An Important Lesson From a Bad Teacher

Mrs. Fineberg was a stubborn, arrogant, 6th grade English teacher who inadvertently taught me a more important lesson than any other teacher I've had.

We were reading Flowers for Algernon. It's a short story in which a scientist experiments with brain-enhancing surgery, first on a lab mouse named Algernon, and then on a rather slow human volunteer named Charlie. Written from the point of view of Charlie, the style of writing changes as he gets smarter and smarter. It changes again later as the effects of the surgery wear off, and he regresses back to his old self. This arc--the initial progress and subsequent regression--is foreshadowed by observations of Algernon. Toward the end, with terrible grammar and occasional spelling mistakes, he writes that Algernon has died. The story ends with only the implication of a conclusion.

Our assignment was to write two essays: one as "Smart Charlie," shortly after the surgery, and one as "Dumb Charlie," after he'd lost any intellectual advantage the surgery had given him. I don't remember the contents of my essays, but the second one, written as Dumb Charlie, included some spelling and grammatical errors. 

On the first essay, I was graded an A. On the second, which was written within the same 45 minute period as the first, I got a C-. All of my spelling and grammatical errors, even the ones that obviously mimicked the "mistakes" in the book, were circled in red.

I decided to bring this to Mrs. Fineberg's attention at the end of class, to clear up the misunderstanding. I was sure she'd be embarrassed by her mistake, and approached her cautiously as she fussed with the papers on her desk getting ready for her next class. I showed her my paper and politely made my case. 

I did not get the response I'd expected.

"The grade stands. Your paper was riddled with errors," she said, without even looking up from her desk.

"But... they were *intentional* errors, put there on purpose to make it look more authentic!"

"Yeah, right." She actually made a face and roller her eyes. My teacher! To this day, whenever I see an adult casually dismissing a child, I picture Mrs. Fineberg's eyes, rolling... just rolling and rolling into oblivion. It infuriates me.

"You told us to write like Dumb Charlie!" I was getting angry. Poor grades were a Very Big Deal in my house. "Here. Look. If I didn't know how to spell, why would this other essay be perfect?"

She refused to believe me. She didn't even glance up at the essays as I held them side by side. As far as she was concerned, the grades were recorded, and anything I had to say now was irrelevant.

For a moment, nothing made any sense. I'd gotten poor grades before, but whenever I did, it was because I didn't understand the material, or didn't put in very much effort. But now, not only was I being penalized for what I considered to be creativity, but I was basically accused of lying in an attempt to get a better grade. Why would she think such a thing?

And then, a strange thought hit me--a slow realization that conflicted with my blind belief that all teachers were, by definition, smarter and wiser than their students.

"Are... are you an idiot?"

Her eyes finally pointed directly at me. They were wide and full of rage. It seemed like forever before she finally said anything, but when she did, it was only a whisper.

"How daaaare you."

In hindsight, Mrs. Fineberg's grading error was probably due to the fact that she had hundreds of essays to grade, and didn't have time to notice which ones were done by the same student. And she probably didn't want to hear my complaint because she was scrambling to prepare for her next class. From my brief stint as a science teacher, I know first hand just how daunting the teaching profession can be, and how utterly hopeless it feels to navigate a broken school system, angry parents, and too many kids with little to no support. I couldn't do it, myself. After a few short months in the system, I left and went back to my career as an IT analyst. I have great respect and admiration for the teaching profession and those who stick with it. I honestly don't know how they stay sane.

Anyway there I was, back in the 6th grade, shocked and disgusted at the shattered illusion of teacher omnipotence. I expressed this revelation and the emotional toll it was taking on me in the only way I knew how: Crazed screaming at Mrs. Fineberg. Calling her an idiot. Telling her I hated her. I hate you, you idiot, I HATE YOU!

If I could pinpoint a moment in my adolescence that I went from Model Student to Snot-Nosed Punk, that was probably it. 

As I got older, I left behind most of my contrary attitude, sense of entitlement, and inexplicable need to rebel against everything. And thank goodness, because I was pretty intolerable.

However, to this day, I'm still skeptical toward self-proclaimed experts,institutions, and authority figures. I wouldn't go so far as to call it a distrust, but my trust in nearly all important things that I don't experience first hand (and some things that I do) are provisional, pending second opinions, research, discussion, and meditation. 

I firmly believe that even the smartest, most qualified people make mistakes more often than we'd like to think, especially when they are forced to operate within a broken system. I include myself and other people I respect in that estimation, and so I welcome opportunities to be wrong, because those are lessons best learned. Like everyone, I certainly have a lot to work on, but in general I'm a thoughtful, happy (though often frustrated at the general complacency and intellectual laziness of modern society), well-balanced human being--one who puts great effort into teaching my own children to be self-dependent critical thinkers.

And for all of that, I owe stubborn old arrogant Mrs. Fineberg my deepest gratitude.