When you think of a kindergarten teacher, you probably think of a gentle and patient person with a welcoming, smiling, friendly face. However, my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Peterson, was the exact opposite of that, and without a doubt the worst teacher I’ve ever had. 

On the first day of kindergarten, I was understandably nervous to leave my mom and step foot in my new school.  My mom walked me into the cafeteria, and instantly I started bawling. As soon as we stepped through the door, Mrs. Peterson was already marching over. She wore a bright pink dress, but an intense scowl drooped across her face.  Before asking for my name or talking to my mom, she grunted, “You’ll be fine,” and grabbed my arm, pulling me away from my mom and over to the rest of my class. 

Without introducing herself, Mrs. Peterson instantly began barking orders at us to get in line. As kindergarteners, most of us didn’t understand the directions, but Mrs. Peterson didn’t take the time to explain. The classroom was inviting with a large window letting in beautiful sunlight, bright colors, and many toys and activities. Unfortunately, Mrs. Peterson made the room as dark as the night.  

Throughout the entire year, I never saw Mrs. Peterson smile or laugh. She expected near perfection out of 5 and 6 year-olds. Small mistakes such as coloring outside the lines, incorrectly spacing out words or taking a little too long to clean up toys set Mrs. Peterson over the edge. 

Fortunately, I was lucky to seldomly be the main target of Mrs. Peterson’s frequent rampages.  That was, besides one particular day. We were doing a coloring activity that first involved cutting out a shape. I tried my hardest, but being the uncoordinated 5-year old I was, I didn’t cut perfectly along the thin, black line. After the activity was complete, Mrs. Peterson went through the garbage searching for any mistakes. After pulling one piece out, she exclaimed, “This is terrible!” Nervously, I looked around. “Myla, I know you did this!” she yelled.  I apologized in the best way I knew how, but it didn’t make a difference.

As the icing on the cake, Mrs. Peterson had clear favorites. During storytime, her favorites would get to sit on comfortable chairs instead of the dirty rug. During snack time, they got extra graham crackers and milk. During naptime, they could talk and play instead of napping without getting yelled at. And finally, during playtime, they never had to clean up the toys. 

Because of all of Mrs. Peterson’s horrible actions, it wasn’t a surprise to me that she retired the next year.