The worst thing is that it went on, because I have a daughter, and when she started junior high school I met the worst bastard of them all. Until then, she had been doing well in maths, so I wasn't worried... Until her grades started to drop. I booked an appointment and ended up with the archetypal rubbish maths teacher. The one who has a great reputation for being a very good teacher because he finishes the program in a year, in the “March or Die” style, abandoning a third of his class along the way. A real asshole.
I tell him that her mother and I have noticed that our daughter's grades have been dropping, that we have discussed it with her a little, yet we don't really see where the problem lies. He doesn't really answer my question and deflects the issue, explaining that I will have to get to work and help her if I want her to catch up. I point out that I'm not good enough for that. The guy looks at me like I'm shit (even though he's the turd, let's be clear). I read in his eyes confirmation that my daughter has no chance of getting back in the race because, in a way, it's genetic: there's an unmistakable family mathematical flaw. I'm living proof of it. Since I'm a good dad, I don't get angry so that my daughter doesn't have to suffer the consequences later, and we leave each other rather coldly with Superasshole.
I can even confess something to you: I tried! I picked up my daughter's maths book, after a strict 17-year mathematical abstinence, hoping to help her. Two days were enough to confirm that I was not up to the task. We were then referred to a teacher who gave private lessons in small groups. She went, caught up and no longer had enormous difficulties in maths afterwards. But we had to pay for someone to do the job that bastard refused to do: his job! And what would have happened if we hadn't had the means?
Digression
Here I would like to digress for a moment to discuss a related subject. A few years later, my daughters-in-law went to the Lycée Fénelon, a somewhat snobbish establishment located between St Michel and St Germain in Paris. As it seemed easier, I was the one who attended the parents' meetings at the beginning of the school year. I held quite a few of them myself and I know what has to do with practical information, first contact, program presentation and smoke-screening. The meeting is going on, boring as can be, I take notes without much conviction.
Then the physics teacher arrives and tells us about her program and what she expects from the students. In the course of the conversation, she explains that she will use ludic activities to introduce certain concepts. As I know that these are often just a smokescreen or set phrases that don't cover anything tangible, I then ask: “What do you mean by ludic activities?”
And then we entered the 5th dimension: instead of giving me examples of activities, she replied: “Ludic activities are enjoyable activities: you learn through play.” For half a second, I just want to yell at her, to bark at her that I'm a teacher, you idiot, that I didn't expect to meet some stuck-up loser of a physics teacher to find out the meaning of the word 'ludic' and that I would like her to answer my question instead of assuming I'm an idiot just because I don't have a loden coat or shoes with tassels. Of course, I don't do it, because I don't want to penalize my daughter-in-law right at the beginning of the year, and I let it slide. I just hope that, one way or another, this stupid teacher will one day come across these few lines and realize the level of stupidity, of idiotic conformity to the norm and the number of preconceived ideas that her response conveyed.
I have encountered many teachers in my life and I must say that science subjects had the most obtuse teachers, standing on the pedestal of self-importance, full of that self-satisfaction close to stupidity, quick to draw their weapons and show, at best, self-pity tinged with impotence, at worst, condescending contempt for those whom science has failed to enlighten. If you're reading this, stupid, you now know what I thought of you. It's cheap, but it feels good.
