Confessions of a compulsive teacher

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Editor's note: A scene from an endless, hot summer afternoon in my childhood has stayed with me through the decades. My younger brother and I were playing all by ourselves while our mother rested in her bedroom. On the carpet in the living room, we were playing teacher-teacher, a game in which I always played the role of the teacher and Manu would be the student. Often, we had cousins and friends to fill our classroom, but that day it was just the two of us. I must have been 11 years old and my brother 9. I was a strict, all-knowing teacher. I knew a lot of things for my age and he barely cared for the things I knew. As I continued to raise the stakes of what I expected from him, the boy must have begun to get restless. I became harsh and more punitive in my attempt to control him. After a while, I was just a vicious, controlling bully. My voice sharp and cutting. The student cowering, wanting to escape. It was no longer a game. Neither …