I liked back in those simple days during which I would use cursive lettering and dream about the big dogs that sometimes I thought were following me around. I lived in a time warp of sorts. Nothing I could ever get back.
But during those simpler times, going to the park was easier, as was doing nothing at all. I didn’t dare to synthesize and creative information 24/7/365 days per year. And for that I have modern education to blame.
I didn’t first become a proponent of abolishing what most would consider a sacred institution until I heard of a story that felt near to my heart.
There was once a boy named Phillip. I loved old Phil — he was a classmate’s dream. Except for the fact that he was not my classmate yet was an acquaintance, no less. We won’t go any further on that subject of whether he was an acquaintance or not, but suffice it to say that Phil was my friend.
Phil was diminutive when everyone else stood tall, meager and shy when everyone stood proud, cunning when everyone else played dumb, and most of all, he was a musician — a really good one at that.
Phil played the guitar like everyone else played checkers and chess — like a little genius, and yes, everyone was “stuck” watching his “creative development,” though nobody knew so. Not even “Smarty” Steven, who had no musical bone in his body, could comprehend what was going on with Phil.
There was once a time in which Phil was being a nuisance to the class; the teacher punished him; saying, “Just play more guitar, and for Heaven’s Sake, play it outside of the earshot of the rest of the student body, because they listen with utter reverence to you and not to me. But never mind all that; just stop.”
And the teacher, having learned something new about Phil and about himself, secretly (or only away from the students) sought to better understand himself (and Phil). So he took a long, long walk and thought until he nearly dropped dead in fatigue. But he had reached a new insight: that which was the following, and while it was rather unorthodox, it was also quite enthralling as an idea and the teacher could not wait to put it into practice. He would have individual sessions with Phil. He resolved to bring the matter up to the head principal the next day. But in his avarice and out of the fact that he just plain stinking had no extra time, the teacher did not talk to the principal. And whether it was out of sheepishness or a genuine time-crunch, we will never know, as that teacher never so much as broached the subject with the principal. Instead — he banished it so far away in his own mind that he thought that he, not Phil; was living on another planet. And because of this and poor timing, this teacher found himself in a bind. Should he confess his sins (and also Phil’s genius) or should he forever keep his peace (as they sometimes like to say in folklore)?
The teacher decided that neither way was the best option, and conceded to Phil most of the time except once, when he saw that Phil was visibly upset by a remark that the teacher himself had made.
“Sometimes, the best thing to do is give up if you’re handed a tough problem,” the teacher had said.
The teacher later reprimanded himself so harshly for this comment (for reasons we will likely never understand). The teacher did decide; however, to make some conciliatory remarks to Phil.
“Phil, we all make mistakes, and I made one the other day,” he said.
There was nothing glaringly wrong with the teacher’s statement, except the fact that he said it to Phil in (relative) privacy, or as much as the school might allow. That was why the theory behind modern schools was primarily based on a mistaken assumption that most students have a desire to learn. No, I daresay that nearly all students like learning. But what do I know, pray tell? I am just one of the teachers who forms a part of a coalition that calls itself collectively as “Education Proper.”
