Pretending to Like School

One of the hard things about being a parent is feigning excitement about school. My daughter normally enjoys school. For her it’s a place to demonstrate her prowess at various skills, socialize with her friends, eat foods she doesn’t get served at home, and play on the monkey bars until her arms ache. She loves the structure, the recognition for a job well done, the snacks, and the chance to belong. My son’s feelings for school tend to be more negative. He feels school is boring, a waste of time, and a barrier to the exciting things he could be doing at home—taking apart electronic devices, digging holes, using scrap lumber to build things in the garage, reading comic books, sorting his Pokemon cards, playing soccer with his dad. He’s the kid who is always looking out the window, imagining he is somewhere else. Though I hate to admit it, he’s a lot like me.

As millions of parents have done before me, I stress the positive in talking about school with my kids. Certainly they do far more cool and innovative things in the classroom than I did when I was a kid. Nearly all the teachers I know are bright and dedicated. And yet I confess that even though I always succeeded in school, I never really liked it.

For me, school was penance, something to get through on my way to a better place. I hated being stuck in close quarters with mean kids and cut ups. I thought it was ridiculous you had to ask permission to use the bathroom. I hated the elaborate social structure that pigeon-holed me and made me wonder whether I belonged. I felt forever helpless, at the mercy of my teacher and the System.

As I got older, I deeply resented the presence of the class cretins, the ones who continually disrupted things and hassled people (couldn’t they be stupid QUIETLY?). School was a prison. I could never escape the morons, the snotty girls, the boys who didn’t notice me, the icky bathrooms, the dorky gym suits, the classrooms that were either too hot or too cold, the impossibility of toting all my stuff around, the misery of being held captive on the black top in freezing weather, the interminable bus ride. Sure, my report cards painted a picture of someone who loved school, but in my mind the only good thing about school were my friends and the occasional distinguished teacher who seemed to have a passion for their work.

My school friends kept me sane and keep me sane to this day. Some of my closest friends date back to my middle school years. We were cellmates. We were planning our futures and our escapes even as we slogged through the halls and the cafeteria lines feeling like we were going nowhere. We made each other laugh, pulled one another out of depression, convinced ourselves we were special, and in the process we laid a ground work for the best times of our life. School was the obstacle course we had to complete on our way out the exit, and the bonds we forged with one another were the best things the education system offered us.

September 26, 2005