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Late 1980’s. Ahhh New Jersey Public High Schools….I managed to just get high enough grades to enroll in the Freshman Honors English class. I knew most of my classmates, however, most of them were in all honors classes. I only had the one, and it was hard for me.The teacher seemed to almost immediately dislike me and I really didn’t know why. I was never a problem student. I was polite, and actually looking forward to having this teacher because I knew she also taught the Drama class. I LOVED Theater. My schedule didn’t allow me to take her class though, because I spent half of my day at another school taking Performing Arts classes, through a specialized program.I approached the teacher after one of the first days of class to tell her I was very interested in theater, and explain why I couldn’t take her class. She was pretty rude to me about it. I was wide-eyed and eager, and had just learned that there were “Acting Methods”. I told her we were studying the Meisner method at my other school and asked what method she taught. (In retrospect I now know it’s unusual for a general elective Drama/theater class to really dive into acting methods, so maybe she thought I was being snobby?) Anyway, her answer? In a very deep voice, “The Cockrill Method”. Cockrill was her last name. Pretty unfortunate I know.As time went on the class got more difficult for me. Especially vocabulary. Also, Mrs. Cockrill would call on me all the time when we went through the vocabulary, knowing full well that I was really struggling. She once accused me of not doing my homework, because she saw me writing on my vocab worksheet while she was reviewing the answers. I had done my homework, I just got a lot wrong. What did Mrs. Cockrill do? She came to my desk, picked up my sheet and proceeded to count out loud the number of answers I got wrong. By the way, there were something like 50 words per worksheet. I got something like 15 wrong before she stopped counting. I was humiliated.She was just so nasty to me, I found it hard to participate in class discussions, and more times than not, I left the classroom in tears. One day an administrator from the district came in to do a survey with us. I have no idea why our class was picked, but we basically answered a short survey about testing methods, which included us rating how we felt about the scantron sheets used for tests that the computer thing corrects. After the survey, the administrator asked the class for some feedback.I have eye problems, so I said that using the scantron sheets were hard for me because my eyes had a hard time finding the right line with the little bubbles. Before I could say anything else, good ol’ Mrs. Cockrill said loudly, “Meg what difference does it make how you take a test? You’ll still probably fail.” So another day I left the classroom in tears.I believe it was the next day, and we were reviewing a novel we’d read. I don’t remember if it was Brave New World, 1984, or what, but the topic of faith came up. I don’t remember what comment I made, though I raised my hand and was called on (polite), but whatever I said made her ask me, “Are you an atheist?” It’s embarrassing now to admit, I had no idea what it meant. So she told me to look it up in the dictionary.She’s continuing the lesson while I learn the meaning of atheist. After I read that definition, I scanned the two pages of words, and I swear I somehow came across the word “agnostic”. Another word I hadn’t been familiar with, but it sounded like how I felt about religion. She eventually pauses to ask me again if I am an atheist, and I reply, “No, but I think I know what I am now. I’m agnostic.”Her response? “Being agnostic is a copout.” Then she continued the lesson until the bell rang, and I left again in tears. When I got home I told my parents the latest Cockrill story, and by this time they had had it. Fortunately, my mom was a school administrator in another district and knew exactly how to follow up, even with a 100-year-old tenured teacher. They didn’t have any other honors English classes, so were going to put me in a regular class, but my mom fought, and I got to have a private class with the head of the department. (I got an A by the way.)I swear during the time I had this horrid teacher, every Sunday I would look at the obituaries to see if she had died. I had an older male friend who would wait for me after that class because he knew 9 times out of ten, I’d be coming out crying. 4 years later at graduation practice, I happened to be sitting near several students who were in that English class, and because I didn’t continue with honors after that, I hadn’t really seen these particular kids much. Guess what they all remembered? They were all asking, “Why did she hate you so much?” “We never understood what she had against you!” I have to say it was nice to know that they saw what had happened and felt it was wrong, and also that they too couldn’t understand what I had done to deserve the treatment she gave me.So now for the CRAZY “ending”. About 15 years later I’m at the memorial service for an older friend of mine. I did theater with a lot of his family. He had lost his battle with cancer. Although I knew him through the theater community, he happened to have also been a teacher at my old high school. I never had him there, and barely knew who he was until I started working outside of school with him though.The memorial was packed with people, and they kind of fell into 3 groups, Family, Theater Friends, and Teacher Friends. I said hello to the few teachers I remembered from school before the service, but I didn’t know them well. Anyway, after the service, I’m standing waiting to talk to the widow, who I did not know well. I was behind another lady and overheard her saying something about knowing my friend through the school. The widow thanked her for coming, etc.. and the lady started to leave. So I approach the widow and start explaining to her that while I knew her husband through theater, I also went to his high school. This caused the other lady to turn around and look at me…. Can you guess what’s coming?Yup - all these years later and Mrs. Cockrill was still alive! My jaw dropped. Her eyes got a little wide and she asked for my name. I told her, and she remembered who I was. Then she goes on to say that she was having a hard time back when she was my teacher. She said that she didn’t mean to make me so upset and that after I graduated her grand-daughter told her that she was agnostic as well. And then she apologized! Ironically my then-husband approached, and I said, “Glenn, this is my old English teacher, Mrs. Cockrill.” Mrs. Cockrill said, “She can tell you about me later.” To which Glenn responded while shaking her hand and looking her in the eyes, “Oh I know who YOU are.” It was pretty priceless. He, of course, had known the Cockrill stories, as had all of my family and friends. She handled it well though, asked me about my career (Theater Teacher. lol), wished me well, and told me to keep her posted on any shows I was doing. (I didn't live nearby, and never got her contact info.)So inappropriate BUT an apology over a decade later! Had this happened today, I’m pretty sure it would have escalated more quickly, but as they say, “Times are different now.”