Ill-Bred Woman
One day, I asked a colleague if I could read her students' essays. She shook her head and told me that their work was not with her.
" It's okay," said I, "I can read their essays the next time they hand in their exercise books."
"Are you sure you want to read their work?" asked the woman.
"Yes, they are the best students in Secondary Two. I am sure their writing is of good quality."
She paused for a while and said, " You're right, they are the cream of the crop. They have an edge over others in writing."
"I am sure that is because of your proper guidance."
"Of course, I have always shown them good writing techniques."
She seemed to be very proud of herself and her students.
" I could hardly construct simple sentences when I was fourteen years old." I said humbly. "They sure have read a lot of books."
"I am an avid reader myself," declared the fifty-ish lady. " and I am sure you read very little as a child."
"Ya, I read very little," I admitted. " But my interest in reading grew when I was seventeen. It helped me to improve my English."
"Continue doing that. You should never stop."
"I have never stopped." I became a little uneasy by the tone of her remark.
She smiled and glanced at her watch.
"Mr. *****, I have to go to my class now. Talk to you later." She slung her small handbag over her shoulder.
"Remember to show me your students' writing," I reminded her.
"I will," said she, "But I doubt if you will understand their work. Their writing is full of advanced vocabulary."
I was shocked by what she said. How contemptuous of her.
"What do you mean, Miss C***?" I blurted out, feeling offended.
She gave me a holier-than-thou look and strutted out of the staffroom.
I swore to myself that I would never read her students' work.
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