My Professor Failed Me for Missing Class. I Was Testifying in Court Against My Father.
The Missed Midterm
My professor threatened to fail me for missing class because I was in court testifying against my father. When I begged him to reconsider, he smirked and said:
“We all have to deal with personal drama.”
I didn’t say a word. That was two months ago.
Last night, he locked himself in his office and campus security had to break the door open. I missed a single midterm. One, I had a 93% in the class. I emailed my professor 3 days before, explained everything, where I’d be, why I couldn’t be there, and attached the court summons as proof.
This wasn’t even my first issue with him. He’d previously rolled his eyes when I asked for extra office hours and told me this isn’t high school. When I told him my PTSD makes timed tests harder, he said:
“Everyone has something.”
He was that kind of professor. Dismissive, cold, smug about being harsh. I was always terrified to give him any reason to dislike me more. But this wasn’t something I could just skip.
I was testifying against my father, the man who broke my ribs when I was 10, who slammed my mom into walls so hard the neighbors once thought we had a car crash inside. He made my little brother flinch every time a door shut too loud.
And for the first time in our lives, we were all going to speak against him together in court. It took me years to convince my family we were strong enough, brave enough.
I wasn’t going to miss it. So, I sent the email. I was respectful. I even said:
“I’ll take a zero if I have to.”
“I just wanted to ask.”
He replied with:
“We all have to deal with personal drama.”
“If you miss this test, I will be forced to fail you from my class.”
That was it. No, sorry to hear that. No reschedule, no acknowledgement. I reread it five times. I felt like I was being slapped for even asking. His note terrified me, but not as much as what I was preparing for.
Because when I walked into court to testify against my father, he looked right at me and said loud enough for me to hear:
“You think this makes you free? I’ll find you.”
That night after the trial, I couldn’t sleep. So, I made a video, no makeup, hoodie on, just me reading the email. Then I added a photo of the court docket, a blurred out version of the testimony schedule, a screenshot of the syllabus that clearly said, “Emergencies will be considered.” I didn’t expect much.
By the time I woke up, the video had over 25,000 views. People were furious and rightfully so. Students from my school flooded the comments.
“Is this Professor Larington?”
“He failed me to when my mom died.”
“He told me migraines weren’t real.”
The university’s email inbox slammed. By 5:00 p.m., he sent me a new email:
“Apologies.”
“You can retake the midterm.”
“Let me know when.”
No apology for what he said, just a reset. I retook the exam, got an 89, passed the class. I thought that was the end of it. It wasn’t.
