From Classroom Thief to Class President

Don’t Judge a Child Prematurely, They Might Surprise You

My year 4 teacher was a nasty b… banshee. She should never have been a teacher. Although she was pushing middle age, she was straight out of teaching college and drove a convertible. She never waved or smiled. Her new husband landed a job in the mining town I grew up in. I like to call it No Man’s Land. Suppressive heat and nothing but rocky desert around for miles and miles, and more miles. Looking back, the place has a vibe, a soul. Energy radiates from the land. To little me, it felt like a hell hole and I itched for the city.

Like any country town, everyone knew everyone to some degree. Mrs Screechy, as her students called her, went to teaching college with a close friend of my family. I was excited to meet her at the local swimming pool before school started for the year. I don’t recall details, just that she acted uninterested and I found her to be cold. I wanted to make a good impression so the introduction was lacklustre. On the way home, I asked the mumma bear if I had done something wrong. She said something along the lines of “Don’t be stupid, you did fine”.

Year 4

I don’t remember my first day in Mrs Screechy’s class. As the years pass the days roll into one blur. Mrs Screechy was a real Roald Dahl villain. Early on, most likely the first day, Mrs Screechy screamed at the kids. I’m talking full-on vibrating screaming. To my recall, she never directly screamed at me, maybe because she knew my mother or maybe because I was raised to believe adults were gods. One kid might take their time and she would scream “SIT DOWN NOW”. Or she would hear a whisper “NO TALKING”. And then there were the scream rants when she got really flustered. Her face would go red. You knew it was coming.

Mrs Screechy could flick that temper switch faster than a race car. The funny thing about screaming at kids is, the technique loses effect fast. Some began to stir her up for a reaction. Boys will be boys.

Sometimes, Mrs Screechy went beyond screaming at us. Kids who weren’t paying attention were met with the blackboard duster thrown at them. A volcano of chalk dusk choking them. If the metre-long wooden ruler was handy she would smack on the victim’s desk. The bang startled everyone.

It’s safe to say Screechy left a bad taste in my throat. I loathed the woman. Because of her, my favourite My Little Pony was stolen — don’t mess with ’em ponies. I don’t hold a grudge at all.

Put it in your bag.

But someone will take it. Please let me put it in my big tray for the day.

Put it in your bag now.

My real gripe stemmed from her stealing from me. I went looking for something and found my “lost” stationery in her drawer. You see, the mumma bear didn’t like me having the same as the other kids and took pride in knowing I had different shiz. So, a yellow triangle eraser is rather distinctive as is a gimmick ruler with a magnifying glass. I asked Mrs Screechy for my stuff back.

No, it’s mine.

Wait, what? Alright b… banshee, game on. Game on.

My bestie, Kerry, and I hatched a plan. If Mrs Screechy could steal my stuff, she wouldn’t mind if we stole her stickers. Fair’s fair right? A least in my 9-year-old brain. So after school, we snuck back into our classroom and helped ourselves. Back then most kids walked or rode their bikes to and from school. Staying back after the bell raised no concern.

It was fun to watch Mrs Screechy search high and low for her missing stickers, thinking she was losing her mind. We did this over a series of weeks.

Nothing satisfying lasts forever. Mrs Screechy ordered to look in Kerry’s school bag for something unrelated. Kerry came back with her bag. Mrs Screechy unzipped the zipper and found several boxes of stickers. Kerry you idiot I told you to dump those. I kept mine hidden in my closet. Let the screaming commence. Kerry was sent to the principal.

Sometime later I was called to speak to the principal. Kerry squealed. Skunted. A sickness ran through me. If my parents found out I would disappoint the mumma bear and receive corporal punishment from the old man. I tried to lie my way out but being young contradicted myself. I was never any good at lying and seldom tried.

I faced my fate. No one cared to ask why I stole. I was forced to return what I had taken, buy her new stickers, and apologise. Oh, the humiliation. At home I was shocked, the old man gave me the choice of punishments; a flogging with leather or weeding the garden in 100-degree heat. I chose weeding. Several days in, the mumma bear noticed popped blisters on my hands and called the weeding off. The worst of the punishment was, being forbidden to play with Kerry because she was a “bad influence”. I didn’t have many friends at school at that time. The couple I did were ordered by their parents not to play with me because I was “naughty”. Touche.

The biggest lesson I learnt is life isn’t fair. It’s alright for an adult to steal but not me. Such is life. I doubled down on being a good girl because I wasn’t going to deal with the parental units again and took up reading. Kerry found a new bestie and that was that.

Until the day Mrs Screechy barged into the classroom raving and ranting about stickers, and waving sticker boxes in her hands. Here we go again. I looked up from my “Sweet Valley Twins” book. Kerry struck again. Idiot.

Mrs Screechy turned her vile tongue onto me. Accusing me. All eyes were on me.

Tannille I want to see your bag now

Whoa, I know nothing about this. I’m not allowed to play with Kerry —

Bag now.

I compiled and took smug delight when she found nothing. I went back to reading.

She interrogated the entire class. Jay was caught out. He refused to leave his chair when ordered. Mrs Screechy yanked him by the collar and pulled him out. She’d lost control. The rest of us watched in horror. Teachers could rant and rave but they weren’t allowed to physically touch us. Her uncontrollable rage stunned the class. She may have hit him, I don’t know.

Mrs Screechy tangoed with the wrong mother this time. Jay’s mum, a real bruiser, gave her a serving in the common area outside our class where the school bags lived. “Not my baby boy” type crap and “don’t you ever touch my son”. Insert your own four-letter words. OMG, it was AWESOME. Like all bullies, Mrs Screechy crumbled when confronted. She rushed back into the classroom crying. Kids giggled and she ran back out. BEST. DAY. EVER.

She never did control her temper but for one day… We had a win.

Year 5

The following year, I scored an awesome teacher, who guided and encouraged his students. My grades skyrocketed and was voted class president. In short, I was inspired to do my best and made the decision to try as hard as I could. This included sharing my shiz and being a good classmate. Hello Little Miss Popular.

My new classroom was next door to my old classroom. On the first day of the school year, we were doing the usual intro-type stuff. Screaming penetrated through the wall — Mrs Screechy tongue lashing at her new crop of victims. I looked around at my peers from the year before, we made up about 50% of my new class and we gave the biggest collective belly laugh. She stopped midsentence of her yelling catching on we were laughing at her.

In retrospect…

As an adult, I can look back and see beyond my child's eyes. Mrs Screechy suffered from mental health issues. No teacher should be that worked up. She hated her live-in teenage stepdaughter and that would have put a strain on her marriage. I hope she got herself together. Or she terrorised kids for another 2 decades.

Kerry was the only kid I was ever banned from playing with. The mumma bear didn’t want me to become a delinquent. Unfortunately, Kerry was a problematic child acting out. She was adopted and that may have played a part in her behaviour. I remember sitting next to her in class and she ripped out clumps of her long hair. The behaviour puzzled me and I asked her why. She shrugged, “Because I want to” and pulled out another clump to prove a point while I cringed. We were friends again after the sticker shenanigans, but we lost contact when I moved to the city. Another classmate said she turned to drugs as a teen and was a single mum. The news saddened me. We weren’t all that different: middle-class children with issues in the classroom and at home.

At the end of the day, we make a choice as to what road we travel along. Sometimes the odds aren’t fair or in our favour. I could have gone either way. Drugs were offered to me and I refused. My focus stayed towards study and bettering myself.

I am living proof — don’t ever judge a child prematurely, they might surprise you.

Names have been changed to protect the guilty, except for Tannille — forever the little shit.

Related stories from Tannille’s childhood —

Did your parents ever tell you not to hang out with someone or forbidden you contact with another person? Who was it and why? — Prompt by Adrian CDTPPW