Life of an Indian Teenage Girl

I can't write the number 2

It was my first day of upper kindergarten and as I had done on the first day of lower kindergarten, I had arrived in class in tears. I didn't cry because I didn't want to go to kindergarten, I just cried because of the many unfamiliar faces I saw in front of me, who would soon turn out to be my friends.

I was walked into class by my father and he went back to his office right after. I sat down on my seat and wiped my tears.

The bell rang for the first period to start. Our class teacher began with math. She was teaching us how to write numbers. So I opened my workbook and began writing the number 1. Easy.We were asked to write each number ten times. So I wrote the number 1 ten times.

Next, teacher taught us how to write the number 2. I began writing. Teacher circled across the room to check whether we were doing it right. She reached my desk and apparently I wasn't writing my 2's right.

So, she held my hand and directed it to write 2. She still wasn't satisfied. After 3 tries with patience, she began getting annoyed.

I, on the other hand, could not make out the difference between the 2 I had written and the one written on the whiteboard.

After about 5 tries, the teacher started yelling. Sixth try and the teacher had enough. With her red pen still in her hand she slapped me across my face, leaving a red line on my cheek. I didn't cry though, which was ironic considering the fact that I used to cry for almost everything.

I went home and my mom asked me about the red line on my cheek. I was so confident and happy that my mom would, after hearing what had happened, definitely go and complain. That, however, did not happen. She just said, "Oh ok!"
What!!