When I was about 15, we had to fill in “reading logs” for English class, where we could keep records of all the books we read in our free time. I actually loved reading but had lost my library privileges at school because I kept losing books. When I told my teacher that I couldn’t fill out the log because I had nothing to read, she got irate and told me to borrow books from my parents. She wouldn’t believe me when I said that my stepfather had banned books from the house, and I kept getting in trouble for my non-compliance.
At some point, there was a parents evening of some kind, and my teacher met my mom. During meetings like this, my mother would usually try to make the teachers feel sorry for her talking about and difficult and awful I was the whole time. My teacher never talked to me about it explicitly, but after the meeting, she started bringing me books from her own personal collection to read. It was actually really cool because she’d often let me read something right after she’d finished it, and then we would discuss the book together. She would always pass it off as “oh, I thought you might enjoy this one” but I was the only kid in the in the class then she did that for, and I know that it was because she felt sorry for me after realizing what my parents were like. She was a really good teacher, and I’m still grateful for the extra attention she gave me.
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