Because I went to the hospital a few times, I was jointly reported by the parents of my students. "Senior year is so crucial. As the homeroom teacher, you need to be on call 24/7. Will you die if you don't go to the hospital?" "Even if it's the weekend, what if something happens and we can't find you? If you don't even have that basic level of commitment, why are you even a homeroom teacher?" "At the end of the day, it's just selfishness. Someone like this doesn't even deserve to be a teacher!" I was both furious and shocked. For the past two years, I had poured my heart and soul into this class, taking them from the bottom of the grade to ranking first. I worked myself into the ground, getting sick in the process, yet I didn't even dare ask for a sick day for fear of impacting my students. And after all that, I was being accused of being selfish? When my students found out I was reported, every single one of them had a cold, indifferent expression, acting as if it had nothing to do with them. My heart turned to ice. Whoever wants this homeroom teacher job can have it. A few months later, that same group of parents was standing outside my front door. "Mr. Vance, we're begging you, please come back." 01 I was reported. All the parents in my class jointly filed a complaint against me for being "irresponsible," demanding the school immediately strip me of my homeroom teacher duties and my position as the math teacher. When the principal told me this, I felt like I had been struck by lightning. Ever since I took over this class, I had worked tirelessly, exhausting myself. I always put the students first, practically handing my heart over to them on a silver platter. And the parents actually had the nerve to call me irresponsible?! "The parents in your class are being extremely aggressive. They even said that if the school doesn't meet their demands, they'll escalate the report to the Board of Education." My face looked terrible. The principal said sternly, "Mr. Vance, what you need to do right now is reflect on yourself. If you truly had absolutely zero issues, why would the parents collectively report you?" This was utterly baffling! How did this suddenly become my fault? I was just about to argue back, but the principal waved me off impatiently. "Alright, that's enough. Go back and wait for the school's decision." Walking out of the principal's office, the more I thought about it, the more depressed I felt. Finally, unable to hold it in, I sent a message in the parent-teacher group chat. "Parents, since I took on the role of homeroom teacher, I have always put the class first. I wouldn't dare say I've given my absolute all, but I have certainly been dedicated and diligent. If you feel there are areas where I've fallen short in my work, you are more than welcome to communicate with me directly. Baseless misunderstandings and accusations truly chill the hearts of educators." A few minutes later, a message popped up. Matthew's Mom: "Misunderstandings? Are you saying we're falsely accusing you? A homeroom teacher running off to the hospital every few days—do you think that's appropriate? Who gave you that right? Who gave you that freedom? How are you supposed to focus your energy on the students like this? The final semester of senior year is so critical. Will you die if you don't go to the hospital?" That barrage of blunt, unapologetic questioning left me stunned on the spot. 02 Two years of high-intensity work had severely damaged my cervical and lumbar spine. Every night, the pain was so bad I couldn't sleep. My doctor strongly advised me to take a long leave of absence to rest. But given that it was already their senior year, I was worried the students wouldn't adapt well to a new homeroom teacher. So, I could only squeeze out time on the weekends to go to the hospital for conservative, non-invasive treatments. As for resting, I figured I would at least wait until the students graduated. Even if you beat me to death, I never would have imagined that the parents would report me over this. I forced myself to be patient and replied: "Matthew's Mom, homeroom teachers are human too; getting sick is unavoidable. Moreover, I only go to the hospital during my private time on the weekends. It hasn't impacted my work with the class at all." I didn't expect her next words to be even more speechless. "Oh, please! Private time? What private time do you have? You are a teacher, a homeroom teacher. You should be on standby 24 hours a day!" At that point, other parents started chiming in one after another to agree. Chloe's Dad: "I agree with Matthew's Mom. If you're going to be a homeroom teacher, you need to have that level of commitment. If you can't do it, why are you even a homeroom teacher?" Ethan's Dad: "Last semester, you took three consecutive days off to get married. I thought that was completely inappropriate at the time." Noah's Mom: "We only agreed to let you be the homeroom teacher because of your seniority and experience. If we knew you were going to be this high-maintenance, we would have rather had a young teacher from the start!" I couldn't help but argue back. "Parents, I have developed some health issues, but I have never let that interfere with the class. These past two years, no matter how exhausting or grueling it got, I persevered for the sake of this class. If I really just wanted an easy life, I could have proactively resigned from my position as homeroom teacher." But Matthew's Mom retorted: "Give it a rest! You make it sound so noble, but isn't it just for the money? Everyone knows homeroom teachers get paid more than regular teachers." 03 My blood pressure instantly skyrocketed. In that moment, I wanted to curse them all out. It's true that homeroom teachers get paid slightly more than regular subject teachers. An extra hundred dollars a semester. Can you believe it? Waking up earlier than the roosters, going to sleep later than the dogs. Spending seventeen or eighteen hours a day at the school. Endless homeroom teacher meetings, endless class administrative tasks, endless performance evaluations to write, endless parent feedback to reply to. Even on weekends and holidays, the progress reports and summaries never stopped. My phone was on 24/7, ready to handle any sudden emergencies at a moment's notice. All in all, the workload of a homeroom teacher was more than ten times that of a regular subject teacher. Did they really think I was working myself to death just for that extra hundred bucks? Am I really that pathetic? The attacks against me in the group chat continued. "Not only do homeroom teachers get paid more, but they also get priority for 'Teacher of the Year' awards and promotions. There are plenty of perks!" "No wonder he couldn't bear to give up the homeroom teacher position even when he was sick... Heh, I'm speechless." "Damn it, if you want to make money, don't drag our kids down! Do we owe you something?!" "Hurry up and get out!" I was so angry I couldn't even speak. If I just wanted to make money, I would have left a long time ago. The private high school next door had previously offered to double my salary to poach me, but I politely declined. What was I doing it for? Wasn't it for the students?! For their precious little darlings?! Ms. Roberts, the English teacher, couldn't stand it anymore. "Mr. Vance has pushed through his illness for the sake of the students. Not only are you completely un-understanding, but how can you say such awful things to him? Are the students' grades not enough to prove his dedication?" In the two years I had led this class, they had gone from being ranked at the bottom of the grade to being number one. That was an undeniable fact. There was a brief silence in the group chat. Then, one parent suddenly said, "That's because the kids worked hard themselves. It would have been the same no matter which teacher led them; it has absolutely nothing to do with you." Immediately after, a wave of agreement flooded the chat. "Exactly! My son studies until midnight every day. With that kind of effort, how could his grades not be good?" "The practice workbooks my daughter has completed could stack up as tall as a person!" "He really knows how to take credit for other people's hard work." 04 I was so angry my neck hurt. The students did work hard, but that study habit was only formed because I constantly pushed them. To put it bluntly, the students in Class 6 had a poor foundation, weak basics, and lacked any initiative to study. If they had been given a teacher with even slightly less sense of responsibility or slightly weaker skills, they would have been absolutely impossible to lead. Over the past two years, I had stayed up late countless times designing personalized teaching plans suited for the students in our class. I gave up my daily rest periods to offer one-on-one tutoring to the students, often just grabbing a piece of bread and a bottle of water for dinner. I gave free tutoring to the students at my home on weekends and holidays. I bought various study materials and prizes for the students out of my own pocket. I dare say I put more heart and effort into this than any other teacher in the school. But now, this group of parents was saying the students' grades had absolutely nothing to do with me. Absolutely nothing! Furious, I typed: "Since everyone feels the students' grades rely entirely on themselves, then how does me doing my own things during my off-hours affect them at all?" The parents all started arguing back at once. "What, do students only care about grades? Let me ask you, what if my kid doesn't get enough to eat at school? What if they forget to drink water? What if they didn't wear enough clothes and catch a cold? What if they feel sick?" "The kids are already tired enough from studying. The homeroom teacher should be responsible for chores like cleaning the classroom." "Evening study hall ends too late every day. If you ask me, the homeroom teacher should be responsible for taking the students home." Ms. Roberts sent me a private message. "Are these parents insane? Do they think a homeroom teacher is a babysitter?" Watching the messages constantly popping up in the group chat, my temples throbbed. I took a deep breath. Using my very last shred of patience, I said sincerely: "Parents, there is less than half a year left until the college entrance exams. I implore you all to trust me and give me one more chance. I promise I will do my absolute best to fulfill my duties as homeroom teacher." But a single sentence from Matthew's Mom instantly broke my composure. "You really are shameless. Are you just planning to seek revenge afterward and make things difficult for our kids?!" That single sentence completely broke my composure. Fine. Fine. Fine. I quit! 05 I had spent months developing comprehensive second and third-round review plans for everyone in the class. Forty-five plans in total, each one different. Even though I couldn't continue leading this class, I still hoped to fulfill my final responsibility and show my care before I left. When I walked into the classroom during the afternoon study hall, a wave of complaints instantly erupted. "Damn, what kind of packets are those? Why are they so thick?" "Every day I open my eyes, it's just study, study, study. I'm so tired, I seriously want to throw up." "He's taking up our study hall again..." These little brats. So what if they're a little tired? What high school senior isn't tired? Just as I was about to speak, Matthew suddenly asked loudly, "Mr. Vance, if we all get into Tier-1 universities, are you going to get a huge bonus of hundreds of thousands of dollars?" I didn't process what he was asking for a second. "What?" "Otherwise, why would you treat us like pack mules every day? It must be because there's a massive benefit in it for you. But since you aren't going to teach us anymore, I think you should stop wasting your energy." My face instantly fell. Matthew was a loudmouth. If he knew about this, then the whole class definitely knew too. I looked down at the class. The expressions on everyone's faces were either impatient or completely apathetic. Which meant that knowing their parents had reported me, knowing that I—the homeroom teacher who had led them for two years—was leaving, not a single one of them showed even a hint of reluctance or sadness. What was even more unacceptable was that my students actually thought I was pushing them to study hard purely for my own benefit! In that moment, I didn't know how to describe what I was feeling. I said coldly, "Oh. Then continue your study hall." The moment I walked out, cheers erupted in the classroom. "Woohoo! The King of Hell is finally gone!" "Does this mean we're liberated from now on?" "Finally, we don't have to be forced by him to do those packets every day! Damn, do you guys know I literally have nightmares about him?!" 06 My heart was utterly frozen. I felt so awful I barely slept that night. The school moved fast. By the next day, a new homeroom teacher had been selected. Chosen exactly according to the demands of that group of parents. Single and unmarried. A docile personality. And she lived right there in the faculty dorms, truly present at the school 24 hours a day. The class group chat got lively again. Matthew's Mom said, "Parents, even though this Ms. Carter is a bit younger, I have already spoken with her privately. She promised she will take excellent care of our kids." "Thank you so much for your hard work, Matthew's Mom! You really ran yourself ragged sorting out this top priority for our class." "Oh, there's no need to thank me. It's all for the kids!" "Exactly, exactly!" I didn't want to stay in that group chat for another second. After handing over my duties to the new homeroom teacher, the very first thing I did was leave the group. Then, I submitted my resignation to the school. The administration was quite displeased. "Mr. Vance, you aren't some naive, immature young teacher. Even if you weren't in the wrong here, is it really necessary to threaten the school with resignation? What teacher doesn't suffer a little injustice? To put it bluntly, even if a parent hit you today, you'd still just have to endure it!" There was no point in arguing with someone who couldn't understand. I didn't bother explaining further and firmly processed my resignation. When I left, not a single person from the class came to see me off. I just considered the past two years of my genuine devotion to have been fed to the dogs. During my time off, I underwent a minimally invasive surgery. I woke up naturally every day, ate three meals on time, and spent my free time reading and watching TV shows. Not only did all my minor ailments disappear, but I also gained over ten pounds in less than a month. A few days after I resigned, it happened to be the first major mock exam for the seniors. Class 6 remained ranked number one in the grade. A few parents I had forgotten to unfriend posted on their timelines. "Facts prove that our children's excellence relies entirely on themselves! It has nothing to do with anyone else!" "To certain arrogant, self-important people: No one in this world is indispensable." They were just short of tagging me directly. 07 I felt absolutely nothing. No one understood that group of students better than I did. They had no internal drive; they only knew how to study passively. Without me—the homeroom teacher exhausting myself to drag them forward—let's just wait and see what happens. After resting for half a month, Mingde Academy—the school that had previously tried to poach me—called me again. "Mr. Vance, as long as you're willing to come, we welcome you anytime!" They reiterated their promise: they were still willing to pay me double my previous salary. Before going, I had one condition: I absolutely would not be a homeroom teacher. Being just a regular subject teacher meant I wouldn't have to worry about endless class management tasks, wouldn't have to exhaust myself maintaining parent-teacher relationships, wouldn't have to deal with all sorts of bizarre people and drama, and wouldn't have to worry about having zero personal space. By focusing solely on my teaching, I wouldn't be heartbroken over investing my emotions and getting absolutely nothing in return. "Mr. Vance, you coming here really is a huge help to us. The previous math teacher went on maternity leave, and we were getting really worried," the homeroom teacher of my new class told me happily. I was still teaching seniors. After Mr. Lee, the homeroom teacher, added me to the Class 2 parent-teacher group chat, I gave a standard, professional greeting. I didn't expect the parents to get so excited. "Are you the Mr. Vance who used to be at First High?" "Mr. Vance, I've watched your public math lectures! They take complex concepts and make them easy to understand, and they're so engaging and humorous! You teach brilliantly!" "I was getting really anxious, but finding out that Mr. Vance is taking over our class's math... I'm suddenly not worried at all anymore!" I replied politely: "Thank you all for your kind words. I will do my absolute best to teach our class well. If anyone has any opinions or suggestions regarding my teaching, please feel free to communicate with me anytime." I thought people would start adding me privately. With my old class, the parents insisted on adding every single subject teacher just so they could contact us at any time, completely disregarding any concept of boundaries. But to my surprise, not a single parent from this group sent me a private friend request. 08 "You're too modest, Mr. Vance. You're the professional. All we need to do is trust you!" Another parent chimed in: "Mr. Vance just arrived, so he definitely has a lot on his plate. Let's not bother him right now." "Right, right, right! I was just too excited and got a little carried away." "Mr. Vance, please go ahead and get back to your work." Perhaps because private schools are naturally more competitive and demanding, the students were incredibly proactive and driven. I quickly adapted to my new work environment. Over at First High, however, the new homeroom teacher for Class 6 didn't seem to be having a smooth time. Less than a month into the job, she, just like me, was reported by the parents. The reason for the report was ridiculous: the teacher didn't answer a parent's phone call. When Ms. Roberts relayed the story to me, she was so furious she could barely speak clearly. "Just because she didn't answer the phone, the parent actually marched right into the school and slapped Ms. Carter across the face!" I was shocked. They actually got physical? "Ms. Carter was literally teaching a class! How was she supposed to answer the phone? And do you know why the parent called? Just to have the teacher top up her son's meal card! My god, how old is her son?! Does he not have hands?!" I remained silent. That was exactly the kind of thing those parents would do. When I was there, I had to be available on WeChat 24/7. Even if they called in the middle of the night, I couldn't ignore it. If a student didn't get enough to eat at school, didn't drink enough water, or even got dirt on their collar, they would come to me. Parents with boarding students even asked me if I could help wash their kids' clothes, claiming their children had never washed clothes at home before. Thinking back on it now, it was probably because I had refused so many of their unreasonable demands that those parents had long harbored a grudge against me. The parent who slapped her wasn't just anyone. It was Matthew's Mom. Being slapped by a parent in front of the entire class... and instead of apologizing, the parent played the victim and reported her. No human being could tolerate that. Ms. Carter immediately declared she was quitting. I quickly asked, "And what was the school's stance?"
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