Rememberment, Chapter XXII: Failing Successfully

Fifth grade started in a school near the center of town. There was a lot to adjust to: my commute became about twice as long as before, the building and the environment were unfamiliar to me, and our class group was also different, with many familiar faces but also new ones.

A new school also meant a new set of teachers. I quickly got along with our new arts teacher, which was understandable as it was one of the few subjects I actually enjoyed. He was a charismatic man with a lot of personal talent for drawing and painting. I also liked our English teacher, a young lady with lots of energy and a voice that I enjoyed listening to. (Isn't it funny how memory works? I cannot remember her name or even her face anymore, but I can still clearly remember her voice).

Among my less-than favourite teachers were our new sports coach, a short and loud man who used to be a football coach of some fame, our Guidance Counselor (during lunch, we had assigned seats and I had to sit right next to him; he constantly scolded me for eating too little and how I used my utensils). But my biggest issues would arise with our new homeroom teacher.

A wiry, middle-aged man who seemed creepy to us kids, he used to be my older friend's teacher so I had already heard some things about him. He had suffered some kind of partial paralysis that made his mouth hang on one side, affecting his speech. He had problems with his vision and hearing as well. 

Kids can be incredibly cruel when it comes to such things, and I don't think he enjoyed his work as a teacher very much. Perhaps that is why he often came off as stern and inflexible; it's fair to say that not many kids in my class liked him at all. The feeling was probably quite mutual. It didn't take long for me to have my first personal clash with him.

If there was anything I knew I was good at, it was reading and writing. In fourth grade I had gotten used to hearing my essays being read aloud by our teacher. I was eager to show my skills to the new one as well, so when the time came to write our first essay, I decided to put in some extra effort. Our teacher gave us a list of titles to choose from, I picked the one I found most inspiring and got to work. The more I wrote, the better I felt about it. Man, this is going to be good.

Finally the day came for the teacher to return our reviewed essays. I felt mine was one of the best I had ever written, so I expected it to be read aloud to the class. But after listening to some of the stories of my classmates, I started to realize that mine wasn't coming up. I was a bit bummed but didn't think too much of it - after all, I knew I wasn't the only one in my class who knew how to write.

The class was dismissed and I was about to leave, but then the teacher asked me to stay behind. I was clueless as to what the reason might be and felt uneasy. When the classroom was empty, he began to speak.

"Do you know what plagiarism means?" he asked. I just looked at him, completely baffled. "It means copying someone else's work. And it's wrong. Your essay is an example of this, and that's why I'm not giving you a grade for it".

I was absolutely stunned. I chuckled, which made him lay an angry look at me through his thick glasses. "I wasn't copying anyone" I said, after recovering from my initial shock. "Besides, how could I have even done it? We were all in the classroom writing the essays".

But my words only made him more angry. He pointed his finger at me. "Don't play smart with me, kid. You must have memorized it from somewhere" he said. "No eleven-year old can write like this. And don't you try this again".

"Congrats! Here's your first prize."

I left the classroom feeling a strange combination of anger, disbelief, frustration and pride. Thinking back, I believe it was a pivotal moment; I had suddenly just lost all respect for my teacher (which was something that would manifest itself soon enough in a pretty questionable manner) and was just wondering what the hell was I supposed to do, if I wasn't allowed to try my best.