Here is a gadget that was dusty years, including old lunch boxes and backpacks. In view of the neglect that I had to blog, this letter I woke up and asked me was she who broke the silence of my dusty grave virtual room. As not for me to say no to the whims of my junk, ice here.
Letter to my [fortunately very few] bad teachers (and only them):
Regards, [not so] respected teachers! Although for many years I walked through my life without regard to how your [bad] teaching might influence it, now I'm willing to devote a few short paragraphs, thanking the biggest lesson I have left: how [not] be a good teacher.
Thanks for having made the history of my country in an endless repetition inconsistent dates and names, huddled for years in the brains of their students so that, in addition to purge any interest in the national past, constitute a brain capable of bolus cause cramps at the mention of a hero or national holiday. Of course, successful work to keep us straight to sing the anthem, not weighed on the meaning of their stanzas beyond the obvious to some of their phrases.
Thanks for not bothering to understand the students who did not respond to their teaching strategies (when there was, of course) and try to measure its forty-odd students with the same pattern, often archaic and outdated, and utterly false. In this way, I never realized who we were as individuals, giving us the first shades (and I still think unintentionally) of the crisis that many suffer in adolescence to want to mold and adjust expectations to seek approval of others.
Thanks (and these should also be extended to the directors of the school, an educational strategy planners discriminatory and biased) by make the arts an activity of fourth, fifth or no priority in their educational scheme. Because the kinds of "music" became a second recess without any serious or professional basis, and because even the famous "art education" was implemented in a way that only what is required by law runs: with reluctance and without any respect for this important discipline.
Thank you for making a universe of infinite possibilities and the mathematical world in an airtight closet where we torture every day immersed in a terrible educational elitism ", ie in a regime where the understanding of less than ten percent class was sufficient to consider the lesson and learned, and to hell with the other thirty-six individuals who did not understand what it was or how it was done factoring the polynomial. I seek refuge in my secret belief that somewhere in the universe, to teach mathematics without infinite illustrate the logic of its principles is a sacrilege. Thank you for downloading
frustrations and disappointments as professionals failed (as they do not fit doubt that), with young people who still believe in the possibility of a prosperous future which are the protagonists. Thank you for managing with some amusement (it was only betrayed by a brief glow in her eyes sadistic) a stormy "Zero-nine", well knowing that that student depended only one hundredth to pass the subject.
Thanks for being famous examples of what not to do in any of the classes you teach, because the volume of malpractice have shown me how to discern the way that a true teacher should go if you want to create a difference in their students . Each of his actions has shown me the depth of the abyss where you can drop a teacher who loses his way, the purpose and meaning of what it represents.
In short, thanks for making me see where is the waste that pollutes mankind. Was dark when they decided to engage in teaching. Enjoy these brief thanks, for they are the only ones who will receive me, and perhaps the only "thank you" they have is to start with the word "thanks."
immediately forget them, his former pupil:
Kenbei.
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