Those Who Can’t Do, Teach
In high school (10+ years ago), I was quiet and attentive in class. Teachers liked me. I wasn’t popular, but I had good friends. I say all this to explain that high school was relatively calm for me. I played sports, was on the student newspaper, and got decent grades.
However, that all changed my second semester of junior year. I’ve always been a voracious reader. My freshman English teacher recommended I move up to the honors English track, so I did for freshman, sophomore, and the first half of junior year.
Then I was put into Classical Literature my second semester of junior year. I’ve always loved Greek and Roman stories, and had already read your typical high school classical reading list on my own.
I didn’t mind reading them again…until I met Ms. Umbridge. She put on a sweet facade, but she was downright evil. She also decided she hated me. I still do not know why, or what transgression I committed, but she HATED me. I assume it was my habit of sometimes nodding off in classes.
At the time, I had undiagnosed thyroid issues, and was getting up at 5 am for swim practice. I say sometimes, because it happened maybe twice a month total between all eight classes. I don’t remember nodding off in her class, but it could have happened.
Anyways, her class was 50% essays/written reports. The rest were random quizzes and a couple of tests. I was on the student newspaper, and I was a decent writer. I wasn’t worried about maintaining a B or up. We wrote our first paper, and I got a D. I was shocked.
The only class I struggled in was Chemistry and still my lowest assignment grade was a C. After class, I asked Ms. Umbridge what I did wrong, because her notes were minimal. She told me my assessment of the material was “uninspired.” Okay….Can you direct me to an example of an inspired assessment?
“Come back during study hall.” Thinking she’d have some example materials for me to review, I got a pass to see her during study hall. Nope. She spent the full hour basically telling me I was an idiot. I remember leaving and crying, because she didn’t tell me anything constructive.
My friend (the eventual valedictorian) offered to help me on my next paper. My friend and I spent hours on this next paper. She never got below an A- on anything…I got another D. My friend was furious. She took it to her AP English teacher and asked him to review it.
She said she was entering a writing competition and wanted advice. His response proved everything. He said it was great. Her typical A+ work. My friend, quicker on the uptake, asked me for a copy of my original, first assignment.
She asked her AP English teacher to look it over too…and he said she should enter the first one. The second one was still good. He’d probably give it an A-, but the other paper was better. By this point, my friend was convinced Ms. Umbridge was treating me unfairly for some reason, and she must not like me.
My friend wanted me to tell my parents or my school counselor. A teacher didn’t like me? That had never happened. Sure they didn’t all love me, but none had actively disliked me. I decided I’d try one more time, but this time get Ms. Umbridge to help me.
Despite the previous horrors of spending study hall with Ms. Umbridge, I went to her office during study hall three times before the next paper was due. She reviewed the paper and gave me tips on revising it each time. She did this in red pen. I took notes.
By the time the next paper was due, I had three revised versions with her notes in red ink on each one. I got a D+. She smirked and congratulated me on my improvement. Witch. I was done. My friend was right. This witch had it out for me and was giving me bad grades on purpose.
I’m a laid-back person, but I was so angry. Never before been this angry. So I started to get my revenge. I took my paper to my newspaper teacher. Sure, he didn’t teach English, but our student paper constantly won awards because of his work.
I told him I was having trouble in English, and could he please look over my paper and give me advice. He was a little confused as to why I didn’t ask my English teacher, but he did it. He also told me it was great, but gave me a few minor changes to make. I asked him if he thought it was a B or better.
He said he’d give it an A, not 100%, but a solid A. I went to my friend, and we brainstormed. I couldn’t request a drop/add. This wasn’t college. You just don’t switch classes at my high school, unless the teacher recommends an honor placement. That’s not true, said my friend.
The football and basketball guys get moved to easier classes all the time to keep their grades up so they are eligible for games. The athletics director was a friend of my dad, so I requested a meeting with him and my swim coach after school one day.
I told them I was in danger of losing my eligibility to swim, because I was pulling a D in a class. I wanted to move classes, but I knew I’d need approval from administration, which I wouldn’t get without a good reason. They asked if I had requested help.
I explained I had asked for help from multiple people, but my grade wasn’t improving. I didn’t know what to do. They asked to see my papers. I sat while they read them. They both looked at me confused. Neither of them could understand how those papers were worth only a D.
The student Vice Principal was brought in. He asked who helped me. I explained my friend (he knew who she was, again future valedictorian), and she had even asked her AP English teacher to look it over for advice. I had also asked my newspaper teacher to help me.
Student VP asked if I had ever actually asked my teacher for help. I smiled and handed him the three revised versions of paper number three with Ms. Umbridge’s red ink all over them. He frowned. AP English teacher and my newspaper teacher were pulled into the meeting.
They were each asked to grade the papers. All three papers got an A- or better. While this was going on, my dad was called in by the athletics director. My dad was angry too. He demanded I be moved to another class, and that Ms. Umbridge be put under review.
Clearly, she wasn’t grading students on their work but on her own personal opinions. The school administration obviously bristled at the accusation that a teacher was treating students unfairly. A lot of arguing that I wasn’t allowed to sit on occurred in the VP’s office.
I could hear plenty of yelling as six adult men argued over the appropriate next steps. It was decided that myself, my dad, VP, and athletics director would have a meeting with Ms. Umbridge. The following morning before school we all met. This is where it ramped up.
Ms. Umbridge seemed to think she was going to get to tell everyone why I was so stupid. VP explained that if I maintained a D in her class, I would lose my extracurricular eligibility, and we were all meeting to discuss what to do.
She smirked and said I should be moved to the non-honors English track, and that I had no business being in honors English. Apparently, I didn’t have the aptitude to understand the complex classical literature they were studying, and I probably would need a tutor to even get through basic English.
I’ve never seen my father so red, and I half expected to see steam come out of his ears. VP asked why she didn’t try to help me improve. She said it was up to students to put in the initiative to get better.
VP asked if that meant I had never asked her for help. She said I had not. Oh, but we got her good. VP then pulled out the three revised versions of paper number three and handed them to Ms. Umbridge. Now it was her turn to be red. She called me a liar and said those notes weren’t hers.
Things got heated, and I was asked to leave again. I sat outside the office. This time the secretary was there, and we both heard the shouting. School was set to start in 30 minutes, and they were all just shouting. Then AP English teacher and newspaper teacher were called in again. More shouting.
About 5 minutes to the start of classes, the teachers left and I was called back in. Ms. Umbridge then walked out of VP’s office, shooting daggers at me. I was being moved to basic English effective immediately. My current grade would not carry over.
I would not need to make up any past assignments, and the new teacher would be instructed to grade me only on the assignments going forward. My new English teacher, Ms. Honey, ended up being the English department head.
She was at least 65, and had been doing this for decades. After 2.5 years of honors English, this class was easier than PE. I barely had to try to get an A, but I refused to let Ms. Honey think Ms. Umbridge had been right. I tried harder in that class than any other class that semester.
I finished projects so quickly that I was asked to tutor a girl struggling in the class. I spent half the class period just helping this girl understand the material. I helped her go from a C- to a B+. I got something like 104% in the class. At the end of the semester, Ms. Honey called me into her office during study hall.
Then she told me something that shocked me—and terrified me. She was recommending I return to honors English for senior year. I must have looked panicked, because she immediately assured me that Ms. Umbridge would not be my teacher. In fact, she would not be anyone’s teacher.
She was leaving at the end of the school year. Ms. Umbridge was only in her late 20s and unmarried. Too early to retire. And my high school was in one of the best paying school districts in the state. I knew what leaving meant, and then Ms. Honey explained that I was put in her class on purpose.
The school administration trusted Ms. Honey to determine the truth of Ms. Umbridge’s claim that I was basically a lying idiot. Ms. Honey stated I very clearly belonged in honors English. She apologized if her class had not been challenging enough for me.
I cried. I mean full on ugly, snot cried. I didn’t realize it, but part of me had actually believed Ms. Umbridge up until that moment. Ms. Honey hugged me and consoled me. I spent senior year in honors English and spent my study hall tutoring Ms. Honey’s struggling students.
To this day, I think about that awful woman fairly regularly. My career is strongly writing-based, and I still worry obsessively over my writing. I hope she never taught again, because she wreaked havoc on my self-confidence. I’m sorry to anyone who has ever had their own Ms. Umbridge story.
It’s sad so many exist out there wreaking havoc on self-conscious teens. Don’t let your Umbridge keep you down! You are better than Umbridge. Go out and do exactly what your Umbridge said you shouldn’t do.