Oh sure, the photo looks innocent enough. But I can tell you this. My teacher that year – who shall remain nameless (to spare any progeny she may have had… although I doubt she had any; she would have scared off any would-be suitors) – Miss X, made my life a living hell. I used to come home crying. Here’s the thing, though. I can’t for the life of me remember any details of her cruelty. I must’ve buried the memories. <shiver>
bad teachers
11 Happy Montreal Memories From the 1950s… and 7 Unhappy Ones
A little trip down Memory Lane… both good and bad.
11 Happy Montreal Memories From the 1950s
The worst teachers I ever had
As I reread my earlier post, “A wry look at busy, busy doctors” (aka “How to be a rotten doctor”), it made me think of a much earlier draft which was called “How to be a rotten teacher” instead.
