"The Story"

Okay, so some of you have asked me to explain the story behind #1 of my last post. So, here ya go:
When I was in 7th grade, I had a teacher who was likely having some personal problems. Now, I feel a little bit badly that I had been so angry towards her, yet I still do not believe she behaved appropriately, AT ALL! This particular teacher was a terrible teacher. She was mean, hurtful, and just angry at life. She gave more homework than any one teacher could expect a student to get done in the "specified time limit for homework" each night. But, mostly, she was just mean. She picked on students, often. I was "fortunate" enough to be one of those lucky students. She say demeaning things and even make fun of our parents. It was absolutely ridiculous. She singled me (and a few others) out for some reason. Other students' parents even called my parents to ask if I was okay because they heard from their kids how this teacher had treated me that day.
I was a perfectionist. I did all the ridiculous amounts of homework. I was rather convinced, too, that she didn't even check our homework, but rather, just gave us whatever grade she wanted to assign to each of us. On one particular assignment, in our attempts to test out this theory, my parents told me to write really absurd answers to some of the homework questions. So, for one answer, I wrote "The Civil War started because Mary had a little lamb that had white fleece." My theory was proven to be true because I got extra credit on that assignment.
I worked hard and studied even harder. It didn't matter, though, because I was simply one of those kids she had chosen to target. I was a good student. So, she couldn't "get me" on my grades. My parents determined that this teacher (we'll call her "Mrs. Mean") seemed to be picking on kids who had a good family situation (parents still married/stable home life). Mrs. Mean's family dynamics did not fit that same profile. Whether or not that was the case, the facts were the facts. Mrs. Mean was so mean that most days I would cry when I got home.
My parents started keeping a log of all the things that Mrs. Mean had said and done each day...based on things I would explain to them and things other students and other students' parents would share with them. There were discussions with the principal and supposed "warnings" to the teacher. Then, when nothing seemed to make a difference in how Mrs. Mean treated me and the others, I (the perfectionist who would never have skipped class) refused to continue going to Mrs. Mean's class. I threatened to just hang out in the locker area during her class and take whatever punishment resulted. I just didn't care. Instead, I ended up spending that time in the principal/vice-principal's office working on my assignments, free from Mrs. Mean's snares. When I did return to her class, nothing had changed. I told my parents that I was going to take a tape recorder to class and have it in my backpack to record her, so they could hear her antics on tape. They advised me that it might be illegal to do that. But, again, I didn't care.
The last straw was the day of our school track meet. I was out on the track with all my friends and I see my principal and Mrs. Mean come walking across the school yard. I just knew they were coming for me. I was glad that something was happening about the situation, but I was so stinkin' mad because I had to miss the festivities of the track meet and carnival to go have a meeting with the principal, vice principal, my parents, my grandparents, some board members and Mrs. Mean. Issues were discussed and I didn't hold back. I had been so sick of being polite and "respectful" to my teacher all the while being treated like dirt. In the midst of the "discussion", with a great deal of passion and emphasis I explained that it made me very angry when Mrs. Mean would make fun of our parents and belittle them in class. At this point, I guess I felt it was appropriate to demonstrate for Mrs. Mean (and all the others in attendance at this grand meeting) just exactly how angry it made me. So, I said, "When you say that kind of stuff, I just want to PUNCH you!" I even made the punching motion. I punched the palm of my left hand with the fist of my right hand as the words "PUNCH YOU!" came out of my mouth. And, I didn't regret it for a second. My dad nodded and my grandma winked at me. I think my "supporters" were perfectly fine with my little demonstration...maybe even proud of it.
So, that's the story. Are you surprised?