I was reported by the parents for visiting the hospital a few times. “It’s such a crucial time in senior year. As the homeroom teacher, you should be on call 24/7. Is it really necessary to go to the hospital? Can’t you just tough it out?” “Even on weekends, what if something urgent comes up and we can’t reach you? If you don’t even have this basic awareness, how can you be a homeroom teacher?” “Bottom line, you’re just selfish. Someone like you doesn’t deserve to be a teacher!” I was both angry and shocked. For the past two years, I had poured my heart and soul into bringing this class from the bottom of the grade to the top. I had worked myself sick but never dared to take a day off, fearing it might affect the students. And now I’m being accused of selfishness? When my students learned about the complaint against me, they all looked indifferent, as if it had nothing to do with them. My heart turned cold. Let someone else be the homeroom teacher if they want it so badly. A few months later, these parents were standing at my doorstep: “Ms. Anderson, please come back. We’re begging you.”
I had been reported. All the parents in my class had jointly filed a complaint against me, accusing me of being irresponsible and demanding that the school immediately remove me from my position as homeroom teacher and math instructor. When the principal told me about this, I felt like I had been struck by lightning. Since taking over this class, I had put my heart and soul into it, working tirelessly and always putting the students first. I had given everything I had, short of cutting out my own heart. How could the parents accuse me of being irresponsible?! “The parents in your class are very adamant. They’ve even threatened to report this to the Department of Education if the school doesn’t meet their demands.” My face turned ashen. The principal said sternly, “Ms. Anderson, what you need to do now is to reflect on yourself. If you truly had done nothing wrong, how could all the parents collectively file a complaint against you?” This was utterly absurd! How had this become my fault? I was about to argue back when the principal waved his hand impatiently. “That’s enough. Go back and wait for the school’s decision.” As I left the principal’s office, I felt more and more upset. Finally, I couldn’t hold back and posted a message in the class group chat. “Dear parents, since I became the homeroom teacher, I have always prioritized my work for the class. I may not have given my last measure of devotion, but I have certainly been diligent and conscientious. If you feel there have been any shortcomings in my work, you could have communicated with me directly. Baseless misunderstandings and accusations truly dishearten educators.” A few minutes later, a message popped up. Jacob’s mom: “Misunderstanding? How could we possibly wrong you? As a homeroom teacher, you’re constantly running off to the hospital. Do you think that’s appropriate? Who gave you that right? Who gave you that freedom? How can you focus on the students like this? It’s such a critical time in the last semester of senior year. Would you die if you didn’t go to the hospital?” This series of unrelenting questions left me stunned.
Two years of intense work had led to serious problems with my spine and neck. The pain kept me awake every night. The doctor strongly advised me to take an extended leave to rest. But since it was already senior year, I was worried that changing homeroom teachers would disrupt the students. So I could only find time each week to go to the hospital for conservative treatment. As for resting, I’d have to wait until after the students graduated. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that parents would complain about me for this reason. I patiently replied, “Jacob’s mom, homeroom teachers are human too. Getting sick is inevitable, and I’ve only been going to the hospital on weekends during my personal time. It hasn’t affected my work for the class.” But her next words were even more exasperating. “Oh, please! Personal time? What personal time? You’re a teacher, a homeroom teacher. You should be on call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week!” At this point, other parents started chiming in. Emily’s dad: “I agree with Jacob’s mom. If you’re going to be a homeroom teacher, you need to be prepared for this. If you can’t handle it, why be a homeroom teacher at all?” Sophia’s dad: “Last semester, you took three days off to get married. I thought that was inappropriate even then.” Lucas’s mom: “We agreed to let you be the homeroom teacher because of your experience and seniority. If we had known you’d have so many issues, we would have preferred a younger teacher from the start!” I couldn’t help but argue back. “Parents, I do have some health issues, but I’ve never let them interfere with my responsibilities to the class. For the past two years, no matter how exhausted or in pain I’ve been, I’ve persevered for the sake of the class. If I truly wanted an easier time, I could have easily resigned from my position as homeroom teacher.” But Jacob’s mom retorted, “Oh, give me a break! Stop with the noble act. You’re just in it for the money. Everyone knows homeroom teachers get paid more than regular teachers.”
My blood pressure instantly skyrocketed. At that moment, I wanted to curse. Yes, homeroom teachers do get paid a bit more than regular subject teachers. An extra hundred dollars per semester. Can you believe it? We wake up earlier than roosters and go to bed later than dogs. We spend seventeen to eighteen hours a day at school, attending endless homeroom teacher meetings, handling countless class affairs, writing endless evaluation assignments, responding to endless parent feedback, and working non-stop on weekends and holidays to provide summaries and reports. Our phones are on 24/7 to deal with all kinds of emergencies at any time. In summary, the workload of a homeroom teacher is at least ten times that of other subject teachers. And they think I’m killing myself for that extra hundred dollars? Am I really that desperate? The attacks on me continued in the class group chat. “Homeroom teachers not only get higher salaries, but they also get more opportunities for awards and honors!” “No wonder you won’t give up the position even when you’re sick… Hah, I can’t believe this.” “Damn it, if you want to make money, don’t do it at the expense of our children! Do we owe you something?” “Just get lost already!” I was too angry to speak. If I wanted to make money, I would have left long ago. The private high school next door once offered me double my current salary to poach me, but I politely declined. What was I doing this for? For the students! For their precious children! Mr. Robinson, the English teacher, couldn’t stand by any longer. “How can you say such hurtful things to Ms. Anderson when she’s been working through her illness for the students? Don’t the students’ grades speak for her dedication?” In the two years since I took over the class, we had gone from being at the bottom of the grade to the top. This was an undeniable fact. There was a brief silence in the group chat. Suddenly, one parent said, “That’s just because the kids worked hard on their own. It would have been the same with any teacher. It has nothing to do with you.” This was immediately followed by a chorus of agreement. “Exactly, my son studies until midnight every day. Of course his grades are good with that kind of effort!” “The pile of practice books my daughter has gone through is almost as tall as she is!” “You’re really trying to take credit for their hard work, aren’t you?”
My neck pain flared up from anger. Yes, the students worked hard, but it was because I pushed them to develop good study habits. To be blunt, the students in Class 6 had poor foundations and lacked initiative in their studies. If they had been assigned a teacher with even slightly less dedication or ability, they absolutely would not have made such progress. For the past two years, I had stayed up countless nights designing personalized teaching plans suited to our students. I gave up my daily break times to provide one-on-one tutoring, often having nothing but a sandwich and a bottle of water for dinner. I offered free tutoring at home on weekends and holidays. I spent my own money buying various study materials and rewards for the students. I dare say I put in more effort than any other teacher in the school. But now these parents were saying that the students’ achievements had nothing to do with me. Nothing to do with me! I angrily said, “If you all believe that the students’ success is entirely their own doing, then how could my personal activities outside of work hours have any impact on them?” The parents vehemently disagreed. “What, so grades are all that matter for students? Tell me, what if my child doesn’t eat enough at school? What if they forget to drink water? What if they catch a cold because they’re not dressed warmly enough? What if they’re not feeling well?” “The kids are already exhausted from studying. The homeroom teacher should be responsible for chores like cleaning the classroom.” “The evening self-study sessions end too late. If you ask me, the homeroom teacher should be responsible for escorting the students home.” Mr. Robinson sent me a private message. “These parents have lost their minds. Do they think a homeroom teacher is some kind of personal nanny?” As I watched the messages flooding the group chat, my temples throbbed. I took a deep breath. With my last ounce of patience, I sincerely said: “Parents, there’s less than half a year left until the college entrance exam. I implore you to trust me and give me one more chance. I promise I will do my absolute best to fulfill my duties as a homeroom teacher.” Jacob’s mom’s response instantly broke me. “You’re really shameless, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you’re planning to get revenge later by making things difficult for our children!” Jacob’s mom’s words instantly broke me. Fine, fine, fine. This homeroom teacher job? I quit!
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