Satire
I finally went back to high school today, summer vacation havingended. It was just one week long this year, but it felt like an eternityto be away from the classroom that long. I don't know what to do withmyself outside the school; I actually convinced my mom to set up a littletable and chalkboard (the one I played with as a kid) in our dining room,and to sort of pretend to be my teacher. She didn't exactly try hard toact the part. Instead, she took this as a chance to tell me stories, theseboring stories about her life and the past and stuff, which she alwayswants to tell me but which I always do my best to ignore. Well, here washer chance. Yes, I suppose, I am addicted to school-so she had found aback door, so to speak, into my attention. I'm thinking right now of two things that she "taught" me lastweek-that is, two stories she told me. For one thing, she was telling mehow summer vacations used to be three or four months long. I was shockedby this so I raised my hand, and she called on me. "What did you do forfour months'" I asked, and she answered, with a satisfied smile, "Nothing!Nothing at all!" I was horrified. Nothing at all' That's exactly what
Use logic, mom; you'll seeI've got it figured out. " I was so, so, so, so disgusted. And here's the second thing she told me. "That's right, nothing," she said, as if wehad never left that previous discussion. I almost feel like my mother is talking about "art," there. We are partof the system, a cog in the wheel of society, we work as a part of thesystem, that is our job, that's what I have learned so nicely from school. But I overcamethat depressing temptation toward useless fun, and buckled myself down tostudy, study, study. Everyone loves school;school is a gateway to the world. Although I was overwhelmed with these feelings as soon as my momuttered those awful words, I did not tell her about these feelings of mineright then, because she did not ask if anyone had any questions orcomments; instead she launched right into her next "lesson" (story). Who would want that mess'Structure and discipline, and results that can be documented: that's wherethe sweet life's at. Things which can't be put intowords' If they can't be put into words you can't prove to others thatyou've done them; so what good are they' Everything I've ever learned fromschool is that the unofficial, the internal, the non-verbal, is useless. At lunch I felt so awful that I felt like giving it all up and goingto play in the old abandoned playground or something, like an emotionalloser, instead of sitting in the library for the break and memorizingvocabulary as all the rest of the serious competitors do. What is it if it only exists inside you' Nobody could know.
Common topics in this essay:
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