mrmcweasel:tei-berry:bogleech:lynati:movemequotes:Once a little boy went to school.One morningThe te
mrmcweasel:tei-berry:bogleech:lynati:movemequotes:Once a little boy went to school.One morningThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.He liked to make all kinds;Lions and tigers,Chickens and cows,Trains and boats;And he took out his box of crayonsAnd began to draw.But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make flowers.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make beautiful onesWith his pink and orange and blue crayons.But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And it was red, with a green stem.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”The little boy looked at his teacher’s flowerThen he looked at his own flower.He liked his flower better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just turned his paper over,And made a flower like the teacher’s.It was red, with a green stem.On another dayThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make something with clay.”“Good!” thought the little boy;He liked clay.He could make all kinds of things with clay:Snakes and snowmen,Elephants and mice,Cars and trucksAnd he began to pull and pinchHis ball of clay.But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make a dish.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make dishes.And he began to make someThat were all shapes and sizes.But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And she showed everyone how to makeOne deep dish.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish;Then he looked at his own.He liked his better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just rolled his clay into a big ball againAnd made a dish like the teacher’s.It was a deep dish.And pretty soonThe little boy learned to wait,And to watchAnd to make things just like the teacher.And pretty soonHe didn’t make things of his own anymore.Then it happenedThat the little boy and his familyMoved to another house,In another city,And the little boyHad to go to another school.The teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.And he waited for the teacherTo tell what to do.But the teacher didn’t say anything.She just walked around the room.When she came to the little boyShe asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”“Yes,” said the little boy.“What are we going to make?”“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.“Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher.“And any color?” asked the little boy.“Any color,” said the teacher.And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy…I hate that I hesitated to reblog this just because I expect people to think it’s pretentious or melodramatic when it’s seriously real as fuck and I’ve witnessed itThis is what happened to me. I was young, first grade. All the other kids have one teacher, while I had two, though I was in the same class. I took recess by myself. When the other’s took recess, I was constantly quizzed by my second teacher and shown how to color properly because ‘You don’t want your pictures to look like theirs, do you?’ I just wanted to color. When I was allowed to participate with the rest of the class, I felt odd. “How fast does the earth move?” The main teacher asked. “100 miles an hour!” “One bajillion miles a hour!” I raised my hand. “Yes?” I swallowed and smiled. “I think it’s closer to 100,000 kilometers per hour.” I didn’t guess, I stated a fact. I was happy. And proud. Because I knew the answer. But somehow, when the teacher said ‘That’s correct’, it was with a large amount of disappointment and odd looks from the other kids. What had I done wrong? I didn’t answer questions anymore.When I was in the class with my second teacher, we did reading flash cards. “What does this say?” “Government.” She frowned. “And just how do you know that?” I answered as simply as I could. “It doesn’t sound like it’s spelled. It has ‘Govern’ like the governor, and it has ‘ment’ that rhymes vent which is what’s above us! Government!” “That’s not how you learn words, you need to remember how to spell them. Try the next one.” Why did it matter? I remembered and could read it. So I had to learn the ‘correct’ way to spell and read.So on and so on until 5th grade, when I was falling behind all the other students and was told to try harder and pay attention. ‘Show your work or it counts against you.’ But I didn’t have any work to show… 45 X 3 just is 135. What work was I supposed to show when something was a fact? So I had to relearn math so my teacher didn’t flunk me out.This has followed me into adulthood. “Think outside the box.” I can’t. There is a small area outside the box I am allowed and no further. That is what I have been taught. When someone wants something from you in this way, they want to know where it came from and for it to match their ideals… not something they can’t understand or want to consider. And there is always a right answer, even if you are just coming up with ideas.“Do you have any ideas on this matter?” My boss asks. I shrug. “It’s not something for me weigh in on, that’s beyond my area.”You broke me. You broke thousands of kids who could have been the new Tesla, Curie, or Einstein. And you wonder why new ideas aren’t new? Because you told us, at a very early age, that a new idea must already conform to what you understand and are comfortable with. Let’s think about how much more advanced we would be as a society if our school systems didn’t break kids. -- source link