You know, there’s something about being humiliated in front of a whole class that sticks with you.
For years, I couldn’t shake it.
The memories of the ridicule, the meanness, all courtesy of Mr. Tully.
I was a sophomore, a decent student, but not one of those loud, confident kids who spoke up without a care.
And Mr. Tully?
He had a way of making you feel like every small misstep was a crime against literature.
I didn’t realize then how much those small moments would impact my future.
Push me to change.
But years later, when I walked back into that same school as a district officer, things looked different.
But for Mr. Tully, it seemed like nothing had changed.
Nothing… yet, that is.
The Teacher’s Favorite Target
Back in high school, English class used to be my favorite. I loved books, the quiet worlds they created, and the way each sentence felt like its own little puzzle.
So, when I walked into Mr. Tully’s sophomore English class, I was actually looking forward to it.
I didn’t know that, to him, quiet kids were easy targets.
One day early in the semester, Mr. Tully asked me to read a passage from Macbeth in front of the class.
Heart pounding, I started, trying to focus on the words.
But my nerves got the best of me—I stumbled over a line, and there it was: Mr. Tully’s infamous sigh.
He leaned back, folding his arms, and then said, “Well, that’s one way to butcher Shakespeare.”
The whole class chuckled, and I wanted to disappear. I tried to laugh it off, like everyone else.
That moment became the first of many.
Mr. Tully made it a habit, calling on me whenever he thought I’d slip up, each time following my answers with a pointed joke or a condescending remark.
One afternoon, he asked me to analyze a poem we’d just read, and I thought I had something good to say.
But as soon as I finished, he shook his head and said, “You’re so close, but you’ve missed the entire point. Maybe someone else can help Evan understand.”
My classmates glanced at each other, probably grateful it wasn’t them under the microscope.
I just sat there, silent, trying to sink into my chair.
By the end of that year, I’d stopped volunteering altogether. I still loved books, but the thought of speaking up in class was enough to make my palms sweat.
Mr. Tully had his methods, and his favorite method was making sure I knew I didn’t measure up.
I’d made a quiet vow to move on and leave it all behind once I graduated, and I did—until life brought me back to that very same school.
And, in a role I never expected.
The Unexpected Reunion
It was the annual school career fair, and this time, I wasn’t there as a student.
I’d spent the last few years working at the district office, handling educational support initiatives and helping schools across the district ensure that classrooms were places of respect and encouragement.
My role was pretty straightforward: observe, report, and help the administration adjust anything that needed improvement.
I arrived at the school early that afternoon, glancing around the auditorium where staff members had set up tables for alumni, local professionals, and district officers like myself.
Walking in felt surreal, like I’d traveled back in time, but as soon as I saw familiar faces from the community, the unease faded.
I was here with a purpose, and this time, I wasn’t a student.
As I made my way around the room, catching up with a few old classmates, I saw him.
Mr. Tully was standing by the English Department’s table, scanning the room.
He looked older, but the smug expression hadn’t changed.
Before I could turn away, he spotted me and, with a smirk, started walking over.
“Well, well, Evan. Good to see you’ve come back to where it all started,” he said with that same condescending tone I’d remembered all too well.
He looked me over, as if trying to fit me into the image he had of that awkward kid from years ago. “So, what are you up to these days? Found something in… communications, perhaps?”
I couldn’t help but smile a bit.
“Actually, I’m with the district office now, in Educational Support and Compliance,” I replied, watching his expression falter just a little. “I work with schools to make sure district policies on respectful teaching are being met.”
He blinked, the smirk fading slightly
“Ah, well…that’s quite a surprise. But I guess you’re doing fine, despite those early struggles in my class.”
He chuckled, as though he were sharing an inside joke only he got.
“Yeah, I guess I’ve come a long way,” I said, keeping my voice steady.
I could see that he was starting to get uncomfortable, realizing that I was no longer the quiet kid who took his jokes to heart.
I wasn’t there to indulge him; I had a job to do.
As the afternoon went on, the principal took the mic and called for everyone’s attention.
“Thank you all for joining us today for this year’s career fair,” she announced, her voice carrying across the room.
“And I’m excited to introduce one of our special guests, Evan Thompson from the district office. He’ll be leading an observation session in our English classes to help us improve our teaching environment.”
The crowd applauded politely, and Mr. Tully’s eyes went wide. It hadn’t crossed his mind that I might be here to evaluate him.
“Evan will also be sharing insights into what a supportive classroom looks like,” the principal continued. “We’re glad to have one of our own back to help make our school a stronger learning environment.”
As the principal wrapped up her introduction, I looked over at Mr. Tully.
His face was unreadable, but I could tell he wasn’t thrilled.
He knew as well as I did that his approach was anything but supportive.
Under Observation
The next day, I sat in the back of Mr. Tully’s classroom as he led his sophomore English class, just like he had with mine years ago.
I’d come prepared with my notepad, but I didn’t need it to see that little had changed.
Mr. Tully began with a lesson on poetry analysis.
As he spoke, I could see the same old habits emerging—the patronizing tone, the impatient sighs whenever a student stumbled over an answer.
He called on a quiet girl sitting near the front, who was nervously glancing at her notebook. She gave her answer softly, but before she could even finish, Mr. Tully interrupted with a familiar scoff.
“Well, that’s certainly an… interesting interpretation,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Not quite what the poet intended, but I suppose everyone has their own… unique view.”
A few students snickered, while the girl’s face flushed as she slouched in her seat.
I wrote down every word.
The discomfort in the room was palpable, and it was clear that some students were holding back from participating.
Mr. Tully, oblivious to the effect he was having, continued with his lesson, throwing in a few more sarcastic remarks and belittling comments.
Just as the class was about to end, another student made a hesitant comment about the poem.
Mr. Tully responded with a laugh, “I’d expect that from you.”
The student glanced around, embarrassed, and the silence that followed was almost suffocating.
As the students packed up, I realized I had seen enough.
The Final Grade
After class, I approached Mr. Tully, who was straightening his desk with an air of forced politeness.
He barely looked up as I approached, still trying to maintain his usual confidence.
“So, Evan,” he said, his tone stiff. “How’d the observation go? Hope you found it… enlightening.”
I held his gaze, keeping my expression neutral. “Actually, I did. Your approach to teaching hasn’t changed much, has it?”
He looked taken aback, but he quickly brushed it off.
“Well, I stick to methods that work,” he replied. “Students these days could use a little toughening up. They need to learn that life isn’t going to cater to them.”
“Right,” I said, nodding. “But the district’s current guidelines emphasize respect, encouragement, and constructive feedback. And after observing your class today, I have to say I saw more discouragement than support.”
He frowned, an irritated gleam in his eyes.
“I was just pushing them to think critically, Evan. It’s not my fault if some students don’t have the backbone to handle it.”
I took a deep breath, knowing what I needed to say.
“Mr. Tully, I’ll be including today’s observations in my official report to the principal and the district board. I’ve noted multiple instances of sarcasm, public embarrassment, and comments that don’t align with the district’s standards for respectful teaching. The goal here is to encourage students, not make them feel small. And based on what I saw today, the classroom environment is… well, it’s not meeting our expectations.”
The realization began to dawn on him, and his expression shifted from irritation to disbelief.
“You can’t be serious,” he muttered, his voice losing some of its edge. “I’ve been teaching here for decades—no one’s ever questioned my methods.”
“Maybe no one has before,” I replied, “but things have changed. Students deserve a safe space to learn, not a place where they’re afraid of being humiliated.”
I paused, then added, “The board will be reviewing this, and they’ll contact you directly about next steps.”
For the first time, Mr. Tully was silent, staring at me as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
He opened his mouth, probably to protest, but stopped.
There was nothing he could say that would change what I’d seen, and he knew it.
A few weeks later, I received an update from the district office.
After my report, the school board had reviewed Mr. Tully’s teaching record and found similar complaints from previous years that had been quietly ignored.
In light of everything, they’d made the decision to place him on administrative leave, strongly encouraging him to consider early retirement.
As word spread, the school community reacted with a mixture of relief and curiosity.
Teachers who’d stayed quiet about Mr. Tully’s methods now shared stories of students who had felt demoralized in his class.
Some parents even reached out to the board to express support for the decision, grateful that changes were finally being made.
On the day Mr. Tully packed up his classroom, I happened to be at the school for a follow-up meeting.
I watched from a distance as he cleared out his things, his face a blend of anger and resignation.
The tables had turned, and he was now the one facing a future he hadn’t anticipated—forced out of the place he’d controlled for so long.
As I left the school, I felt a quiet sense of closure.
Mr. Tully had once been the one to tear down my confidence, but now, I’d made sure no other students would have to endure that.
The irony was sweet, and in the end, I knew I’d learned more from him than he ever intended—just not in the way he thought.