When I compare my daughter’s public school to the parochial schools I attended, there’s one striking difference: teachers don’t beat up students.
I’m still haunted by the memory of Sister Carmen attacking Marc Reiner. She pounced from behind like a wild cat, grabbed his shoulders with her bare hands, dug in her nails, and began shaking him violently.
The cause? That, I can’t recall. What does come to mind are the raw, bloody scratch marks I saw by his collarbone.
“Hey, old Reiner boy, we’re friends, right?” she said later, trying to make light of the moment by giving him the buddy squeeze.
And people wonder why I consumed with fear, shame and guilt.
In comparison, my daughter’s education seems like one long Tony Robbins seminar. Warm, fuzzy teaching moments designed to pump up the ego and empower kids.
On Thursday, Savannah’s class invited families to their Brooklyn Bridge celebration. Kids read stories they wrote about John and Washington Roebling. Pretended to be reporters interviewing the workers. Showed off the miniature bridge they built.
Parents clapped. Teachers sang the kids’ praises. Children beamed. And there wasn’t a drop of blood to be found.
Leaving the room, I was all the more grateful for my daughter’s amazing school and thanked God for her wonderful teachers.