“I hate you, the principal and all the teachers at this school! I wish this school burns to the ground. I don’t care about anybody. And most of all, I hope you lose your baby!"

A sudden chill accompanied the quickened beats of my heart. “Why? Why would anyone wish to hurt me or my unborn baby?” Being a young inexperienced teacher, excited about my new marriage and expecting my first baby, I was shaken by the hate expressed. The words...“I hope you lose your baby,” reverberated within my brain. Dumbstruck, I sat behind my desk reading the dreaded note over and over again as if to confirm its reality. It was real.

A student had left this anonymous note on my desk sometime that morning. It was only on my return from a field trip that afternoon that I had found it. As i walked over to the principal’s office, my legs felt as if they were bound together by some imaginary band of fear. Although I tried my best to keep my composure, I could see by his immediate expression of concern that my horror was very evident.

As we waited with the guidance officer for Linda’s parents to arrive, time seemed to stop along with the broken clock on the wall. “I will recommend mandatory counseling sessions for Linda of course, but she must be allowed to continue classes until final exams,” the guidance officer’s words were like a slap in the face. “Continue classes?” I thought. “Why should I have to continue teaching this child, who obviously has a deep resentment for me and may even be a threat to my safety?” I felt it was an unfair and emotionally impossible task.

One by one, they entered the room. First came Linda with eyes downcast, followed by her parents. All the words of condemnation that were bubbling over in my thoughts burst when I saw her parents. Her mother looked sick and frail but the stick she held was not used for support, but rather to detect obstacles in her way. Detached retinas from a car accident had left her blind in both eyes while the impact had left her husband paralyzed from the waist down. They had been living on social welfare since that unfortunate incident, and depended on their only child Linda to take care of the household and both of them. Linda had looked up to me and tried her best to keep up with the class, but her dedication went unnoticed. Instead, I had only noticed the times she submitted incomplete assignments and chided her for not performing at her full potential. She admitted to writing the note after I had expressed my dissatisfaction on a project she had taken many nights to complete. She had even sold her pencil case to a classmate, in order to buy a ‘fancy’ case for the project. She had never meant to hurt me; someone must have discovered the note and placed it on my desk.

My son turned ten years old today. Because of his difficulty with reading, he was placed on a special program at school. He has nothing but praise for his kind and patient teacher. Her dedication is shown in the great improvement he has made, and evidenced by the certificate which he brought home.

My heart swelled with pride and tears came to my eyes as I glanced at the signature of the course tutor: Miss Linda West.