Not a teacher, but a girl in my brother’s class won an award for her DARE essay, but when she had to read the essay for the class, she had to keep stopping to ask the teacher how to pronounce different words. On the essay that ‘she’ wrote. I’m honesty surprised they didn’t revoke the award.
I taught elementary art classes for a few years, and a lot of time would have crossover lessons with certain subjects. One year we had the second graders do a project for their unit on Native Americans, where they had to make dioramas of a type of Native American house of their choosing, and then write a little two paragraph essay on who lived in that style of house and why it was built that way.
Most kids made Tipis or wigwams out of construction paper and birch bark and paper towel rolls. we had a few kids who were clearly getting help from their parents, but it was obvious the kid had input and done the essay. Standard stuff.
Then we had a kid come in with, I shit you not, a completely accurate model of Cliff Palace, Colorado. It was stunning.
Turns out, his dad was a sculptor, and his mom worked at our local museum, as a restoration expert.
Okay, I’m not a teacher, but in 4th grade I had this build a model mission project, and so many kids came in with perfect models, and it was a dead giveaway that their parents did the work. My mom made a point of making me do my own, and it looked like garbage compared to my classmates because I actually did it myself.
Obligatory ‘not a teacher’ but in grade 3 we had to build the classic volcano-that-erupts-bicarb-soda-lava. I did the entire thing myself, refusing help from my parents. I walked into class so proud of what I’d made and then saw everyone else’s- CLEARLY made by their parents… one kid’s even had fake smoke coming out of his, like bro we’re 7 years old, it’s ok.
YOOOOO. I had a culinary class in 8th grade and our final was to make anything we wanted and serve the class. I’d been hyping all year I wanted to bring Spaghetti tacos and everyone was hyped for it. The week of I told my mom I had to make it and I fucking walk out that night to get a drink before I have a hard gamer night and this bitch was putting the shit in the freezer. SHE MADE IT! And I thought “…oh fuck…” and so it was either the next day or day after I have to give my class the food and explain how I made it so I asked my mom, “How did WE make that shit?” And she said something along the lines of “Well the spaghetti is normal so you just boiled it …(blah blah blah)…the sauce was store bought and you…(blah blah blah)… and the meat balls we took meat patties and rolled it into balls and …(blah blah blah).” I got enough of it memorized to bullshit my way through. So I’m presenting to the class right and my teacher asked me how I made it so I repeat It back to her and she says “not what your mother told me when she dropped the food off today.” And immediately I thought “Mom. One fucking job. One god damn job.” And she repeats back what my mom told her and the only thing that was the same was the spaghetti noodles. Apparently my mom fucking made the sauce from scratch and the meat balls were store bought and shit and idk. So I failed and I walked out to my mothers car after class and pretty much said “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ABOUT! WHAT DID YOU TELL ME THIS MORNING?!? HOW WERE THEY SO COMPLETELY DIFFERENT?!?” My mom just looked at me and said “Well…I didn’t think she was gonna ask you if I told her how it was made.” MOTHER WUT!?