I hate school. I loathe it with a passion. I dread the day I have to go back into that mind prison they call ?high school?, where my creativity and curiosity is stifled, beaten down and suppressed. I shudder at the thought of being stuffed into a cramped classroom along with thirty or so idiots who would jump through rings of fire just to get an A. I savor every day, every minute, every second, where I can be alone with my thoughts, free to pursue my hobbies and to revel in idyllic bliss.
I firmly believe that there are only two things an individual should learn: the things he needs to know and the things that interest him. I hate school because I learn neither of those things. Most of the lessons and skills taught by the teachers are neither useful in the sense that one can apply them to day-to-day situations nor are they interesting. Once in a while, the class would do a wild experiment (a science teacher of mine once put me on top of a platform that was supported by hundreds of balloons and shook it to demonstrate what it would feel like in an earthquake?that, to say the least, was an absolutely awesome experience) or embark on a field trip, but still, this does not happen enough to consistently arouse my interest or anyone else?s for that matter. I don?t mean to say that it is a teacher?s obligation to make sure every class is a roller coaster ride for the students; everyone gets bored once in a while. But that still doesn?t excuse the fact that useless facts, formulas and irrelevant quotations from obscure texts have been given a higher priority than real-life skills. It is a disturbingly common situation where a student can perform a myriad of complicated mathematical computations and recite all sorts of facts and historical dates but still doesn?t know how to write a resume.
On a rare occasion, there may be lessons or courses that have the potential of being useful outside the classroom. Take home economics for example. I signed up for it because I don?t know how to cook and was hoping to learn how. It was a fun course and for once, the fruits of education were tangible (and mighty tasty too!). But, unfortunately, there was a big downside to this. Sure, I learned how to whip up things like blueberry scones, apple pie, beef stew, lasagna and Spanish rice?but nothing else. I learned how to cook these specific dishes but I was befuddled when I tried to cook other things. What temperature should pre-heat the oven to? Should I use oregano or bay leaves? What cut of beef should I use? The course was designed for the student to learn how to make these items, not how to cook. It was like memorizing the times table but not know how to multiply.
Virtually all of the real-life skills I have learned so far, I have acquired outside of school. At a very early age, I learned commonplace skills such as cleaning the house, sewing, washing the dishes and laundering by hand (in the Philippines where I used to live, washing machines were not a common sight) from the house servants and my nannies. At age eight, I taught myself how to type, sensing that all this computer ?stuff? was somehow important (boy, I was right). My father has given me little nuggets of wisdom and observations on human nature along the way. I learned how to get a job from my mother. I have read books containing Satanic thought and/or actual useful information on my own time. I have expressed my ideas and beliefs through writing and art at home. Truly, my education has happened outside of school.
Another reason why I loathe school so much is because of the people in it. In high school, I am surrounded by mall rats, fashion slaves, the stereotypical but very real ?Like, what-EVER!? ditzes, idiots, jerks, boys (and I strongly stress that they are boys, nothing more) who dress in clothes so baggy and disgustingly loose, one can shove a flagpole up their asses and wave them around as banners for the sheep. They jostle me in the hallways, invading my precious personal space. Their oversize clothing and the trash and graffiti they leave behind make one big eyesore. Their atrocious grammar, lack of anything original to say and incessant use of words like fuck, shit and ass make my head ache. The girls constantly pick on me and talk behind my back. Why? Because I proudly wear my blood red lipstick and I refuse to wear their repulsively chalky pale pink and blue makeup. The clothes I find aesthetically pleasing are a far cry from their same old tank tops and brand name jeans. I don?t talk like them. I don?t like to go to the mall unless I actually have a purpose. It disturbs them that I don?t fit into their simplistic paradigm.
And you know what else is revolting? Virtually all of them have this disquietingly erroneous perception of intelligence. They think that getting an ?A? means you?re smart and an ?F? labels you as a dumbass. This is NOT true. Many bright, talented individuals have dropped out of school and/or were considered ?slow?. Anton LaVey and Thomas Edison are among these brilliant, defiant individuals and we all know how much they have aided in the betterment of our lives. Besides, it?s ridiculously easy to get an A. The teachers feed you garbage and all you have to do is vomit it back out. What is an exam, really, other than a basket for you to spit out what they have taught you for the past year? Grades are nothing more than a way to measure how much you were able to regurgitate back out.
And yet my peers seriously consider it as a real, sure-fire measure of intelligence. They nurse their piddling, little egos by bragging that they got 99% percent on the math exam and proudly running to their mommies and daddies, joyfully squealing that they?re on the honor roll. They try, oh how they try, to elevate themselves above ME by snickering because I got lower grades than they did.
Even if I was willing to tolerate such scum, public school environments are, to say the least, depressing and ugly. One is constantly bombarded with foul sights, sounds and odors. In the hallways, there is always garbage on the floor. In the classroom, the desks would be scrawled with witty sayings such as ?Fuck you? and ?XYZ wuz here, yo!? and underneath, one would find the inevitable dried wad of bubble gum. What?s even more gross is when the bubble gum hasn?t hardened and gets stuck to the front of one?s pants. That has happened to me on more than one occasion. And when I do go to the washroom to clean myself up, I end up wishing I hadn?t. On the ceiling, there would be wet pieces of tissue paper. What?s even worse is what?s left floating in the toilets, which supply a great deal of olfactory disturbance. The eyes and nose are not to the only senses to be bothered; the ears also have their fair share of upset. One cannot escape from the loud shouts and squeals of students and the noise of traffic. Generally speaking, the milieus of most schools fail miserably at lifting the students? spirits.
One day in my elementary school art class, we were asked to do a landscape. Students were allowed to go out of the classroom for some inspiration. Problem was, the school grounds were in such a state of disrepair, that the entire class piled back inside and sketched from magazine pictures.
And of course there are the teachers. As HP Barton pointed out, they are indeed underappreciated and underpaid considering the insurmountable task (teaching pigs to sing) they are asked to do and the stress they are put through. They are unable to cater to the needs of individual students, even if they wanted to. It enrages me when a class is going too slow and I can?t do a damn thing about it or when I am in need of extra help and I can?t get any.
One other infuriating thing about the teachers is that they have to be super careful about what they say and teach to the students lest they rub someone from a different background wrong way. I remember in elementary school, our class kept a daily journal and the teacher would give us topics to write on. The problem is that the topics were so inoffensive, it required no real thinking. They include ?What is your favorite color? Why?? and ?Who is your favorite family member?? You?d think they?d make grade sevens to write about something that requires a wee bit more contemplation.
I complained about this and the very next day, the principal called me to his office. There waited all of my teachers and a couple of counselors. All of them looked very nervous. They slowly explained to me that they can?t ask students to write about politics, religion, issues such as abortion and gun laws and basically anything a person can have strong convictions about. Doing so might offend parents and cause conflict among the pupils. They asked me not to tell anyone about this little talk and not to discuss anything ?controversial? with my peers. It looked so much like a scene from a certain movie where corporate bigwigs try to silence an employee who has some dirt on them that I asked myself ?When are they going to bribe me?? They did?with a lollipop.
As a final insult, the counselor said, ?Why are so worried about this, dear? I mean it?s good that your teachers are not asking you to write about other topics. You won?t have to think much.?
?You won?t have to think much.? That?s exactly what they want.
This essay is inspired by High Priestess Blanche Barton?s article, ?Mandatory Education: Teaching Pigs to Sing?.
