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There is a Clear Correlation Between Childhood Illiteracy and Prison
I am writing a memoir about my time as an elementary school teacher, requiring painful recollections from an extremely fraught two years of life. Abject fear was a consistent thread that linked all of my experiences.
There was the fear of failing my students and my family, two groups of people whose prospects for success correlated with my own. I feared my principals, insidious racists, sneaks, and liars who compromised my emotional and mental health with threats of retaliation. And there was the occasional fear of the students themselves, one of whom falsely accused me of assaulting her.
The accuser’s name was Wendy, a rambunctious urchin and ardent fan of some kid named Justin Bieber. I was in the vicinity when she lobbed the scurrilous and venomous accusation. Wendy, already a profuse liar at age ten, animatedly explained the “incident” to Bob, the school janitor.
“He took my arm like this,” said Wendy, the little liar. She grabbed her right bicep with her left hand and mimicked a wrenching motion. “And then he twisted my arm like that. My arm went red!”
The school janitor, a twenty-five-year veteran and the only other black adult working at the school, folded his arms as he looked down at the girl. Knowing Wendy’s reputation for embellishment, the…
