What’s Done is Done
In ninth grade, I went to a weird art program that was in a block of buildings on the campus of a regular public high school. I had a drawing teacher that made my life a nightmare.
My class started at 6:30 AM and every day was spent with the teacher laying into me. My friends in the program, as well as the life drawing teacher, noticed that he was unusually hard on me as well, but nothing was ever done. The teacher would tell me my work was garbage.
Any compliments about my work were backhanded. He would raise his voice and tell me that I should quit, so I did. It drove me to give up art. At the end of my senior year, I was a student at the regular public high school where the art program was held in.
I got a message in my homeroom that I needed to go see that drawing teacher. He took me into his office, sat me down, and started crying.
He said, “I’m so sorry. My wife and I had a baby to save the marriage. Between the baby and the early morning class time, I was so tired and angry and I took it out on you. I don’t know why it was you, but it was”.
I just said “What’s done is done” and went back to class. However, that was by FAR the most unprofessional thing I had ever encountered. Story credit: Reddit / bigchillrob