A teacher once called my brother autistic (He was in 5th grade and in honors classes, but the teacher had a reputation for being mean to kids and had very little patience) in front of his peers. The thing is, she did this while my dad worked at the sister school across the yard. So instead of telling my dad that my brother was struggling, she said so in front of his friends and shamed him for it.
My dad is a calm Catholic man who doesn’t smoke or drink. He has been working as an English teacher for 20 years, so let’s just say he has a way with words.
When he found out, he went straight to her while my brother and I waited in the hallway. We heard no shouting, screaming, or bickering, but halfway through we heard sobbing (like a close friend just died kind of sobbing). When my dad left the room to take us home, I caught a glimpse of the woman. She sat in her chair with her elbows on her desk; she had a mascara tears rolling down her face. Her face was somehow pale and cherry red at the same time. She had the face of a woman who had been told she has messed up beyond her understanding.
She was fired the next day.
My dad just smiles when we ask him what he said to her all those years ago.
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