In the third grade, I had the meanest teacher you could possibly have! Ms. Murphy, bleh gross. She was an all work and no play pill of a woman who took us out to recess maybe three times all year. I don’t have a lot of memories from that grade; I remember what I wore in my dance recital that year with my friend Heather, who was in my class at school, and I remember we got a lunch room that year, too. My dad was in the military, and we spent the majority of the 80s living in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, where I attended a Department of Defense school. The other very strong memory I have from third grade was this boy named Ty. Ty was a swarthy 8-year-old with a massive rat tail. I swear this kid had Big Rig written all over him.

Being such a small base, our class sizes were also small, with no more than 17 kids in a class. So when it came to wonder year crushes, there were slim pickin’s. Apparently, I had a crush on Trucker Ty, and I felt it necessary to send him the notorious boxed questionnaire written by decades of students before me with the ever practical relationship survey of checkbox replies.

On said day, I decided to execute my questionnaire to him despite the fear of getting caught by Ms. Murphy.

Purposefully, I drew the boxes, making the lines in the box indicating yes just a little bit darker with my pencil, just to make sure he knew which box he should check. I folded the paper, passed it the two rows toward him, and waited for his response.

As he passed the note back, it was intercepted by mean old Ms. Murphy. In retrospect, I bet Trucker Ty didn’t even look to see if she was paying attention before he started the pass back. Ms. Murphy held my precious note in her hand and unfolded it. She didn’t read it aloud as her normal practice. Instead, she quietly skimmed the words on the page and peered over the edge of the paper down her long bony nose at me. She turned on her heel, marched to the bulletin board by the door where we all lined up to go anywhere, and pinned the note open for all to see.

My heart pounded as I realized what she was doing. Everyone would see the note as we lined up for lunch, and I didn’t even know his answer! I sat there in terrible anxiety, waiting until it was time to get in line to see what he had responded, along with everyone in my class.

I can’t remember how long she left that note up on the board, but I do remember that he had checked no. Yep, I’d been turned down by Trucker Ty. Probably better in the long run anyway. Shame is a terrible way to teach, lead, or coach. We have a generation of people bound in shame they don’t need to be. I am over the embarrassment of the rejection from Ty, but the shaming by my teacher, which highlighted me and not him, has stayed with me. I have had to forgive her as an adult, and now I laugh at it, but sometimes I feel for the girl inside of me. She suffered some mean things and still came out in the end in love with herself through the grace of Jesus who put me in right standing. I’m grateful that I have been redeemed from shame, and I can laugh at things that mean to insult me. My one piece of advice is this: some questions are best asked face-to-face so there's no paper trail.