Fourth Grade Failure

Mamakat's prompt:  Share a story from fourth grade.

I had a great teacher in 4th grade. Mrs Gill. I loved her, with that intense affection that kids develop for teachers.  She never yelled, and every day after lunch she would read aloud to us from a chapter book.  The names of the books escaped me, but there was at least one character named Caleb. 

One day, Mrs. Gill told me in so many words that I was special. Because I was so special, I would be in a special math group. An advanced math group.  I was so excited!  I was never too keen on math,  and I had only just memorized my times tables, but if Mrs. Gill thought that I could do it...wow!  I basked in the warm sunlight of her confidence.

Initially, I tried very hard, because I wanted to be worthy of my teacher's regard.  I paid attention when Mrs. Gill spoke to the group. I even took notes...except that she seemed to speak very quickly, and never seemed to be able to answer any questions about the concepts. She just gave us worksheets and sent us into the corner to work. I also noticed that this special group seemed to be assigned twice as many problems than the other kids.  Most of the kids in the advanced group seemed to finish the entire page very quickly, while I...dawdled, and doodled.  Oh, did I doodle! Math was insanely boring, plain and simple.  Even at that age, I could see no good reason in completing an entire page of the same type of problem, when completing half demonstrated that I knew what to do.  And why the hurry to finish?  There were no mysteries of the universe to be solved in multiplying 6 by 7, therefore there was no rush.  Now, of course, I know that the whole point was math fluency, but it made no sense in fourth grade, and Mrs. Gill never explained that to me.

Mrs. Gill was very upset by the end of my third week in the advanced program.   She pulled me aside again.  I would no longer be part of the advanced group, but would have to sit with the not-advanced group.  At the end of Mrs. Gill's 'talk', this is what I knew:  I was too stupid to understand math.  I was a failure because I couldn't complete entire pages of equations like I was supposed to.   Mrs. Gill's disgust was a kick where it hurt.  I may have cried. Where I had been confident, I became hesitant.  Where I had been comfortable, I now withdrew.  My interest in pleasing Mrs. Gill waned considerably. Why bother, when any attempt to complete a task might mean another failure?  

Since that year, I've struggled with math, barely passing those classes. That day, when I learned that I was a failure at math, left me with feelings of inadequacy that have never gone away.  And why is that?  

Because she made me feel like a failure.  I hate her for that.