Former Richmond teacher’s apology to a student she harmed and suggestions for remedies

I share this letter with your readers and hope for three things as a result.  One, that children who are physically abused at school report the teacher to their parents so that this teacher is somehow reprimanded and corrected by the school principal. Two, that school teachers find peaceful and rational ways to do classroom management. If they cannot do this, they should find another occupation.  And three, that Education Departments at colleges and universities teach orderly, rational classroom management skills.  This is not “discipline”. It is how to set up orderly procedures in one’s classroom so that the students know what to do, and want to do it.

This letter is an apology, a confession and also, will hopefully help young schoolchildren and teachers in Richmond public schools.  Maybe some Richmond adults who knew me when I taught school there, will read this and remember.

In the late 1960s I taught fourth grade at a school in Richmond. It was the first job I had since getting my Teaching Credential at San Francisco State. My professional goal was to share my own excellent education with school children, so that they, too, would love learning.

I have since learned that some people are “natural” teachers in public school classes. I am not one of those people. I teach very well, in a one-on-one setting, such as pull-out remedial programs, or, as I later did for 20 years, as an independent music teacher entrepreneur. I have taught hundreds of music students, in a loving and fun way.

The school I taught at in Richmond was considered to be in a rough neighborhood. It was an all-Black school. Teachers were Blacks and Whites. I am White. Many of the teachers there had “trouble controlling” their class. My coursework at San Francisco State did not teach classroom management, which is what natural school teachers seem to know how to do.

The two “worst classes” at the school I taught at were a second-grade class, and my own fourth grade class.

I was terrified, every day. I loved the children when I knew them individually before, after and during lunch breaks at school.  But when the whole class was together, I was emotionally unprepared.

Children at that school got into physical fights almost constantly at school.  This was boys, and also girls, who fought. On the playground, if there was a fight, hundreds of students ran over to watch and cheer. In my classroom, fights started, too.

The teacher next door to my classroom was a young black man. His class was perfectly behaved. I wanted to know how he did that. His advice to me was, “Hit some kid who hasn’t done anything wrong. That shows the other kids you are not playing favorites.”

There was probably only one child in my class who “hadn’t done anything wrong.”  He was a black child and had a physical disability. I hit him!

Less than two weeks later, a boy and a girl in my classroom — two of my favorite students — got into a fist fight — dashing each other across the classroom. I walked out the door and never went back to that school.  I resigned.

For my entire life, I have carried tremendous guilt and sorrow about hitting that young boy. I had wished I knew how to find him, to confess my cruelty and try to do something to make amends to him. This, of course, was not possible for me to do, or perhaps I was just too immature to know how to figure that out at the time.

Marian Drake, Ed.M.