bad teachers

I woke up this morning thinking about Mr. B.
He was a substitute teacher at the high school I attended. I liked him. He seemed nice, and funny.
One day I stayed after school for some activity........after the activity
I headed to the bus stop a block away from my school. While walking up the sidewalk, Mr. B
pulled up and offered me a ride home.
I politely told him no, but thanks. He parked his car, got out of the car, and jogged a little to catch up to me.
He again asked if he could drive me home. I told him no.
He was persistant....he even argued all the reasons I should allow him to drive me home........at some point he demanded I get in his car.
I was afraid. But I knew I could out run him, and I had the benefit of being on a busy city street.
Eventually he gave up trying to get me in his car.............and he went away.
 He'd still show up at our school on occasion to teach, but he wouldn't look at me, and never spoke to me again. Fuck him.
So for whatever reason, I woke this mnorning thinking of him...............................and from there I thought of my third grade teacher.
She was young and hip. She had all the great clothes................and drove a convertible, yellow VW bug..............I was her pet...........so was my friend Lisa.
Luckily we were her pets.
We could have been like a boy named Tom.
He too was in our 3rd grade class.
He was an unkept kid who wore torn, old, hand me down clothes.
He looked dirty.......may not have been, but he loooked it............... I don't remember ever seeing him playing with another child. I just remember him being alone, and abused.
Even today I think of Tom and feel sad for him.
He was Ms Third Grade's beating post.
Atleast weekly she'd call him to the front of the class,
have him bend & hold his ankles.................and then she'd paddle him with the block of woood...............
if she didn't beat his ass, literally, she'd grab hold of his fingers, turn his hand palm side up, and beat it with a ruler.
She enjoyed humiliating, and physically hurting him. She liked watching him cry.
Week after week the rest of us would watch her unleash her anger on him.
I still wish I could apologize to him for not being his friend...............and for not telling someone what was happening .............................................I think about him on occasion and hope he's having a good life.