First grade life wasn't easy at William J. Bryan Elementary. Even all these years later I remember that year specifically started out as the most soul-sucking and traumatizing out of a whole string of soul-sucking and traumatizing school years. Things were never looking good for me at that time, and whether it was just circumstance, or my own bad decisions, I may never know. At recess, I was at the bottom of the food chain, a lone minnow in an ocean of sharks and other more impressive fish. I hadn't landed in with any of the other first grade cliques that were around, which meant I hung around mostly on my own which left me open to all kinds of torment. Whether it be from the rock-war kids, the power hungry safety patrol, the Tube Slide Gang, or worst of all, the schoolyard bully Brock Brewster, I always had to fend for myself.
The classroom wasn't a walk in the park either. My teacher was a demon from the ancient world, or at least she might as well have been. At 83 years old, Mrs. Edith Stoner was stern, tough as nails, and a sour old wretch. Her white hair was tied up in a tight bun at the top of her head. She had librarian glasses that dangled from a chain around her neck, and she wore dresses that wouldn't look too out of place on a schoolmarm from the Old West.
She was always very strict when it came to the curriculum, always holding us to a much higher standard of learning than the other teachers. "That is not proper grammar!" or "You will address me as Ma'am!" were among the phrases Mrs. Stoner always spouted at us throughout the day. I'm pretty sure if it was still allowed, she would have used a ruler or yardstick to keep us in line.
Perhaps the many decades of teaching turned her sour, or that she genuinely thought the old ways were better, or maybe the multi-generation gap between her and the students was too big. Whatever the case was, there was a large divide between the teacher and us students.
One day, after we had worked on a pretty grueling essay assignment, Mrs. Stoner gave us back our graded papers. "All grades are final, no exceptions." she said as she always did when she handed us back our assignments. "Unless you can give me a very good reason to, I will not change your grade. But keep in mind, in all my years of teaching, no student has ever convinced me to change their grade."
Mrs. Stoner handed my paper back to me. I remember working really hard on this essay, though I can't seem to remember now what I had written about. I glanced at the top of the paper, hoping to see a somewhat good grade. My eyes landed on the big red letter written at the top of the page. It wasn't the one I was expecting. I could feel myself get mad. I worked too hard on this paper, and I wasn't going to let myself get a lackluster grade.
"Uh, Mrs. Stoner?" I said as I stood up from my desk.
"What is it, Mr. Andrews?" she said without looking up from the papers she was handing out to the other students.
"Why did you give me this grade?"
Mrs. Stoner looked up at me and gave me a cold stare.
"I mean, why did you give me this grade ma'am?" I hastily corrected myself. Mrs. Stoner cleared her throat and stood as straight as she could.
"Mr. Andrews, I gave you that grade because it's the grade your work deserved." After hearing that, my heart sank. Was I not as smart as I thought I was? Was I actually, as my schoolyard tormentors called me, a dumbhead? "But, but-" I started to say before Mrs. Stoner interrupted me. "I would not give you a grade that I did not think you were deserving of. It is that way and has always been that way." I could feel Mrs. Stoner's icy stare bore a hole into my skull, and my lip started to quiver, but I still persisted. "But I think you should read it again, I worked too damn hard on this to have-" I said before again being interrupted. "Watch your language Mr. Andrews, or I'll have you sent to the principal's office in the blink of an eye." The rest of the class was completely silent now. "And about the essay. Your grade is your grade, and my word is final on that!" Mrs. Stoner's weak but shrill voice echoed throughout the classroom. My classmates sat wide-eyed and shocked, looking between me and our teacher. The embarrassment was too much. "Okay." is all I managed to squeak out as I sat back down in my seat.
At recess I sat on the swingset, hoping to keep a low profile just in case Brock Brewster was lurking around. I was still too distraught over the essay to do anything. I kept thinking how, or even if I could, reverse this. Mrs. Stoner had never revised her student's grades, so it was hopeless. As I was about to accept the whole situation, something Mrs. Stoner had said earlier had popped into my brain. "Unless you can give me a very good reason to, I will not change your grade."
A lightbulb flashed above my head. That was it! "Unless you can give me a very good reason to?" The phrase echoed in my head over and over as I jumped off of the swing and started to run back to the classroom. I knew I could do it, I just had to somehow show Mrs. Stoner that the essay was worth a better grade. I got too scared in class, with all the other kids there, so I figured I do it now at recess, when no one else is around. I walked across the field and up to the school doors. After I went inside, I ran down the hallway before finally reaching the classroom.
The door was closed so I knocked. No answer. I knocked again. Still no answer. Maybe Mrs. Stoner had gone to the bathroom? Or maybe the teacher's lounge?
I turned the doorknob and the door was unlocked. I cracked it open and poked my head through. "Mrs. Stoner? Are you here?" I looked around the room until I saw Mrs. Stoner, sitting with her face down on her desk. I knew she sometimes took naps while all the kids were at recess, so I didn't make anything of it. I entered the room. "Mrs. Stoner, are you awake?" I said as I walked to her desk. When I got there I tried to shake her awake. "Mrs. Stoner?" I kept shaking her to wake up until her lifeless body slipped out of the seat and onto the floor. It was right then when I realized what happened. Mrs. Stoner was dead.
The classroom wasn't a walk in the park either. My teacher was a demon from the ancient world, or at least she might as well have been. At 83 years old, Mrs. Edith Stoner was stern, tough as nails, and a sour old wretch. Her white hair was tied up in a tight bun at the top of her head. She had librarian glasses that dangled from a chain around her neck, and she wore dresses that wouldn't look too out of place on a schoolmarm from the Old West.
She was always very strict when it came to the curriculum, always holding us to a much higher standard of learning than the other teachers. "That is not proper grammar!" or "You will address me as Ma'am!" were among the phrases Mrs. Stoner always spouted at us throughout the day. I'm pretty sure if it was still allowed, she would have used a ruler or yardstick to keep us in line.
Perhaps the many decades of teaching turned her sour, or that she genuinely thought the old ways were better, or maybe the multi-generation gap between her and the students was too big. Whatever the case was, there was a large divide between the teacher and us students.
One day, after we had worked on a pretty grueling essay assignment, Mrs. Stoner gave us back our graded papers. "All grades are final, no exceptions." she said as she always did when she handed us back our assignments. "Unless you can give me a very good reason to, I will not change your grade. But keep in mind, in all my years of teaching, no student has ever convinced me to change their grade."
Mrs. Stoner handed my paper back to me. I remember working really hard on this essay, though I can't seem to remember now what I had written about. I glanced at the top of the paper, hoping to see a somewhat good grade. My eyes landed on the big red letter written at the top of the page. It wasn't the one I was expecting. I could feel myself get mad. I worked too hard on this paper, and I wasn't going to let myself get a lackluster grade.
"Uh, Mrs. Stoner?" I said as I stood up from my desk.
"What is it, Mr. Andrews?" she said without looking up from the papers she was handing out to the other students.
"Why did you give me this grade?"
Mrs. Stoner looked up at me and gave me a cold stare.
"I mean, why did you give me this grade ma'am?" I hastily corrected myself. Mrs. Stoner cleared her throat and stood as straight as she could.
"Mr. Andrews, I gave you that grade because it's the grade your work deserved." After hearing that, my heart sank. Was I not as smart as I thought I was? Was I actually, as my schoolyard tormentors called me, a dumbhead? "But, but-" I started to say before Mrs. Stoner interrupted me. "I would not give you a grade that I did not think you were deserving of. It is that way and has always been that way." I could feel Mrs. Stoner's icy stare bore a hole into my skull, and my lip started to quiver, but I still persisted. "But I think you should read it again, I worked too damn hard on this to have-" I said before again being interrupted. "Watch your language Mr. Andrews, or I'll have you sent to the principal's office in the blink of an eye." The rest of the class was completely silent now. "And about the essay. Your grade is your grade, and my word is final on that!" Mrs. Stoner's weak but shrill voice echoed throughout the classroom. My classmates sat wide-eyed and shocked, looking between me and our teacher. The embarrassment was too much. "Okay." is all I managed to squeak out as I sat back down in my seat.
At recess I sat on the swingset, hoping to keep a low profile just in case Brock Brewster was lurking around. I was still too distraught over the essay to do anything. I kept thinking how, or even if I could, reverse this. Mrs. Stoner had never revised her student's grades, so it was hopeless. As I was about to accept the whole situation, something Mrs. Stoner had said earlier had popped into my brain. "Unless you can give me a very good reason to, I will not change your grade."
A lightbulb flashed above my head. That was it! "Unless you can give me a very good reason to?" The phrase echoed in my head over and over as I jumped off of the swing and started to run back to the classroom. I knew I could do it, I just had to somehow show Mrs. Stoner that the essay was worth a better grade. I got too scared in class, with all the other kids there, so I figured I do it now at recess, when no one else is around. I walked across the field and up to the school doors. After I went inside, I ran down the hallway before finally reaching the classroom.
The door was closed so I knocked. No answer. I knocked again. Still no answer. Maybe Mrs. Stoner had gone to the bathroom? Or maybe the teacher's lounge?
I turned the doorknob and the door was unlocked. I cracked it open and poked my head through. "Mrs. Stoner? Are you here?" I looked around the room until I saw Mrs. Stoner, sitting with her face down on her desk. I knew she sometimes took naps while all the kids were at recess, so I didn't make anything of it. I entered the room. "Mrs. Stoner, are you awake?" I said as I walked to her desk. When I got there I tried to shake her awake. "Mrs. Stoner?" I kept shaking her to wake up until her lifeless body slipped out of the seat and onto the floor. It was right then when I realized what happened. Mrs. Stoner was dead.
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