I always had trouble sitting still in class. With the most earnest intent I would scoot forward, hands placed on my desk, eyes trained on the teacher in front of me. The focus would never last. My mind was a wild animal and I was a poor wrangler. Stories bounced around inside my mind, I was powerless in bringing them under control. The straight lines of the classroom begged to be stressed until broken. The most meaningful conversations always happened outside, in the hall, as a grown up pushed to tears of frustration screamed at a child who truly meant to pay attention. I wanted to be a good kid, but attention was a gift I could not give. I was as frustrated with myself as anyone. The system was easy enough though and I was always able to get passing grades. I ended up being a fair enough student but I always wondered if there were another type of classroom, one I would have fit into better.
I felt like a peasant shuffled through a system designed for the masses. One among many. I was the proverbial square peg in a world of circular holes. Early on I was told I had a “learning disability” which was cited as the cause of my obtuseness. I couldn’t read very well and my spelling was atrocious. I don’t blame the system, I would have rejected me as well. My "disability" seemed to not only be dyslexia but also a lack of desire to make the grade, the incentives for success were lost on me. Educators promised fulfillment and prosperity, two things I sensed to be a facade. A mirage in the desert, promising to quench my thirst if I just made it a little farther. Its attempt to replace the inner light of a child with the faint glow of adult life.
The doctrine the school system preached seemed to contradict the world I experienced inside myself. Inside I was a wilderness filled with savage animals of love and hate, joy and sorrow, elation and despair. There were no straight lines and I didn’t have to raise my hand to speak. Inside were plenty of questions that required no answers. Each day I was told to come to the real world, to quite the voice within and listen to what the state was telling me. But the voice inside kept growing louder. It cried “Bullshit” and proclaimed the school-taught reality as blasphemy. Man was not built for public school; no system can encompass the intricacies of man. Joy and fulfillment will never come from quantifying your existence by the scale in someone else’s hand. A passing grade means nothing outside of the classroom. Curriculum is what others have deemed necessary; striving for a piece of paper seemed empty of any true meaning.
Public education is a blessing. I certainly owe a portion of the fire which burns in my mind to the dedicated educators that struggled alongside me, but as is true with any progress, there must be a sacrifice. The free spirit of an unruly child, in my case, sacrificed to the gods of systematic order. I was taught my identity one scold or praise at a time. However, the most valuable lessons of my short life weren’t in a state sponsored class room or by a state appointed educator. Education is not something that should be shoved down the throat of the masses as quickly and efficiently as possible, it should be a lifelong pursuit which follows the flow of one’s life. Education is often a slow process from which you never graduate. Truth is in the very air we breathe and resounds with every thump of the heart. Any person who helps you to open your eyes more fully to the world that surrounds you is an educator. We must change our view on education from something that is attended to something that is lived if we ever hope to liberate humanitie's true potential.