Everyone had their own version of the story. It was the hot topic—Mr. Oliver’s meltdown. It was the last period on Friday, and Mr. Oliver was talking to 7B about nuns and monasteries. Mr. Oliver is our stout, bearded history teacher, who dances exactly one jig per school year, loves old western movies and is the father of Socratic seminars at our school. Only a couple of kids were really into the conversation, raising their hands and explaining their points of view. Most of us were just listening and nodding. Then Mr. Oliver threw his glasses at the wall. Everyone jumped a little and swiveled around in their chairs to keep eye contact as he stormed out of the room, huffing and puffing. When Mr. Oliver walked back in silently, everyone whispered to their neighbors. He sat down at his desk at the back of the room, ran his hands through his hair and sighed deeply. Then he said, in a low drone of a voice, “It's not you, it’s just… Quiet work time everyone.”  Then Brittany, a girl who plays with her hair, wears Brandy Melville and always brags about her Instagram followers, said, “So, does quiet work mean like we can do stuff other than history? Maybe can we read?” Mr. Oliver looked like a child who was about to cry when he said, “SHUT UP!!!!! WHY CAN'T YOU EVER JUST SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” He ran out the room and told another teacher that he needed to take a break and needed someone to cover his class.

I felt like I made him mad! It was my fault!!! I wanted to run up to him and say I was sorry for making him mad. I looked around the room. Everyone’s brows were furrowed and their mouths hung open, as though they thought they were responsible, so I relaxed a little. 7B is usually very quiet and very polite; today was no different, so most of us were shocked that he had become so angry so quickly. It’s okay for teachers to blow up sometimes, we deserve it. I had almost experienced this before with another teacher—my current math teacher. This teacher openly shared his emotions. He replied to the stupid questions the class asked with a simple wave to block out anything they were going to say. He sat, pointed at the white board and leaned into the front row (which happens to be  where I sit)! His shoulders rose and fell when Doug, the boy who thinks he is the center of the universe, challenged him every single class. To this day, every class is the same—my math teacher clenches his shoulders and his face reddens like a overgrown tomato wearing a fanny pack, but he controls his anger, saying he will talk to Doug later when he feels more able. It’s important not to lose your head when enraged because there are consequences. Throwing eyeglasses across a room full of children might give the impression that he would hit us!

After Mr. Oliver left, Nico, a quirky guidance counsellor and former rock musician, who sang an unpopular song called “Cellular Banana,” walked into the classroom and asked us what happened. “Did you guys make him angry?” Then all of us started talking at once. “Okay,” he said, cutting off the chatter with his naturally booming voice. We were quiet until the bell rang and everyone sprang up and gossiped behind their hands about Mr. Oliver’s tantrum.

People are quick to judge and can identify a person with a mistake. One good example is Hillary Clinton. She was once considered a respectable and trustworthy person, but now people are talking about how she sent work emails on her personal email account. Now she’s considered an untrustworthy person who might not be able to lead our country. Just like Mrs.Clinton, Mr. Oliver lost some of his respectability among the students.  He was once admired for his powerful teaching method and for engaging us in Socratic seminars, but now many kids fear he might rage-quit on us again.

I can relate with Mr. Oliver. I once disobeyed my mother and lost trust. My mother told me I could use my phone to listen to music while I was reading, but I abused those privileges by playing games with loud music. I didn't bother hiding my phone when I was playing because I thought she would never see. I listened to the loud theme music, assuming she’d never hear. Faint footsteps seemed just a figment of my imagination. “JENNAH! Are you playing on your phone?” my mother yelled. “Noooope…….   Just ummm… chillin with this music….” I said nervously, turning my phone off and stowing it safely under my pillow. “Give it to me now!” she screamed, a vein bulging from her forehead. I had to deal with four months of, “Are you sure or are you lying like that night with your phone?”  and of course I worked very hard to earn her trust back. When I made a promise, such as taking out the garbage, I followed through on that promise. Now she trusts me again because I’ve proven myself worthy of her trust.

Mr. Oliver might have a harder time repairing his image and earning our trust. He needs to show us he can handle the annoying girls, the boys that throw stuff, those times when no one pays attention, the homework slackers and the I-already-did-this people. If he can handle all this and keep his cool, then we’ll know we can trust him again.