“You’re absolutely obligated to call the mother back and tell her your impression,” he informed me
Dear Student,
I just ruined a shidduch for you.
A couple of days ago an old neighbor of mine called to ask me about you. You’d been redt to her son, she knew I teach in the seminary you attended, and she was hoping I could give her information.
Caught off guard, I basically pretended I didn’t know you. “I only taught her once a week, a few years back, and my class is not very interactive,” I excused myself. “Seminary classes are huge, and I don’t get to know most of the girls. I remember her name, and maybe her face, but that’s about it. I can’t tell you anything more.”
The boy’s mother said she understood, and that was the end of the conversation.
Upon hanging up, I felt torn. I hadn’t really told this mother the truth. It’s true that I hardly remember most of my students — I’m a once-a-week teacher, after all, not a mechaneches — but you, I remembered well, because you were disruptive and difficult in class. I rarely have discipline issues, so you stood out in my memory.
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