"Bias And Belief"

By

Michael Rosenberg

     I look back at fifth grade year, a year where I prematurely learned about injustice, bias, and the non-trustworthy nature of the human race. It was a year of unhappiness and stagnant un-stimulating academic growth. 

     It was the start of the year and all I remember was the poster of George W. Bush on the classroom white board. I did not understand the concept of his photograph being there. At the time I understood that he was as one of the worst presidents in history who had repeatedly made error after error in front of the American people. Day after day our teacher, Mrs. Smith was talking positively about George W. Bush and his accomplishments when I finally stood up and asked why she would say positive things about the conservative side of government and negative things about the liberal way of american government. 

     From this point on, class became an argument for her. It was an ‘open mic’ time where she could blabber and say positive things about the negative things our failing government was doing or failing to do. This upset me. The last thing I wanted was for my classmates to think that one of the worst presidents in history was one of the best. They would be misinformed and, as a nerdy little fifth grader, I was terribly concerned they would believe this nonsense that the teacher talked about with an extreme bias. 

     I would speak to people around a specific table at break-time and preach words of what real government is. I would speak of its marvels and its failures because I didn’t want to be like my teacher, who was only presenting one side of the issue. So I stood next to the table speaking the truth about government and how both sides could be correct. All the other minion fifth graders would gather around one by one and listen and then talk about these things they heard from me. 

       I became a leader which gave me extreme power. My fifth grade teachers didn’t like this so much. From this point on they no longer had the intent of teaching the 5^th graders about math or grammar, but they started their rant on Michael and his so called falsities. Their goal was to prove me wrong and in front of everybody. Whatever I said in class was automatically wrong. Why? Because I was Michael, the kid who told the other kids about how there is a different belief other than what the teacher believed. 

     I remember my teacher gave me a quiz and she marked my paper with a C-. After this I remember my parents in the classroom arguing with my teachers about the grading technique. They claimed there was bias in the grading due to correct answers being marked incorrectly. The teachers made every excuse possible, but finally my parents understood why they would mark my work wrong when it was correct. They didn’t like me and the power I had created for myself. 

     My dad, a mathematician himself wanted me to learn extra in math and science. He wanted and still wants me to be the best I can be, and he was naturally concerned about the curriculum and its holes. He met with my teachers and the head of school about having me do a more advanced math course online but during school hours at school. They approved this and acted as if they were excited. My dad did everything; he signed me up on an expensive online course and then went out and bought me a laptop to use at school to use to complete the course. I remember every day where I had time set out and organized with my teacher to work on the advanced course, and every time I was starting up my laptop to try to learn by myself and work my butt off, she would find an excuse to stop me. Every time!

     My father was outraged by this, and he called a meeting with everyone again. He expressed his concerns again about the curriculum and how it would not be a problem if they would let me do the online course. 

    At this point the teachers of fifth grade did not only dislike me, but they disliked my mother, my father, and, who knows, maybe even the rest of my family that they did not even know about. Consequently, my parents considered pulling me out of school for the last three months. They said they could teach me the rest just as well without the drama of the teachers and administration. We decided we could hold out for the rest of the year. 

     It was the last weekend of the fifth grade year. There was a pool party in which there would be last time festivities, cake, pool time, and games. I remember everything. The pool was slightly cool but enjoyable, and the area around the pool was slightly rough on the feet. My parents dropped me off at the party and they quickly zipped off in their funny little electric car to a dinner to themselves. 

     The festivities began. People were running around like the little immature monkey kids they always were; they played and goofed around. They threw vegetables at each other, and everything was good. The night remained regular. I was full and ready to play games. The Slip and Slide was normally fun. The relay races were enjoyable, although my team never claimed victory. It was time for the egg toss, the most uncivilized game in existence. At this point the eggs were broken everywhere, over everyone. It was at that point where I witnessed the class devil, “Nick Pittenger” cracking full eggs into the pool. Their existence disappeared from earth and went on an adventure into the pool filter where they caused a major blockage. I quickly notified my teacher of the mishap, and she said she would act accordingly. 

     Days passed and the mystery of the broken pool lay undisturbed. We weren’t allowed to talk about it, so we didn’t. A couple days later it was graduation from elementary school. I remember coming to school completely psyched about the year ending. At the moment the thought goes through my head, I hear my teacher calling my name. I go to her and she says she wants to speak privately. She takes me into the back room and there she yells at me and yells at me and blames me for the tragedy in the pool. As tears drip off my dirty face, I try to explain that there would be no logic in me telling her that there was a problem if I created the problem. It would be like telling on myself. I told her that I told her about the truth and the truth about the Nick kid putting the eggs in the pool. An hour passed, and at that point the attack from the next teacher came. She blamed me in the exact same way and I proceeded in telling my logic. 

     By this point my graduation day was officially ruined, and I was so pissed that I went to the head of the elementary school and notified her about how the teachers blamed me for the incident and how I would never do anything like that. She proceeded in telling me that I was wrong. Of course, right? She had to protect her teachers. She told me that the community and parents wanted to blame me not the teachers. 

     I later found out that this wasn’t true and it was her excuse for the problem. To this day I won’t step on that campus where I was a victim of humiliation and an observer of bias. Because of this experience, if someone asks me if I enjoyed Castlehill, I will say "no"! In fact my parents did not want my brother to go to fifth grade at Castlehill because of the horrible experience that I had with the teachers that remain there. My brother went from fourth grade to sixth grade at St. Gregory because of the problems.

     Maybe fifth grade was better this way! I probably learned more about life, and it made me appreciate St. Gregory even more!