I had an art teacher in High School take a dislike to me.
She had a very good reputation as a “tough” teacher. I was actually looking forward to that—at that point I’d already been taking private art lessons for a while, had started selling my work a little, and High School art classes were *bo-*ring. I was looking forward to being challenged, and was on my best behavior in that class. (Not that I was typically a little hellion—I was a geek and a nerd.) But she didn’t like me. I think it was because she got it into her feverish brain (more on that later) that I was a “know it all.” But I wasn’t. I was trying—trying so hard—to please her. Took all her criticism to heart (even when it was irrational), and was extra polite.
She allowed other students to get away with the typical student stuff (talking to each other while working on projects, stuff like that), but she’d jump on me for the exact same harmless behavior that she was ignoring or accepting in others.
She’d give critiques of everyone’s work in front of the class, and she savaged my projects, while softballing everyone else’s stuff. I took it. I took it all. I was confused, because I was trying so hard, but I just took it. And I knew that something wasn’t quite right.
Looking back, I should have done what you did, Kilt-wearin’ man, confronted her and then gone to someone higher up, like a counselor. I don’t think the counselor would have considered my art projects to be that bad. (I think she gave me C’s—at least she wasn’t trying to fail me.) Or, I should have just given up. Just done ordinary stuff, stop trying so damned hard. Just phoned everything in. Not done anything bad, just banged out ho-hum ordinary “C” work. Because by hook or by crook, that was all I was ever going to get from her anyway. And if she had given me a hard time and tried to fail me for my C-grade quality work, I could then show my C work to the counselor, prove that I’d done the work, and get her off my back.
Anyway, the twist to the story is that she left suddenly in the middle of the school year. Turns out she had a brain tumor or something wrong with her brain. I guess that explains her behavior. I felt sorry for her, but I didn’t miss her attitude in that class.
Anyway, I was moved to a different art class, where I was so grateful to finally not be walking on eggshells all the time. And it was so refreshingly amazing to start getting A grades again. (I didn’t phone them in—I did try to do a good job with the new teacher.)