<p>Holy Moly, some of these accounts are perfectly Dickensian! CGM, I can understand how this memory is still so painful. When I was in third grade, my art teacher was the source of two of my most traumatic elementary school experiences. I’ll never forget how she took it upon herself to “improve” one of my art projects. One day, we were all given a lump of clay to sculpt however we pleased. By the end of class, I had sculpted what I thought to be a wonderful duck family, Mama Duck and five beautiful little ducklings. I was so pleased and proud of them. When I showed them to the teacher as she walked down my aisle, she proceeded to pick up my Mama Duck and declare that it needed feathers, at which point, she started to gouge markings into my precious and change its shape. I was horrified! It looked hideous (at least to me :D). I tried to “fix” it back, but when I couldn’t return it to its former glory, I proceeded to burst into tears, and could not be consoled. I was so heartbroken, my parents went to the school and confronted the art teacher for her presumption and insensitivity. I was given another lump of clay and the opportunity to try again, but the “spark of brilliance” had passed. I could not “sculpt” another Mama Duck with which I was even slightly pleased. I almost laugh out loud remembering it now, but back then, being a very high-strung and hyper-sensitive child, I was devastated.</p>
<p>I’ve already related the story of the first time this teacher hurt my feelings in another thread, so I won’t retell it here.:D</p>