Parent–Teacher Meetings. Three letters that still make my heart race. When I was a kid, PTMs were never a good day for me. I was an average—sometimes below-average—student, and every meeting followed the same script. Teachers would patiently explain that I needed to work harder. They were kind, mostly. But what waited for me at home was another story altogether. Once we returned, everything I loved was taken away. No TV time. No snacks. No family time. I was isolated with books and expectations, and that routine continued until the next PTM—where the cycle would repeat again. At one point, my teachers themselves started worrying about PTMs. If I failed, I’d be yelled at in school, in front of other parents. If I just managed to pass with bare minimum marks, I’d still be yelled at. That’s something teachers usually discourage, but it happened anyway. And the worst part? Once the PTM was over, the teasing began. Students would talk about how my parents reacted. How I st...
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