weakening under the weight of Rebeccaâs rules, switched teachers or schools, the number of kids in her class shrank. None of this seemed to bother Rebecca.
For those of us who held out, though miserable, we sensed that we were learning in a way that we never had before. And that was because Rebecca didnât care if we liked her. For her, there was only one thought: getting the most important ideas of literature, science, and current events into our undeveloped brains as deeply and quickly as possible.
Every day, she was there in the classroom, waiting solemnly, dressed head-to-toe in black, ready to cut out bad ideas and replace them with healthy material, a fashionable surgeon.
In addition to the assignments required by the school, Rebecca insisted that each of us complete a long writing project. We could do almost anything, but it had to focus on a single subject.
As we wrote, she would offer comments, making sure that by the time the project was complete, it was as close to perfect as our little minds could get it. As a gift, she had all of our writings printed and bound, with an engraved cover.
Rebecca was not the most popular teacher in the school. Other teachers, burdened by the kids they had to take in from Rebeccaâs class, disliked Rebecca; administrators, sensing her disapproval, avoided her. And Rebecca, aware of this, ignored everyone.
If there was one person who was as friendless as I was at school, it was Rebecca.
Fifth grade brought new responsibilities, one of which was the privilege of spending lunch outside the school grounds. This seemingly innocuous activity was the most exciting partof the day, a foray into the real world. We had forty-five minutes to pick up food from a nearby deli and return to class. The only limitations were that we could not go beyond a three-block radius and we couldnât go out without someone elseâa âbuddy.â
On the first day, I wandered over to two girls who were getting ready to leave for lunch.
âExcuse me, would it be okay if I came out with you guys? I donât have a buddy.â
The first girl turned to her friend and frowned. âWhat did it say?â
The other girl shrugged.
â It canât come with us.â
With that, they walked away.
This might explain why when Rebecca asked if there was anyone who wanted to spend their lunch hour helping her clean the classroom (unsurprisingly, she was also fixated upon keeping an immaculate work space), I alone raised my hand. Not that I had a better option. Lunchtime meant sitting alone in the cafeteria or taking my lunch to some corner of the school where I wouldnât be seen.
Cleaning up Rebeccaâs classroom turned into a regular job. I would spend fifteen to twenty minutes putting things away and sweeping, and then sit down at a desk and eat my lunch. Not a word was exchanged with Rebecca. But she seemed to tolerate having me there, and I liked the idea of having a place to go.
Not once during that year did anyone else join Rebecca forlunch, nor did she ever leave the classroom. Rebecca seemed unbothered by the fact that the only one in the school who wanted to hang out with her was me.
One day, Rebecca informed me that she would not be in class the next couple days. I worried that she had been fired.
A day or two later, I met my mother in a coffee shop after school. She slid a picture across the table. It was a photograph of President Obama in the White House. He was in deep conversation with someone with whom he was obviously friendly. Rebecca.
WINTER VALLEY
ONCE A YEAR my elementary school treated its fifth-grade students to two or three days in the countryside. Kids could hike or swim in a lake or just wander around. In the evening, everyone gathered wood and built fires. The place we went was Winter Valley. Everyone looked forward to it, especially me.
Unpopular kids tell themselves that if they have a chance to get out of school and be with kids in a
For those of us who held out, though miserable, we sensed that we were learning in a way that we never had before. And that was because Rebecca didnât care if we liked her. For her, there was only one thought: getting the most important ideas of literature, science, and current events into our undeveloped brains as deeply and quickly as possible.
Every day, she was there in the classroom, waiting solemnly, dressed head-to-toe in black, ready to cut out bad ideas and replace them with healthy material, a fashionable surgeon.
In addition to the assignments required by the school, Rebecca insisted that each of us complete a long writing project. We could do almost anything, but it had to focus on a single subject.
As we wrote, she would offer comments, making sure that by the time the project was complete, it was as close to perfect as our little minds could get it. As a gift, she had all of our writings printed and bound, with an engraved cover.
Rebecca was not the most popular teacher in the school. Other teachers, burdened by the kids they had to take in from Rebeccaâs class, disliked Rebecca; administrators, sensing her disapproval, avoided her. And Rebecca, aware of this, ignored everyone.
If there was one person who was as friendless as I was at school, it was Rebecca.
Fifth grade brought new responsibilities, one of which was the privilege of spending lunch outside the school grounds. This seemingly innocuous activity was the most exciting partof the day, a foray into the real world. We had forty-five minutes to pick up food from a nearby deli and return to class. The only limitations were that we could not go beyond a three-block radius and we couldnât go out without someone elseâa âbuddy.â
On the first day, I wandered over to two girls who were getting ready to leave for lunch.
âExcuse me, would it be okay if I came out with you guys? I donât have a buddy.â
The first girl turned to her friend and frowned. âWhat did it say?â
The other girl shrugged.
â It canât come with us.â
With that, they walked away.
This might explain why when Rebecca asked if there was anyone who wanted to spend their lunch hour helping her clean the classroom (unsurprisingly, she was also fixated upon keeping an immaculate work space), I alone raised my hand. Not that I had a better option. Lunchtime meant sitting alone in the cafeteria or taking my lunch to some corner of the school where I wouldnât be seen.
Cleaning up Rebeccaâs classroom turned into a regular job. I would spend fifteen to twenty minutes putting things away and sweeping, and then sit down at a desk and eat my lunch. Not a word was exchanged with Rebecca. But she seemed to tolerate having me there, and I liked the idea of having a place to go.
Not once during that year did anyone else join Rebecca forlunch, nor did she ever leave the classroom. Rebecca seemed unbothered by the fact that the only one in the school who wanted to hang out with her was me.
One day, Rebecca informed me that she would not be in class the next couple days. I worried that she had been fired.
A day or two later, I met my mother in a coffee shop after school. She slid a picture across the table. It was a photograph of President Obama in the White House. He was in deep conversation with someone with whom he was obviously friendly. Rebecca.
WINTER VALLEY
ONCE A YEAR my elementary school treated its fifth-grade students to two or three days in the countryside. Kids could hike or swim in a lake or just wander around. In the evening, everyone gathered wood and built fires. The place we went was Winter Valley. Everyone looked forward to it, especially me.
Unpopular kids tell themselves that if they have a chance to get out of school and be with kids in a
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