Teaching as Autobiography Reflection

My elementary school years were split evenly between two schools. The first school I attended was in Richfield, Minnesota, which is a suburb just outside of Minneapolis.

Last week in class we did an exercise where we had to write down the names of all the teachers we remember, and it got me thinking about one particular moment with my second grade teacher in Richfield. In class we had reading groups, and based on what group the teacher decided we were in, we had a different book assigned to us. I remember it felt like the different reading groups were ranked based on how well you could read. The kids that I thought were in the lower reading groups were assigned picture books, which they read in a small group with the teacher. The rest of the class did assignments at our desks. Each group would meet in a small group with the teacher during class, but it seemed well known among the class that the better readers were assigned harder books to read at home. I remember being in the top reading group, being assigned Mr. Poppers Penguins. I got home to do my reading of the book, but couldn't make it past past the first few pages. I kept getting stuck on the word vacuum. I would lose my place, have to restart, then get stuck on another word and forget what I read. Then I would repeat that process. Over the weeks I pretended as if I had read the assigned chapters, until we were required to have read the whole book. I hadn't even started it. The teacher kept asking if I finished the book over the course of a few days, reminding me that I was the only one in my group who hadn't finished the book. The rest of the group was ready to move onto the next book. One week the teacher seemed really upset with me for not having finished it, and I broke down crying in class. I Admitted that I couldn't finish the reading. I felt ashamed and not good enough, and I saw the look of shock on my teacher's face. I don't think she was aware of how much I struggling, that I hadn't read any of the book, and that I was so embarrassed. I was placed in a reading group below that one, which I did well in. But I remembered my teacher based on that memory. Why did she publicly call me out for not having finished the book? Was it right for her to put us in ranked reading groups that other students knew about? In the Teaching as Autobiography by Nieto we read last week, the author talks about inspiring or wounding a life as a teacher, and that it's important to confront your identity. I definitively felt wounded by the experience with my teacher, but I got over it. Now that I reflect on it from the perspective as a future teacher, I begin to wonder about how the teacher must of felt. She was clearly shocked when I burst out into tears in class and I can't help but wonder if that moment had as strong of an effect on her as it did on me.