My fourteen year old daughter Ava came home from school unusually quiet and soon confessed that a new teacher was constantly humiliating her in front of the entire class. The teacher repeatedly claimed that Ava was not very bright and lacked the intelligence to succeed. Ava begged me not to intervene at school, terrified that bringing attention to the situation would only invite more bullying. I reluctantly agreed to wait, but the situation deeply unsettled me because it mirrored my own painful experience in middle school. When I was thirteen, a cruel teacher named Mrs Mercer told my entire class that poor girls like me would grow up to be completely broke and embarrassing.Weeks later, the school announced an upcoming charity fair, and Ava dedicated her evenings to sewing reusable tote bags from donated fabric to raise money for winter clothing drives. On the morning of the fair, I was stunned to discover that the faculty coordinator was Mrs Mercer, the exact same woman who had tormented me twenty years earlier. At the charity event, Ava was proudly displaying her handmade bags when Mrs Mercer approached our table. She maliciously whispered that Ava had cheap standards and produced cheap work, just like her mother. Her cruelty instantly triggered decades of suppressed anger.