I graduated on June 9th, and I cannot express just how liberated I feel. I attended the same private Christian school since I was in Kindergarten. I had strict, conservative guidelines that I was required to follow every day, and I had Baptist doctrine (they swore it was "nondenominational", which is itself a denomination) force fed to me until I wasn't even aware I was being indoctrinated. The teacher's word was law. The school rules applied to my entire life, not just life on campus. I wasn't an individual or even a human being; I was a student. I was someone to handle, to control, to indoctrinate, to program.
I've always struggled with authority, but for the longest time I had no idea why. Now, with the gift of hindsight, I realize why authority figures and I would always knock heads. It wasn't because I was a horrible, disrespectful, rebellious sinner. It was because the authority was wrong. My teachers and other members of the staff insisted time and time again that they could be trusted, that they were my friends, that they were there to help me. Authority figures have a tendency to tell you that they are the good guys, the heroes, people to look up to. The reality is that I could not trust the people in authority over me. They were too absorbed in their way of doing things; their methodology, their traditions and practices, their religion, their lives and their wants and desires. They did not want me to become Nicolas Portwood. They wanted me to be a submissive, easy to control, docile robot to make their jobs that much easier. When I refused to comply, they had me deported to the principal's office, in hopes that I would be ashamed or embarrassed into submission.
I remember Kindergarten, when I was first being forced to recite the Pledge of Allegiance to the United States Flag, to the Christian Flag (which is in my opinion a very pathetic icon), and to the Bible. How is a five-year-old supposed to understand what those words mean? Yet, I would drone on every day, reciting those laughable mantras like the little robot I was. This carried on until my Junior Year of high school, when I finally refused to recite the pledges on the grounds of strong moral convictions. I would not swear fealty to a worthless piece of cloth, regardless of the symbolism. Was I punished? Absolutely. When I asked why I was being punished, the staff told me it was on the grounds of disrespect. Disrespect? That was only the 120,000th time I had heard that cop-out excuse for punishing a student. Anything a teacher doesn't know how to deal with, or hasn't the patience to deal with, is tantamount to disrespect. Even something as trivial as a differing opinion is disrespect.
Teachers don't like being challenged. They don't like having their authority questioned. It reminds me all too well of the corruption we see in Congress and in the White House. Edward Snowden is on the run from the federal government because he called them out on illegal activity. Whistleblowing is not treason. Calling a teacher out is not disrespect. Teachers have no right to demand respect. Respect can only be given voluntarily. Too many students are not aware of this. They are told to shut up, sit down, or go to the office. The threat of discipline is always over the students' heads. Many teachers blatantly violate various sections of the Geneva Conventions; did you know that? Punishing an entire class for the infraction(s) of one individual or a few individuals is a breach of the Third Convention (which is all about how to treat prisoners of war, I might add). Likewise, holding a class after the dismissal bell as a form of punishment is a breach of the same Convention. Have you ever heard a teacher say, "The bell doesn't dismiss you; I do"? That is a lie. The dismissal bell dismisses the students, not the teacher.
Many teachers even liken their classes to dictatorships. That's a incredible demonstration of idiocy. In such a paranoid country that has on more than one occasion executed dictators (remember Saddam Hussein?), our teachers confess to being dictators. How can they claim to be upholders of democracy when their classes are draconian and totalitarian? That is hypocrisy. I was blessed to have some teachers who were not like this. There was voting, there was discussion, there was debate, and there was change. I did not experience this until my Senior Year of high school, and by that time, I was already burned.
My elementary school days were filled with screaming and crying. That is all I can remember, honestly. I had a horrible childhood. I was only trying to be myself, to express myself, to discover myself. My teachers didn't want me to be creative or adventurous, though. They wanted a robot that responded to their every command without question. They would tell me I had talents and that God had big plans for my life. I discovered my talents on my own, away from school. I figured out God's plans for my life by talking to God, not my teachers. My teachers, with all their knowledge and experience, were idiots. Sweet and friendly idiots, but nonetheless. They loved scolding me when I tried to be an individual. They didn't realize that I talk because I have knowledge I wish to share. They thought I was just being "disruptive". Sharing knowledge is "disruptive" unless the teacher is reading it from a book published by Bob Jones University Press, a heavily conservative and biased college press who believes that Catholics aren't Christians. That was my curriculum. Biased, conservative, and religious.
I was required to attend a chapel service every Thursday for thirteen years. They painted a picture in my head of a God with an iron gavel and anger in his eyes. Every sin I committed pushed me closer and closer to hell. They never taught me how to have a relationship with God. They taught me how to be afraid of God. They used the chapel services to push their agenda of obedience and submission. The question "Why?" was a question that would send me to hell. Follow blindly. Be a sheep, a drone, a robot, a copy of a copy of a copy of the ideal student. Religion was rampant and relationship was nonexistent; thus, I felt alone, scared, and angry. I never knew why I was always so angry. I was too young to realize that I was experiencing social injustice, that I was being belittled because of my youth (which is a practice Paul the Apostle condemned).
Ironically, when I disobeyed out of spite, I never felt freer. When I rebelled with the anticipation of being punished, it was exhilarating. I was manipulating my teachers to perform a preprogrammed response: discipline. I realized that I was not the robot, they were! I discovered the presence of consequence and the absence of love. There was never any love behind any discipline I ever received as a Christian school student. They were too busy trying to keep me in line to love me. I was an volatile child. I was prone to chronic fits of rage, wherein I would scream at the top of my lungs and cry and slam various body parts against the ground. This was my coping mechanism until around the sixth grade, where I started to mellow out (I owe it all to child therapy from a doctor in neuropsychology; yes, they insisted I needed therapy). They could not handle me at my worst behavior, and they demanded I be on my best.
After dozens of parent-teacher conferences and scores of visits to the principal's office, I found myself in Junior High School. Not much changed. I was still an immature idiot, and my teachers were still slaves to the Teacher's Agenda of Methodology: rules, instructions, and systematic procedure. Any deviation was met with humiliation and shame disguised as discipline. The principal was a righteous man who told me to my face that I was obnoxious and that I was not a Christian. He told me that "a wise man speaks little" immediately after a forty-minute lecture on what a horrible little rebel I was (I am not exaggerating: it was forty minutes. There was a clock right behind him). The staff was trying to control every aspect of my life. They called me into the office for things I said on Facebook that they disagreed with. They had no legal justification to do this; the papers I signed to enroll as a student said nothing about my life outside of school. For all these reasons listed in this paragraph, Junior High was rank with hypocrisy and Christian Legalism. I have nothing good to say about those years, no matter how generous I may be feeling.
High school was the darkest period of my life. I had several members of the staff personally verbally degrade me on more than one occasion, further justifying my belief that teachers were not allowed to love their students while on duty. Enforcing the rules and stifling ideas they didn't want to hear were more important than demonstrating the love of Jesus Christ. I saw that first hand. The only difference from elementary school is that I was spurned by seven teachers instead of one. Thus, high school was seven times worse than elementary school. In the tenth grade, confused and scared and sad and convinced that I was a horrible sinner and that all my teachers hated me, I attempted suicide twice.
Senior Year was different, because for the first time in my life, I had some measure of authority. I had influence, and the teachers realized it. By this time, I was so used to authoritarianism, I knew exactly how to manipulate it. I behaved myself. I listened to my teachers and obeyed their instructions. I used my influence over the underclassmen to convince my fellow students that, "Even though the rules seem stupid, they still exist, so you still have to obey them". By saying this, I reinforced the idea that rules can be wrong. It was a subtle but effective message to my peers that the laws of the land are not infallible. It was a clandestine call to question the rules, to challenge authority, in hopes of improving the school for everyone. Eschew the ridiculous rules and promote the beneficial ones. Emphasize love over enforcement.
That was the message of my Senior Year. Outright rebellion is a fool's path. Subtle influence, in my experience, is much more effective. Why? Because love is contagious. People will respond to love and naturally resist having their freedoms limited by rules and restrictions. For this reason, I became "popular", I maintained my level of relative influence, and you know what? It's working. My school has changed. Love is becoming more prevalent. Rules are being reevaluated, some are being struck down, and others are being redefined. Some are even being left alone. Change is happening, as I had hoped for the longest time.
I wish I could say that I enjoyed school. I never stopped hating it, dreading every weekday morning, worshiping the weekend. Overall, I have to say that my schooling experience was horrible; however, it was also productive. I promoted the question "Why?" and I got answers. I got results. I saw change. I saw progress.
I started a silent rebellion.
High school was the darkest period of my life. I had several members of the staff personally verbally degrade me on more than one occasion, further justifying my belief that teachers were not allowed to love their students while on duty. Enforcing the rules and stifling ideas they didn't want to hear were more important than demonstrating the love of Jesus Christ. I saw that first hand. The only difference from elementary school is that I was spurned by seven teachers instead of one. Thus, high school was seven times worse than elementary school. In the tenth grade, confused and scared and sad and convinced that I was a horrible sinner and that all my teachers hated me, I attempted suicide twice.
Senior Year was different, because for the first time in my life, I had some measure of authority. I had influence, and the teachers realized it. By this time, I was so used to authoritarianism, I knew exactly how to manipulate it. I behaved myself. I listened to my teachers and obeyed their instructions. I used my influence over the underclassmen to convince my fellow students that, "Even though the rules seem stupid, they still exist, so you still have to obey them". By saying this, I reinforced the idea that rules can be wrong. It was a subtle but effective message to my peers that the laws of the land are not infallible. It was a clandestine call to question the rules, to challenge authority, in hopes of improving the school for everyone. Eschew the ridiculous rules and promote the beneficial ones. Emphasize love over enforcement.
That was the message of my Senior Year. Outright rebellion is a fool's path. Subtle influence, in my experience, is much more effective. Why? Because love is contagious. People will respond to love and naturally resist having their freedoms limited by rules and restrictions. For this reason, I became "popular", I maintained my level of relative influence, and you know what? It's working. My school has changed. Love is becoming more prevalent. Rules are being reevaluated, some are being struck down, and others are being redefined. Some are even being left alone. Change is happening, as I had hoped for the longest time.
I wish I could say that I enjoyed school. I never stopped hating it, dreading every weekday morning, worshiping the weekend. Overall, I have to say that my schooling experience was horrible; however, it was also productive. I promoted the question "Why?" and I got answers. I got results. I saw change. I saw progress.
I started a silent rebellion.
