New

A true story about my first year in RI and what my teacher did when she didn't like what I had to say one day.

Sixth grade was hard, having moved to the northeast from the Midwest. New culture, new people, new everything. I was good with new, but new wasn’t good with me. All this new didn’t know me, and didn’t like me. I liked new, even though it was scary.

School came with a new teacher, Ms. P, we will call her, didn’t like me. Ms. P was an average lady, brown hair and eyes, short in her 20’s. New to the teaching game having only 3 years under her belt. I read during her class when she talked about things I didn’t know, when she bored me, when she annoyed me. I would ignore her and read. Further separating us was math, I hated math. I still do. However being a sixth grade teacher, and the sixth grade still being in the elementary school she also taught English.

Of course I was in the advanced group. One day, a while into the school year. Trees turning color, but the sun still warm. Summer and Autumn fighting it out for power Ms. P handed us a prompt. Write about nature.

Such an ambiguous theme, a million ways I could go with it. Anyway I went with it I would receive praise but I knew what I was going to say, I knew what I was going to write. My pencil scribbled hard and fast, the tip breaking so much I switched halfway through to a pen.

Finished, I could see the steam coming off my utensil. I looked out across my peers, small, round faces, most pleased with their work. Each wanting to share, I reread what I had wrote. I decided I shouldn’t share this time, but when she asked who wanted to read their work my hand very shyly and lazily floated to the sky. Her eyes passed me. One by one she went through all the children not wanting me to read. One by one I listened, hand becoming more proud and bold. They wrote nothing like what I had written.

Soon I was the only one left. I stood up with my notebook, and read my work. Powerfully although quiet. Words of mankind's evils with big words spilled forth. I paused before my last line, Ms. P’s eyes locked on mine daring me to finish. He mouth in an upside down U. Brown brows furrowed. Arms crossed, leaning forward slightly. This was the start of a long rivalry. If I finished, she and I would battle until I left the school. I locked eyes with her and finished, “Humans are w***e, that leech off of Mother Nature bountiful tit, sucking and sucking until she runs dry. Though she be young and full of milk now, soon our poison will turn her milk sour and in turn the leech will die.”

She raced towards me, grabbed my wrist so hard my notebook dropped. Pulled outside of the classroom then pushed against a wall, “What was that?”

“My journal entry.” I said emotionless, looking at my wrist which now was bleeding from a small cut caused by her manicured nails.

“That was inappropriate, those words are not ok for a school setting. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand that you are trying to take my constitutional right to speak my opinion free from oppression.”

More angry words were flung my way and I was sent to the office. My mother phoned and my father. I sat surrounded by new. A new office not the one I had spent my previous years in when I needed to phone home. A new secretary, who was nice enough. So much new. I liked the new, but the new did not like me. So I was going to wage war with the new, and make the new accept me. I would defeat the new, until it saw me as a person and the new turned old.

Author's Note

It's a little fast moving isn't it?

Reviews

[Bentley Dadmun]

New. Ah yes. This fine narrative whipped me back to my own sixth grade classroom and my duels with Miss Remp, who thought children should listen and obey, and not question nor ask questions, nor express opinions.
Imara’s essay strikes at the heart of all that is amiss with school, learning, culture, and at the metaphysical assumptions that seem to be hardwired into our collective psychology. Imara adroitly, gently, puts the reader into her mind as she struggles against the forces, in the guise of Ms. P., who strive to mold her, to induce that most dreaded of behaviors: conformity, into her mind.
All intelligent and creative individuals fight the good fight against conformity, against being turned into obedient robots and uncomplaining consumers. Imara’s essay painted a vivid picture in my mind. I can see her, the new student, the odd one out, seated at her desk, a thousand thoughts whirling through her mind as she gathers her courage and chooses to write those damning words, the words that will make her stand out from the slathering herd and pit her against Ms. P. and all that she stands for. These intellectual struggles happen thousands of times every day in classrooms across America, and they will continue to happen, it’s part and parcel of certain minds to fight for what they believe, for what they think. And it’s part and parcel of stunted minds to attempt to mold, to induce conformity.
I may be guilty of reading too much into Imara’s essay, but it is representative of a mind striving to express itself, and it’s a good meditative read. To paraphrase Emerson: “What most people fail to understand, is that their behavior is also a confession of character.”
And Imara is right, our species is a scourge that is laying waste to Earth.

[Acucena G.]

NEW yes, its also new what you do and you do it perfectly , well done

[Imara]

Thank you :)

[Acucena G.]

you are welcome

[Ignacious Lamont Crowle..]

Nice. I like it. I had a similar experience in high school. Same state even. Kinda makes ya think. Always stand up for what you believe.

[Imara]

Thank you. I think all writers go through this where there is always that one teacher or person who really doesn't appreciate what you have to say haha.

[Bradley]

"I was good with new, but new wasn’t good with me." That sentence is so good. Those words stuck with me through the end, so to see you revisit that theme again was great.

[Imara]

Thank you! I'm glad those words meant something to you.