Word: grading
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Then I was in ninth grade and allowed to penetrate the sanctum of Miss Davis's room. Decorated in archaic Romanesque, it featured four rows, divided two and two. The boys sat in the left two rows in alphabetical order; the girls on the right. Above the chalk-board was a handprinted sign: "Time will pass, will...
...always a prudent coward, I decided not to, and so, lived the life of a grade-grubber for the duration of my tenure. I attended Junior Classical League meetings religiously, defended the benefits of Latin publicly to all in-coming freshmen, and every year led the songs at the Latin Banquet, held in the school library on the Ides of March, togas and stolas required...
...pride was hurt. I had wagered one semester of blue jeans against three years of unctiousness, and the unctiousness had lost. I had bet my boyfriend that I would get a good grade in Latin despite my militancy and now I would have to pay up. I had lost. Never mind about not getting into the college of my choice--I had lost my pride and my delusion that Miss Davis could be pushed around...
...almost Christmas time. She didn't listen. She was wearing the plastic Santa Claus head with the pull-jerk red light nose that she wore every day from December first until vacation. It mocked me as I pleaded with her to change her mind, or at least change my grade. But she was adamant. So was I. Finally it was a battle between me, with the guidance office on my side, and Miss Davis, with God on hers. The outcome: she changed my grade with merciless composure and swore, "This will be on your conscience, not mine...
...difficult for me to join in the festivities. I knew that she resented leading "Adeste Fidelis." I had been glee at the changing of my grade; now I was not smug. She really hated me. And I could blame her. But I hadn't expected...