Snared in the Vines*

"And please move that finger that's been pointing to my mistakes…"
--Christina Perri

“Hey, look at this!” I formed my tongue into four rolls, like a clover. “How’s that for weird talents?”

As my friends laughed, some in third grade, some in second, the second-grade teacher, Ms. Grape, stormed over. I looked up, dreading what she was about to say. I thought that going to the third grade would get her off my back, but I was wrong.

“How dare you stick your tongue out at one of my students? That is incredibly rude, although I wouldn’t expect any less coming from you,” she ranted.

“No, I was just--” I didn’t even get to finish my sentence before she had marched over to my homeroom teacher.

I could hear snippets of their conversation: Malicious... Mean... Ill-mannered...

Worse, my friends started asking me what I did to irritate her, because she was clearly the nicest teacher in the school, and if she thought I was mean, then she was telling the truth. She liked them, and what did they all have in common? They were all good kids. It’s not that I wasn’t nice, it’s just that they didn’t realize I was.

What did I do? Am I mean?

I wanted to yell in frustration. I felt like my heart had swelled up and was pounding against my lungs. I had to catch my breath.

By the time I was called over, I was on the verge of tears, looking up, trying my hardest to keep them in, keep them from spilling down my cheeks. Apparently, according to her, looking up is rolling my eyes, and I got scolded for that, too. Maybe this was worse. At least in second grade, my favorite teacher was there to calm Ms. Grape down, but now, there was no buffer.

I remembered the first of many incidents where Ms. Grape was demeaning. It was in second grade, and many students were crying for who-knows-what, myself included. As she went down the line hugging others and comforting them, she finally got to me. Instead of consoling me, or merely handing me a tissue, she gave me a death stare.

Click! It was as if someone had flipped a switch and turned kind, caring Ms. Grape into a monster.

“Shut up! I know you’re acting. This is so inconsiderate to the kids who are actually going through a tough time! You are so selfish! You are not a good person! You just want attention. Guess what? You’re not getting it!”

My eyes just watered even more, and at that point, I was full-on ugly crying, gasping for air, chest tightening, bottom lip quivering, feeling sick to my stomach.

Why does she hate me? Why? Why me?

I tried to avoid her, ignore her, even tried to stop participating in class. My remaining friends told me to be extra careful around her, but it never worked. Everywhere I went, she was there, looming over me, looking over my shoulder, waiting for the slightest mistake to self-fulfill her prophecy.

I stopped crying pretty quickly after that. I replaced sadness with anger. While my classmates bawled and got comforted, I just yelled. Everyone liked the “sensitive” kids, but people stopped liking me, because apparently, I was an “active volcano” and anything could set me off. I found solace in my favorite teacher, who of course had a reputation of being mean herself, so it was only natural that we would get along.

Despite the pain Ms. Grape caused me, I owe her the benefit of learning a valuable lesson. A reputation, good or ill, may not be well-deserved, and one would be wise to look past rumor and prejudice before passing judgment. A pond may appear harmless and serene on the surface while vicious alligators lurk just beneath the surface, as I discovered when I navigated the treacherous waters of Lake Grape. Conversely, a good look at that feared volcano may reveal the most placid of puddles in its crater.

Ms. Grape made me feel like a bad person, and now, that is one of my biggest insecurities. I’m still positive, but when I’m faced with something upsetting, big or small, my instinctual reaction is anger. She called me mean. The friends I’ve lost called me mean. Sometimes, even I call myself mean. But I will never—never let someone like her get to me again, and neither should you. Stand up for yourself. Trust me, you are worth it, as long as you make an effort to be good. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

*Note: Names have been changed