Untitiled

Roughly two months before I would have started fifth grade my parent's began enrolling me in a Catholic school some distance away. It was a change, a possible restart for me, but most importantly, it was to save me.


The irony behind having a name like Mrs. Joy wasn't that she made all the children happy and joyful (wouldn't be ironic that way), it was that she had, by the middle of my third grade year, already caused enough damage to see one of her student's, Justin, parents relocate to Seattle. This sounds like an exaggeration, a tale from a movie in the 90's where all the kids thought their teacher was a monster or an alien or an ax murderer but it wasn't. She made Justin feel worthless, alone, and like a bad kid. His behavior at home started to change, and his parent's took notice. It wasn't long after that they knew something was up and began asking questions. "What's wrong?" "NOTHING! LEAVE ME ALONG!" he shouted back as he stomped up the stairs in tears.

After a few of these outbursts, they started analyzing where this could have come from. This lead them to his third-grade teacher. They took their complaints to the principal, nothing; to Mrs. Joy herself, an irritating and consistent nothing; to the school board, nothing - she had tenure, and had taught at the school for over ten years, so there was no touching her. Justin's parents were forced to turn toward other avenues to resolve the problem. Now, this was the mid-90's, the thought of kids going to see a therapist to "talk out their problems" really hadn't hit the mainstream yet and left them with very few options, but his mother had been offered a job in Seattle. So, in order to save their son's emotional health, they moved their life to Seattle. To escape.

Directly before the move, Justin's mother spoke with mine. They knew each other, not well, from school functions and my birthday sleep over party or something, but she confided in my mother with the warning to watch out for David. That, with Justin gone, she could turn her attention on the other kid who talked in class, who might not fit in as well with the rest of the class. My mother accepted the advice but wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. She hadn't heard anything about their being a problem with Mrs. Joy before. Hadn't heard any chatter from any of the other mothers from school. So, she didn't put the utmost credence in her warning.

Months later I wasn't just talkative, a little disruptive, I was an shouting, violent, and volatile. My parents weren't sure what was going on. I certainly wasn't the best behaved kid, but things were never this bad. My mother began poking around about Mrs. Joy, asking questions of some of the other parents and found that this woman had a list of students whom she humiliated regularly. I'm not talking about molestation or violence but a very obvious emotional and mental attacking of a kid; which can really screw someone up. As time progressed my parents were sheepish. My mother, at one point, tried to speak with her about what was going on and was easily ignored by her intimidating demeanor. She would question what Mrs. Joy was doing and Mrs. Joy would dismiss her as she dismissed me and everyone else. My parents were at a loss. They contacted the principal and school board only to find that her case had come before them several times and had been shot down by Mrs. Joy's domineering attitude. She had tenure, she owed them nothing, she was untouchable. By the end of the year I bottled it all up. Thought about others more than I thought of myself. Their well-being, their whim always seemed far more important than my own. I lost my personality and become an enabler. She had destroyed me

Then came fifth grade. Right after the school year ended my parents got word that Mrs. Joy would, again, be my teacher. They dropped everything, and thought about alternatives. What other schools could I go to, were they any good, would it be a good environment for me? Their search lead them to St. James, a Catholic School a few miles away, where my sister and I would transition to for a year. After that, I would move to middle school and my sister could go back to our previous school. I had no say in the matter, there was no consultation on the strategy. Just like my disastrous time in the third grade.