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A Tale of Third Grade

2004-02-16 & 1:15 p.m.


Third grade sucked seriously....it sucked ass. I had the worst teacher ever in the history of teachers. Third grade is still supposed to be fun. The really hard work shouldn't start until at least 4th grade because that is when you start learning division and were allowed to write with pens. However, the teacher I had believed that 3rd grade was when you should start focusing on your career path for life. She was awful. She pointed at things with her swear finger. She had an awful bob haircut and wore big glasses that made her eyes look like bug eyes. Her name was Mrs. U'Ren. Of course, we called her Mrs. Urine.

When I was in grade school, about 4 weeks before school started you recieved a letter in the mail giving you your teacher assignment. This gave you four whole weeks to anxiously await the great year ahead of you or four whole weeks to dread the year ahead. I remember that I knew what my options were. I would get Mrs. U'Ren or I would get Ms. Smith. Those were your options. I prayed every single night of the entire summer that I wouldn't get Mrs. U'Ren. I had already had some experience with her in second grade. My second grade teacher, Mrs. Schweitzer,who I was convinced was a Nazi based on her name, had made an arrangement to trade classes with Mrs. U'Ren every Tuesday for history lessons. For a whole year, I dreaded Tuesdays. I would fake sick regularly. This is how much I hated Mrs. U'Ren. To this day I cannot hear stories about Squanto without cringing.

The day the envelopes came I couldn't bring myself to open it. It was too hard. My sisters got their envelopes and again the school district saw it fit to separate the twins into different classes. I just prayed that I wouldn't open that envelope to see the name I dreaded. I slide my finger into the tear in the enveope and unfolded the letter. I scanned the big people words to the part that said what class I would be in. My heart sank as I read in what seemed to be the biggest boldest print ever: Mrs. Kathleen U'Ren.

I slipped into a deep depression after that. My friends had all gotten Ms. Smith. All the booger eaters and bad dressers with the exception of me had gotten Mrs. U'Ren. When I went shopping for my school supplies, I picked out all black notebooks, pencils and folders out of protest. I pleaded with my parents on a daily basis to save me from the bowels of hell this woman called a classroom. I carefully structured arguement after arguement trying to convince them that this woman was dangerous to my health and well being. After nothing worked, I devised a plan.

My parents would put me to bed and then I would stay up all night long so that when morning rolled around I would be exhausted. I would get to school and fall asleep during class. Mrs. U'Ren would send me to the nurses office and she would allow me to nap in there for a few hours. I would return in time for recess and lunch and then the hours that followed were art class and english, which was my favorite subject. Even Mrs. U'Ren couldn't make writing suck. After a week or so of this plan, Mrs. U'Ren got wise. She would force me awake if I fell asleep. She would make me sit at the front of the class facing everyone else. I hated that woman so much. I decided the plan was no longer working. One day while I was sitting in class, she was walking around telling some story. I was thinking about going to my Grandma's for the weekend and I was playing with my hair. She came up behind me, grabbed my hair and whispered in my ear,"If you don't stop playing with your hair. I'm going to cut it off." That was the final straw. I had to do something drastic and I had to do it now. I had to get out of there.

I had given up on my parents. After receiving my report card with all of Mrs. U'Ren's negative comments, they no longer had any tolerance for my antics. I had to take matters into my own hands. I thought of going to the principal, Mrs. Plozay and begging to be in Ms. Smith's class. But I figured, like most adults she would not understand my plight. I finally decided that the only way I would get out of class would be to injure myself some how like Greta had. She broke her ankle and got to stay home for 2 whole weeks. I figured that with 2 whole U'Ren free weeks I would be able to recover from all the torture the woman had put me through and then there would only be 2 more weeks of school after that and we all knew that nothing important was accomplished in the last 2 weeks of school. I tried to no avail to break a bone in my body. I was Evil Kenevil on the playground but for all my antics I remained unscathed. I started to believe I was invincible. One day in a fit of desperation, I began to burrow a pencil into my knee. It was barely making a dent. So I took the pencil over to the sharpener and sharpened it to the sharpest point I could. At an amazing force, I jammed the pencil into my knee. It was stuck in there and blood was running down my knee. I raised my hand. The vicious shrew looked at me and ignored my pleas. Finally Sean screamed,"Mrs. U'Ren, Courtney is getting blood all over the carpet." She came over to see the pencil sticking out of my knee and whisked me to the nurses office. I got all bandaged up and was returned to class once again. The other kids were amazed at my battle scar and the amount of blood that had soaked into my jeans. After that, I gave up on hurting myself to get out of class. It was proving to be all too painful to me and didn't seem to affect Mrs. U'Ren at all.

I finished out third grade with no more major attempts to get out of class. I barely passed third grade. Every progress report was loaded with "P"'s for "poor". But I slipped through the cracks and graduated the third grade. I was so relieved because if I had to repeat third grade with that vicious shrew again, I surely would not be here today because I would have killed myself or gone to juvenille hall for stabbing Mrs. U'Ren with my pencil.


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