An Unsent Letter
Dear Ms. McHale,
We, the students of A4 Hebrew, have come to the conclusion that you deserve to be notified of our impression of the current teacher. Before you address us as "silly, know-nothing rugrats," as you often do, please hear out our concerns. We hope that this letter will enlighten you.
Let us first establish our opinion on the broad subject of "Hebrew," as it were. For most of us in the low class, it was simply a nuisance in former years. It was a class that we were required to take and did so grudgingly. But we did take it, Ms. McHale, and we did our best to make sure that we did not fail. We would iron in the vocabulary necessary for the upcoming quizzes and shortly after forget that the words ever existed. We had little desire to make the language part of our daily lives apart from the trip to our homeland every once in a while and, perhaps, to understand what our Israeli friends were talking about. Our grasp of the language was not the firmest, but we tolerated it. I am not fortunate enough, sadly, to say that we still do.
We came to the class in September dreading the irk and frustration that followed us in every such language course and were honestly not surprised when our fears were realized. Instead of the expected friendly “Shalom” we all wanted to hear, we dove quickly into a truckload of assignments. Yes, Ms. McHale, homework is an essential and required part of school. We know this. And we would cope. It was just another obstacle in the way of getting a “B” in a class we did not really care about.
No, the problem is not with the amount of work the teacher gave. The problem was, to put it quite frankly, with her. It was hard to identify what we disliked about the class. But then we started leaving for lunch with an utter loathing of the subject when, previously, it was merely a minor irritation in the long haul of high school. What we mean is that we would depart from every single class exasperated and filled with a yet unequaled hatred for Hebrew and all it stood for. At some point we cannot remember we started taking out our hatred for her on the language itself.
We have to tell you, Ms. McHale, we were surprised at ourselves when we heard such irate words coming from our mouths. When we looked back on what we endured, however, we understand quite well the reasons for such actions.
At one point in January one of us was called up to her desk during a test. She inquired about his homework he turned in. Confused, the student motioned to it right in front of her. It was at that point that she started reading and ‘correcting’ it. We use that term lightly, you understand. The teacher’s idea of correcting consisted of her saying something along the lines of “What is this?” and “I can’t even correct this!” and “What were you thinking?” She shoved the paper pocked with red pen into the student’s face and told him that he had to redo it by the end of the day. And it was just “too bad” that he did not have any free periods to do it during.
She often subjects us to reading comprehension. It consists of her writing questions on the board and then playing a CD track with some fast talking Israelis on it talking about their doldrum lives. It is a reasonable assignment, of course, because what is Hebrew if you cannot understand people speaking it? This is not our beef. A slow writer in the class who had just finished writing down the questions raised his hand to ask what the first question meant. She glanced in his direction, rolled her eyes, and then started playing the CD track. The student, reportedly, was left bewildered, confused, and gained absolutely no further knowledge of the Hebrew language.
Another student, just recently (it is May, mind you), was told that he was allowed to turn in a late assignment. When asked for it he told her that he put it in her box. She exploded at him and said that it was unreasonable that he did not remember what she said at the beginning of the year in the footnote of her introductory class about turning assignments into her box. Apparently we should not do it. We should not use the school office system for getting things to our teachers with her. The student was, at that point, told to rewrite his page and a half long essay, which is a great deal to someone who does not actually speak the language, and then turn it in the next day.
These are only a fraction of the examples we could think of.
We feel that our teacher does not currently belong in the educational system. She has convinced herself that she has teaching methods while, at the moment, all they consist of is the idea that scaring the students will make them learn better. She instills us with no sense of pride for the subject, no desire to learn and become better people. She does not reassure us that she is teaching for our sakes, only that we are not good enough and never will be unless we learn to speak fluently.
Do not begin to believe that Hebrew is our number one priority, Ms. McHale. It is only one letter grade on our way to college. It is only one language that we can brag to our friends that we partly know. It is a part of us, but it does not define us and probably never will.
Fire Ms. Sheckter because she is a shithead.
Sincerely,
The Class of A4
Okay, that last part wouldn't actually be in the letter. But still. Goddamnit it.
Wow, I just double-spaced that letter in word and found out that it is technically a four page essay. I must really hate her. She went over the line today and I can't forgive her for that.
I set up the lights for town meeting today. They didn't go exactly as planned because someone had forgotten to tell me how narrowly put together the tables would be, forcing me to use only two of the booms (Those tall, metal rods) of the eight brought out x.x. But such is life. Everyone who needed to be was well lit and all the screw-ups were sound related. It was a good experience and I learned how to put lights on booms and how to efficiently cable and I worked out my forearms and yadda yadda. So I was cleaning up everything so that a PE class could use the gym and Ms. Heller could use the theatre. The breakdown took a little while though and it was about ten minutes into the next class when I got a note from Brent and was going to walk it back to my Hebrew class. I ran into Sean who was supposed to be looking for me and just gave him the note instead. He just laughed it off and said I wasn't missing much. So I went back to work curling cables and refastening lights. Brent came up the stairs a couple minutes later looking exhasperated and said that Ms. Sheckter had stormed backstage and demanded that I be sent to class.
Just take a moment to absorb that.
Ms. Scheckekter heard that I was still at school and, after she got the note from Sean, left the class in a rage, as he described it. She left the class. She stopped teaching some twenty-odd students that were there to learn to go fetch me and Bloch, who was also helping out. She gave me this sneer as I got into the classroom and then yelled at us after the class was dismissed that I should have asked her permission first and that she wouldn't have given it to me. She told me that this class was sooo important and that I could not afford to miss it. We did no assignments. We went over one more reading comprehension track and then class was over. I was no better prepared for the final than I was an hour before. I gained nothing from that class. She yelled and then I left and then I put it into the back of my mind.
Fast forward to history, sixth period. We're preparing for the final. Mr. Krauss is teaching us about some war that I know nothing about. (And still know nothing for reasons explained.) Korea, during the Korean War, was split into two. North and South-Ms. McHale walks in. She asks to see me. Outside of the classroom with no hint of a smile on her face, she sends me to her office and tells me to wait for her there.
I brood. I know what this is about. This is about me missing Hebrew. This is about me devoting a chunk of my life to making the student debates a little more important than the other town meetings. This is about me missing the first half-hour of Hebrew, a subject that I don't care about and never will. Ms Schechter, a bitch who won't go out of her way to check her box for student's homework, is willing to spend her time describing how badly I should be punished. And why the hell was I just standing there in the hallway? Mr. Krauss was teaching me stuff I could actually use in a class that I am not happy to be struggeling in. And I was just standing there. She came back eventually with Bloch. I intended to tell her right then and there that I was upset with how she was wasting my time and could have taken two seconds to think about the geography of the school before grabbing me in building two and then Bloch in building four.
Nothing came out of course. I said nothing. I merely took the usual student stance of trying to defend myself and pass the blame onto other people. Except Brent. I was doing everything to keep Brent out of trouble.
Sigh.
I have in-school detention till Wednsday. This sucks.
We, the students of A4 Hebrew, have come to the conclusion that you deserve to be notified of our impression of the current teacher. Before you address us as "silly, know-nothing rugrats," as you often do, please hear out our concerns. We hope that this letter will enlighten you.
Let us first establish our opinion on the broad subject of "Hebrew," as it were. For most of us in the low class, it was simply a nuisance in former years. It was a class that we were required to take and did so grudgingly. But we did take it, Ms. McHale, and we did our best to make sure that we did not fail. We would iron in the vocabulary necessary for the upcoming quizzes and shortly after forget that the words ever existed. We had little desire to make the language part of our daily lives apart from the trip to our homeland every once in a while and, perhaps, to understand what our Israeli friends were talking about. Our grasp of the language was not the firmest, but we tolerated it. I am not fortunate enough, sadly, to say that we still do.
We came to the class in September dreading the irk and frustration that followed us in every such language course and were honestly not surprised when our fears were realized. Instead of the expected friendly “Shalom” we all wanted to hear, we dove quickly into a truckload of assignments. Yes, Ms. McHale, homework is an essential and required part of school. We know this. And we would cope. It was just another obstacle in the way of getting a “B” in a class we did not really care about.
No, the problem is not with the amount of work the teacher gave. The problem was, to put it quite frankly, with her. It was hard to identify what we disliked about the class. But then we started leaving for lunch with an utter loathing of the subject when, previously, it was merely a minor irritation in the long haul of high school. What we mean is that we would depart from every single class exasperated and filled with a yet unequaled hatred for Hebrew and all it stood for. At some point we cannot remember we started taking out our hatred for her on the language itself.
We have to tell you, Ms. McHale, we were surprised at ourselves when we heard such irate words coming from our mouths. When we looked back on what we endured, however, we understand quite well the reasons for such actions.
At one point in January one of us was called up to her desk during a test. She inquired about his homework he turned in. Confused, the student motioned to it right in front of her. It was at that point that she started reading and ‘correcting’ it. We use that term lightly, you understand. The teacher’s idea of correcting consisted of her saying something along the lines of “What is this?” and “I can’t even correct this!” and “What were you thinking?” She shoved the paper pocked with red pen into the student’s face and told him that he had to redo it by the end of the day. And it was just “too bad” that he did not have any free periods to do it during.
She often subjects us to reading comprehension. It consists of her writing questions on the board and then playing a CD track with some fast talking Israelis on it talking about their doldrum lives. It is a reasonable assignment, of course, because what is Hebrew if you cannot understand people speaking it? This is not our beef. A slow writer in the class who had just finished writing down the questions raised his hand to ask what the first question meant. She glanced in his direction, rolled her eyes, and then started playing the CD track. The student, reportedly, was left bewildered, confused, and gained absolutely no further knowledge of the Hebrew language.
Another student, just recently (it is May, mind you), was told that he was allowed to turn in a late assignment. When asked for it he told her that he put it in her box. She exploded at him and said that it was unreasonable that he did not remember what she said at the beginning of the year in the footnote of her introductory class about turning assignments into her box. Apparently we should not do it. We should not use the school office system for getting things to our teachers with her. The student was, at that point, told to rewrite his page and a half long essay, which is a great deal to someone who does not actually speak the language, and then turn it in the next day.
These are only a fraction of the examples we could think of.
We feel that our teacher does not currently belong in the educational system. She has convinced herself that she has teaching methods while, at the moment, all they consist of is the idea that scaring the students will make them learn better. She instills us with no sense of pride for the subject, no desire to learn and become better people. She does not reassure us that she is teaching for our sakes, only that we are not good enough and never will be unless we learn to speak fluently.
Do not begin to believe that Hebrew is our number one priority, Ms. McHale. It is only one letter grade on our way to college. It is only one language that we can brag to our friends that we partly know. It is a part of us, but it does not define us and probably never will.
Fire Ms. Sheckter because she is a shithead.
Sincerely,
The Class of A4
Okay, that last part wouldn't actually be in the letter. But still. Goddamnit it.
Wow, I just double-spaced that letter in word and found out that it is technically a four page essay. I must really hate her. She went over the line today and I can't forgive her for that.
I set up the lights for town meeting today. They didn't go exactly as planned because someone had forgotten to tell me how narrowly put together the tables would be, forcing me to use only two of the booms (Those tall, metal rods) of the eight brought out x.x. But such is life. Everyone who needed to be was well lit and all the screw-ups were sound related. It was a good experience and I learned how to put lights on booms and how to efficiently cable and I worked out my forearms and yadda yadda. So I was cleaning up everything so that a PE class could use the gym and Ms. Heller could use the theatre. The breakdown took a little while though and it was about ten minutes into the next class when I got a note from Brent and was going to walk it back to my Hebrew class. I ran into Sean who was supposed to be looking for me and just gave him the note instead. He just laughed it off and said I wasn't missing much. So I went back to work curling cables and refastening lights. Brent came up the stairs a couple minutes later looking exhasperated and said that Ms. Sheckter had stormed backstage and demanded that I be sent to class.
Just take a moment to absorb that.
Ms. Scheckekter heard that I was still at school and, after she got the note from Sean, left the class in a rage, as he described it. She left the class. She stopped teaching some twenty-odd students that were there to learn to go fetch me and Bloch, who was also helping out. She gave me this sneer as I got into the classroom and then yelled at us after the class was dismissed that I should have asked her permission first and that she wouldn't have given it to me. She told me that this class was sooo important and that I could not afford to miss it. We did no assignments. We went over one more reading comprehension track and then class was over. I was no better prepared for the final than I was an hour before. I gained nothing from that class. She yelled and then I left and then I put it into the back of my mind.
Fast forward to history, sixth period. We're preparing for the final. Mr. Krauss is teaching us about some war that I know nothing about. (And still know nothing for reasons explained.) Korea, during the Korean War, was split into two. North and South-Ms. McHale walks in. She asks to see me. Outside of the classroom with no hint of a smile on her face, she sends me to her office and tells me to wait for her there.
I brood. I know what this is about. This is about me missing Hebrew. This is about me devoting a chunk of my life to making the student debates a little more important than the other town meetings. This is about me missing the first half-hour of Hebrew, a subject that I don't care about and never will. Ms Schechter, a bitch who won't go out of her way to check her box for student's homework, is willing to spend her time describing how badly I should be punished. And why the hell was I just standing there in the hallway? Mr. Krauss was teaching me stuff I could actually use in a class that I am not happy to be struggeling in. And I was just standing there. She came back eventually with Bloch. I intended to tell her right then and there that I was upset with how she was wasting my time and could have taken two seconds to think about the geography of the school before grabbing me in building two and then Bloch in building four.
Nothing came out of course. I said nothing. I merely took the usual student stance of trying to defend myself and pass the blame onto other people. Except Brent. I was doing everything to keep Brent out of trouble.
Sigh.
I have in-school detention till Wednsday. This sucks.