Not so fond memories of my teacher
Though I largely had kind and considerate teachers, my grade two teacher was the first and most formidably abusive authority figure with whom I, a boy with an undiagnosed autism spectrum disorder, was terrifyingly trapped.
I cannot recall her abuse in its entirety, but I’ll always remember how she had the immoral audacity — and especially the unethical confidence to avoid any professional repercussions — to blatantly thrust her knee towards my groin as she had me against the school hall wall.
Luckily, she missed her mark, instead hitting the top of my left leg.
While there were other terrible teachers, for me, she was uniquely traumatising, especially when she wore her dark sunglasses when dealing with me.
But rather than tell anyone about my ordeal with her and consciously feel victimised, I instead felt some misplaced shame. I was a “difficult” boy; therefore, she likely perceived me as somehow deserving of such treatment.
I later learnt that for some other young boys there was her sole grade two counterpart — similarly abusive but with the additional bizarre, scary attribute of abruptly shifting eyes. Not surprising, the pair were quite friendly with each other.
Frank Sterle Jr