Over the course of our academic careers, whether short or long, it’s rare to encounter someone who hasn’t had a bad teacher enter the scene.

I’ve had a lot of them. There was Ms. Grimwald, a language arts teacher who ran the drama club, who slammed a garbage can at my feet during a dress rehearsal when she suspected I was chewing gum. When she inspected my mouth in front of a middle-school audience and saw that she was mistaken, she unleashed a tirade–most likely to save face–about how she was certain I was lip syncing the Slovenian anthem during our production.

There was that time in second grade when we were having a class discussion about why oranges don’t make the best fruits to pack in our lunches. I timidly raised my hand (not something I did often) and offered that perhaps some people don’t like the way they smell. Ms Cantankerfeld stared at me blankly for a moment, then said, “For that, I’m not talking to you for the rest of the day.” And she didn’t.

There was that conversation I overheard in the hallway between my second and third-grade teachers. “She’s in la la land,” Ms. Tetchwart quipped. “She won’t even look at me when I’m talking to her. Every time I call on her, she’s got her head in the clouds!” (ADHD was unheard of back then, but the diagnosis I went on to get in college would have spared me an academic career loaded with struggle and misunderstandings.)

It’s not that any one of these particular events were so traumatic that they should have mattered as they did. It was the way some of my teachers looked at me. It was the tone in their voices that sent me a message loud and clear: “You’re not smart. You’re insignificant. I don’t like having you in my class.”

Teachers are powerful people. And when they misuse their power, they can murder a child’s self esteem. Their words, whether spoken or unspoken, can spawn adults who go on to defeat themselves over the course of their lifetime and squash their own potentials.

It goes without saying that all the above names of teachers have been changed, because when I grew up to become a teacher myself, I understood what happens to some of us along the way. I’m not going to list the excuses. But I will say with fair certainty that no new teacher sets out on a career path with the intent to hurt children. I’d be willing to bet that most set out to change the world, but all too often, the world ends up changing them.

I have to be fair. I wasn’t the best student. Some teachers who I deemed “bad” were inspirational to others. And it would be hard to find any good teacher that hasn’t had “bad teacher” moments, myself included.

So far, I’ve told two of my three children about the bad teachers in my life. I told them after much deliberation. In the end, I decided they need to know bad teachers are out there. They need to build a defensive wall beforehand should one of them ever cross their academic path.

But in telling them those stories, there were others I made sure not to overlook. And for these, I’m not changing any names.

There was Mr. Steven Ksenych, who was the first teacher to ever point out to me that I was good at writing. He entered me in a district-wide writing competition in the Torrington schools, and I won my first medal. Even though it was bronze, it opened that first door.

There was Mr. Thomas Hebert, who worked tirelessly to enter my work in magazines. He saw to it that I didn’t leave elementary school without seeing my name in print.

There was Ms. Ann Gensch, who would stop me in the hallway to tell me how much she enjoyed my stories, then read them to her other classes.

There was Ms. Maria Cravanzola, who yanked me out of class during her planning period to remind me of my potential and demand I change my direction when I started to veer off course. (Sometimes, I learned, it was the toughest and strictest teachers who cared the most.)

There were so many more. Ms. Joanne Seger, Mr. “Bud” Connell, Mrs. Mary Cianciolo, Ms. Eileen Fahey. There are too many to name, and too many stories to tell–and it’s imperative that my children hear about them as well.

Why? Because if they never hear about the great ones–heroes, in my mind–I know I’ll wind up raising kids who grow up to fear and dislike teachers. I understand how fear and dislike breeds disrespect. And when kids don’t like or respect teachers, their education suffers.

It’s important that my children understand that like anything in life, when it comes to teachers, there are good, and there are bad. We just have to choose which teachers we allow to make the biggest impact.

It’s not to let cranky, jaded teachers off the hook. I am grateful that I work for a school district that has instilled (and some would say, pounded) into our heads that there are so many things that come into play when a child turns our classes upside down. Socioeconomics, disabilities, poverty, and racism, to name a few. Kids who come to school every day and don’t want to go home because there’s not enough food, love, or attention. Kids who don’t feel safe in their communities. I’ve learned through the years that with every show of disrespect, there’s a story behind it. Good training has forced me to examine the big picture, and it made me into a better, more sensitive teacher.

Even though I changed a few names, not every teacher deserves anonymity. Teachers who hurt children physically, in my opinion, lose their right to be shielded. Whenever I see a teacher on the news who has crossed into the black abyss of unspoken acts against children, the morale in our communities suffers, especially among teachers. Although I am proud of what I do and know I’ve made a positive impact in the lives of hundreds, for those brief moments that people gape at the news and shake their heads at one transgressor, I am embarrassed to tell people that I’m a teacher.

But I can say this. During those moments, I am grateful that communities aren’t burned, and that innocent people aren’t getting killed during riots.

I am grateful for parents who don’t recount every last tale of the bad teachers in their lives to their children without acknowledging the great ones in between.

I am grateful that no one suggests, when abusive teachers pop up in the news, that we defund education as a consequence.

Victims of bad teachers and police alike fill our cities. For some, like George Floyd, who died at the hands of a police officer who crossed far into the black abyss, the damage is irreparable.

There are the good, there are the bad, and then there are the brutal. Let’s take a breath for a moment and think about how we’re going to address each category.