. May your bottom bunk be under a bed-wetter.

By the time I was in 3rd grade we moved back to Florida and Mrs. Henry at Hyde Grove Elementary in Jacksonville showed me much kindness and TLC. I tried every day of 3rd grade to make her proud of me and sometimes I succeeded.

Mrs. Henry, all my teachers after you owe you a debt of gratitude for tempering my insolence.

I had a cursive experience too, but yours was bad. I decided to write in cursive in second grade on a spelling test. I got an "F" and a "See Me." When I went to see her she asked me what I thought I was doing writing in this messy way. It was obvious it was my attempt at cursive because I didn't know how to write cursive, it was simply printing hooked together. It was then I realized that teachers could be stupid, because she really seemed not to know what I was doing. So I explained that I wanted to write cursive and then she was a little nicer. Too late, you mean, dumb, old witch. Later I complained to her that this kid next to me - Todd - was copying my math paper. I wasn't really a tattle tale, I just didn't like Todd. She told me to write down the wrong answers, thus letting me know that she thought I was stupid. After that I wrote her off, although we did have another run in (below), my most embarrassing experience.

I already knew how to read and, for some reason, that pissed her off. All I wanted to do was sit and read at recess or whenever. I was also a shy kid, but she really tried to force me to be like the other kids and I just..wasn't. So I guess I acted up one day and she sent me home. So I tell people I was suspended from kindergarten.

I took that class. Got an A+.

by two boys when I was in the 10th grade as I got off the bus one afternoon, and I did nothing except run away instead of fight back. I was afraid to fight because I was outnumbered, plus I have never been in a real fight before.

I was afraid to go to school the next day out of embarrassment, but even the day afterwards, I was roundly mocked by the whole school. Even when I tried to explain to everybody that I was outnumbered, I was still laughed at. It took months for me to live that down and for others to forget about it.

...with our psyches even remotely intact. As awful as many of these stories were, I have laughted my way thru this thread, mostly in sympathy, and in relief to know I was not the only one with a bladder problem.

When I was in 6th grade, one assignment I will never forget was an essay. We were all given one word topics. Mine was "Quiet." After the essays had been turned in and graded, the teacher said she was going to read some of them to the class. I was very flattered when mine was the first one she started reading. When she was finished, the warm glow of pride I had been enjoying got blasted all to hell and I wanted to sink under my desk when she went on to say that it was an example of a really horrible essay - boring, repetitious, and no imagination. The only saving grace was that she did not tell the class who had written it.

I thought then, and still do, that this was a really cruel way to make a point.

I liked this boy named Randy. Being a second grader, I was not shy about it. One day after lunch recess I wrote a big "I love you, Randy" on this full sized piece of paper. It was sitting on my desk when the teacher walked by and took it off my desk. She took it to her desk and then called me up there. When I got there she asked me if I wrote it and I said I had. I felt like a smacked ass. She gave me a brief lecture about passing notes and then thumb tacked it to the bulletin board in front of the room and made me stand there in front of the class and point to it. She then started the next lesson with me standing there. I was waaaay embarrassed until she made her fatal error.

Some other kid in class was misbehaving in some minor way, so she sent him up to stand next to me and point to my note too. When she had me isolated up there she was in control, but when she gave me a partner she was lost. Together, we quickly became "cool." When she was talking to the class she had her back to us. Someone else misbehaved and she put that person in front of the note too. Now I had a posse. With three of us up there we were having fun, a point not lost on the class. SHE KEPT SENDING KIDS UP TO THE FRONT OF THE ROOM TO POINT TO MY NOTE. Soon there was a bunch of us pointing to "I love you Randy" and basically controlling the room. To this day I cannot believe it took her so long to realize she had lost. Finally she had us all sit down, at which point she had to reexplain what she had been teaching, because so many of us had missed what she was saying because we were quietly goofing off while pointing to my note.

Bite me, Miss Kriebel. And thanks for the lesson in power politics.

he there?

did not end up standing there pointing to the note. THAT would have been too weird. Not that I wouldn't have loved it!

After school, a friend and I were poking around the theater group's costumes. We decided we'd get dressed up in some of the costumes. At that point, this was the only plan.

I put on a Santa costume, complete with beard and hat. She decided to be the Indian (back then not so politically incorrect) and wore a headband with a feather, a leather-like vest, and some type of pants that would look like what we call "capris" these days. We laughed so hard at each other that we decided to take the show on the road. The only problem was that school was over and no one was around.

However, we thought we heard voices from a classroom, which we determined were two male teachers, the English teacher and the business teacher. We made our entrance into the room, me "ho, ho ho'ing" and she doing a "woo woo woo woo" Indian war dance.

Only problem was the two teachers were engaging in...hm, what shall we say, a "sex act."

So our little surprise went awry.

Yep, pretty embarrassing.


Cher

For some reason, they lined us up in pairs, girl-boy, and according to height. There were 99 of us in the class -- 50 girls and 49 boys. I was, by far, the tallest girl. As a result, I was the one who walked alone in the procession into the ceremony. I already felt awkward for being so much taller than all the girls (and most of the boys), this put the icing on the cake.

I knew how to read (well) and write (not neatly, but intelligibly) going into kindergarten. But we had to write our damned names some gazillion times in those first few eons of kindergarten. So there came a day when I was bored with the exercise and wrote my name upside down and backwards (right to left, with all of the letters mirrored). Something about that freaked out my teacher who dragged me out of the classroom and threatened me with the paddle. It was pure mortification because I wasn't the kind of kid to get yelled at and threatened with the paddle. (Ah, yes, this was in the progressive era of 1981, but Indiana has yet to meet the 21st century today, so...) to this day I have no idea what set that off.

The next year, again in a public school, I got the role of Mary in the nativity scene of the Christmas pageant. (The shit that rural armpit of a town got away with...) We were rehearsing, getting ready to sing our songs. I hadn't been feeling well for a couple days, but dammit, I wanted to be Mary. We'd just gotten in position when I went down like I'd been blackjacked. Turns out I had pneumonia, so good excuse.

3rd grade. Playing baseball at recess when the teacher took off her wedding band
and placed it in my shirt pocket for some unknown reason. Bad choice as I was the catcher.
Needless to say at the end of recess the ring was no longer in my shirt pocket.

First was panic and shock and then she started crying, then I started crying. Pretty
soon everyone was crying.

Then the search began. First thing searched was the sand near home plate. A bunch
of 3rd graders crying while sifting sand through their fingers is not a pretty sight.

Next reinforcements were brought in from other classes to aid in the search. Did I mention
all the honey suckle along the fence line? It was well searched to no avail. The teacher apologized
for upsetting everyone. The incident kind of blew over eventually and things got back to normal. I think the teacher got a new ring.

After the winter had passed some time in the spring of that school year a student found
the elusive ring while retrieving a fowl ball in the honey suckle.

I don't remember the exact details of who found it. But I'm glad they found it.
Then it was on to the 4th grade and new exciting adventures and follies.

twist the top, and throw them up as high as we could. We laughed as each bag burst upon hitting the gr...Oh, NOOOO! My bag landed on our teacher, Mrs Martin's, head! She wheeled around and said "Who is tossing bags of gravel?!" My bag-tossing compadres and I all looked mortified, and I think she realized it was not intentional.
Another time I put a thumbtack on her chair. She must have had on a thick wool skirt because it took far too long to get a reaction. Finally, I was standing near her desk with some other kids and casually asked her if she felt anything unusual.