A teacher’s way of teaching and leading can have a significant impact on the emotional and mental development of his or her students. As I step into my math class, I see eight students lining up in a row with their hands out in front of them. Mercilessly, the teacher swings his stick at their hands, counting from one to ten. Each time the stick beats down, I can feel as if a nail is hammered into my eardrums. My heart continues to pound as some of the students cries. The mad teacher finishes up with his beatings and yells out, “Getting 50% and under is unacceptable!
The sudden scream from the teacher scares me as my hands squeeze together. “l am calling each and every single of your parents and letting them know the shame you brought to my class,” he shouts. The day ends with me lying on my bed trying to fall asleep as the crying of my classmates haunts my brain making me uncomfortable. After two hours, I am finally able to get some sleep. Next morning, I feel pain from the beatings slowly concentrate on my legs as I suddenly wake up. The dorm supervisor wakes us up with his rod at 6:30 in the morning. While I fold my bed and brush my teeth, the supervisor rushes us and shouts, “Hurry up!
Lazy bums! ” We sloppily get ready and Jog to the main school building. Terrified, I step into the classroom and notice that a quarter of the class didn’t show up. I wait for the teacher, convincing myself that it won’t be the teacher from yesterday. I wait patiently as I hear footsteps approaching the classroom and suddenly, everyone stops chattering. The same teacher walks in. He glared at us with his angry face getting ready to force his lesson on us. The teacher concludes his lousy lecture and five pages of homework. I take out my notebook and start tackling the questions.
A student pproaches the infuriated teacher asking for help. miou don’t even know how to solve this? ” He questions as if he were talking to a three year old. “Why are you even in my class? ” he mocked. “l suggest you go back and learn one plus one. ” The teacher sends the student away in embarrassment as he returns to his corner. Please don’t let any of this happen to me, I pray. The bell rang. I rush outside of the prison and finally was able to relax my muscles. The supervisor picks us up and walks us toward the cafeteria. I had no stomach for food, after all the nasty events that I have witnessed already.
I chew on some dry bread as if my life is hopeless. I head outside my classroom, looking at the grim towers of my school. I took a breath of the smoky air as I mentally prepare myself for my next class. With my next class in session, the grumpy teacher walks around scanning us while we write our quiz. There is a lot of pressure because of the thought of getting beaten that lies within my mind. My hands shake as I try to solve these complex questions. The danger of me even making one mistake me tremble as I let go of my paper into the pile. I wipe off the sweat on my forehead and wait for my quiz mark.
With my fingers crossed, the marking is finished. The look on the teacher’s face isn’t friendly as he walks up to the front of the room. He announces, “The following student get to the front desk and put your hands out, Sam, Tom, John, Sarah, Jack… ” He continues as I beg that he would not call my name. “Ethan, Justin, and… Tony,” he ends. My heart stops as I think to myself, it’s over. I toddle back to the dorm with my hand dreadfully bruised. I lay on my bed thinking about my home and my parents . Tears sta rt rolling down my cheeks as the day ends, along with what little desire I had left to stay.