I'm Not Anti-School, I'm Anti-Idiot[1]
I suppose I really shouldn't be doing this. Not
really because I have nothing interesting to say, but because a lot of
the things I have to say really are a bit too interesting. At
least for a public forum like this. So you can be assured that you won't
be reading any of the really juicy bits of my life, at least until the
inevitable day that I write one of these while well sauced.
What finally spurred me to start one of these was all that wackiness
in Littleton.
This is not going to be a rant about the media. Or, really, any mention
of the current events in Littleton at all.
This is, instead, going to be a ramble about cynicism about school, and
why it's perfectly bloody justified for youngsters (at least the smart
kind) to be utterly cynical about how the school system works. You see,
cynicism starts young, and it's the gift that keeps on giving. The more
cynical you become, the more you start questioning things, and the more
you start questioning things, the more you realize that Sturgeon's Law
applies to any given administrative group - 90% of the people are complete
smegheads, and the more you realize how many idiots there are in the world
who have more power and influence than you simply because of where they
are, the more cynical you become. Lather, rinse, repeat.
I started on the road to becoming a cynical, surly bastiche way back in
Elementary School. Elementary School at that time consisted of grades one
thru six (I think). This was back before the wonderful world of Middle
School was created (in point of fact, my class was the last group of sixth
graders that the Elementary School would see, since sixth grade was being
foisted off on the brand new Middle School in the area. This would be
a recurring theme in my life, but I digress). The Elementary School was
named Pearsontown (we called it "Prisontown", in accordance with the
unwritten rule that states that every school must have a nickname commiserate
with how much misery is inflicted on the students). Oh, the sordid tales
of my youth, spent languishing in the world of Prisontown. Well, truth be
told, it didn't all suck, although I have no idea why. Perhaps some bits
were just marginally less unpleasant than others.
Having digressed into background detail enough for now, I swing us back to
the topic at hand - cynicism. Namely mine, because this is my page and I'm
sodding well going to write about myself. Er, where was I. Ah! Cynicism.
We start with a short epic about how it sucks to be a kid with an actual
functioning brain.
It startles me to find that I'm actually having difficulty writing this.
But not only am I cynical, I'm stubborn, too, so I will perservere, as we
journey into the depths of my memories.
When I was in either first or second grade, I can't remember, one of our
subjects, if you can call it that, was cursive writing. I hated cursive
writing, but hey, anything that called for scribbling meaninglessly with
a pencil couldn't be that bad, right?
The english language holds no words or even sentences to describe the
monumental level of suckage that was cursive writing. The teacher would
carefully enscribe a letter on the chalk board, and we would all copy it
down on our little pads in accordance with the diagrams in a little booklet
we had been given. We even had little things of properly marked paper so
that we could get all our letters in the proper proportions. This doesn't
sound so bad, until you realize that it was done vvvveeerrrrryyyyy
ssssllllooooowwwwwlllllyyyyyy...
To my credit (er... well, I think it's a generally positive thing) it took
me at least half an hour to say the first-grade equivalent of "screw
THIS..." and take off on my own. I think I got at least to the letter 'K'
before I got caught. I may even have finished that stupid little workbook.
Memory is such a transitory thing.
Now, what would YOUR response have been upon finding out that someone under
your instruction had completed a day's worth of work in something like
fifteen minutes? And now, class, let's compare and contrast with what
actually happened.
What actually happened was that I got a brisk talking-to, and got to sit out
in the hall. For daring to break ranks, not to do something bad, but to
learn more. If there was any one, single event which I can point to
in my entire life of geekdom as being the germ, the justification, for all
my later rebellion, that would be it. Punishment and public humiliation for
being too damn smart for my own good.
I really, honestly, sincerely wish that I could say the school system has
changed since then, but I know it hasn't. It hasn't changed, and it probably
won't ever change, because you can't really examine why the educational
system sucks without examining the fabric of American life and society, and
without spending a crapload more on your taxes to hire teachers who actually
give a pile of fetid dingoes kidneys about what their kids learn. And that's
two things most Americans are unwilling to admit - that they need to spend
more money, and that they need to get a fucking clue.
Today's Moral: "An' thou dost not get caught, do as thou wilt shall be
the whole of the law."
On our next episode of the _Surly Bastard Chronicles_, Pearsontown votes
on a school mascot. Hijinks ensue! Be there!
[1] From the Dilbert book title "I'm not Anti-Business,
I'm Anti-Idiot". The sentiment is much the same.
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