Defending My Daughter

My daughter, Tina, locked herself in her room, crying so hard her body shook.

I pried the door open and saw that she was clutching a test paper that was torn to shreds and pieced back together.

It was a math Olympiad selection test. She should have gotten a perfect score, but was given a score of zero instead.

"Mom," she sobbed, "the teacher said 3x5 is not equal to 5x3; that it's taking shortcuts. She tore my paper up in front of everyone, revoked my eligibility for the competition, and told the whole class not to talk to me…"

I looked at the deep red scratch marks on my daughter's wrist and immediately picked up the phone to call the principal.

"What good does it do for your school's reputation to drive a kid who loves math to their breaking point?"

The call was cut off, and all that remained in the receiver was the sound of a busy tone.

Tina's sobs ceased, and she just stared at me, her eyes hollow.

I dressed her, took her cold hand, and headed straight to school.

The laughter inside the math Olympiad office stopped abruptly when I pushed the door open.

Several teachers looked over. The teacher surnamed Watson was leaning back in her chair, sizing me up with an impatient sneer.

"Whose parent are you? It's our break time."

Without a word, I walked over to her desk and slammed the pieced-together test paper in front of her.

The pieces scattered across the table.

The red "0" stood out glaringly under the light.

She chuckled, pinched one of the pieces with two fingers and held it up to her eyes. "Oh, this? What's the matter? Do you have a problem with my grading?"

"3 times 5 and 5 times 3 are both equal to 15, are they not?" I asked, staring into her eyes.

"Ha, of course."

She tossed the paper back onto the desk.

"But the reasoning is wrong, so it's zero! I teach Olympiad math, which requires strict logic! It's not the same as calculating prices at the supermarket! If she doesn't follow the rules today, what will she do tomorrow? I tore the paper up to let her, and the whole class, understand that they must follow the rules!"

She suddenly stood up and looked down at me, her voice rising sharply, "I've seen plenty of parents like you! With half-baked knowledge, you dare to interfere with professional teaching! It’s people like you that produce spoiled children! They're too lazy to think and are always looking for shortcuts because that's what they learn at home! Now that your daughter has a problem, you have the nerve to come to school and raise a ruckus?!"

With each word, she jabbed her finger on the desk, saliva spraying onto my face.

Tina trembled even harder behind me, her tiny hands clutching my clothes tightly.

"I dare you to say that again," I glared and roared.

"Okay, I will." Ms. Watson took a step forward, almost bumping into me.

"I'm saying you don't know how to educate your own kid! You treat your kid as a tool to show off, teaching her all kinds of crooked ways, and now you come to question the teacher? You’re an enemy of education! Go home and stop embarrassing yourself!"

I looked her dead in the eye and spoke each word deliberately, "Ms. Watson, you tore up her full marks paper in front of the whole class, incited the whole class to isolate her, and even physically abused her by scratching her. And now, you use the dirtiest words to insult her mother in front of her."

I paused and said clearly, "You're not fit to be a teacher."

"Abuse?"

She chuckled as if she had heard the biggest joke in the world, "Isn't it a matter of course for a teacher to educate a student who made a mistake? It seems your daughter is spoiled; that's why she can't follow rules!"

After saying that, she actually went around the desk and tried to grab my daughter’s wrist.

"Come, I'll 'educate' her properly in front of you so that she learns right from wrong!"

I quickly pulled my daughter behind me, blocking her with my body.

The teacher's anger flared after grabbing nothing but air. "Get out of my way! Don't interfere with my teaching! You're an enemy of education! Go home and stop embarrassing yourself!"

Her face flushed red with anger as she raised her hand.

"Stop!"

A roar came from the door.

The principal walked in, his face ashen. He glared fiercely at Ms. Watson who stiffly put her hand back down.

He reined in his emotion when he turned to me. "Ma'am, let's talk in my office."