Why?  Because it’s my blog and you will listen to every. damn. word. I have to say! 

I’m a busy guy.  Between finishing my Ph.D., lecturing, grading papers, writing, and web design, I typically put in about 70-80 hours of work every single week.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining because I do love every single thing I do.  But I need to emphasize here that my free time is at an absolute premium.  Basically, I have two sources of pure, work-independent amusement in my life: this blog and a swing dance class my wife and I attend every Monday night.  These days particularly, dancing is my one night a week to get my blood going, groove to some tunes, and have a bit of guilt-free fun. 

Yesterday, we had a guest instructor from the States.  Austin, in fact.  Being from the greatest city in this planet or any other in the known universe, I was actually looking forward to the experience.  For about five minutes.  Shortly after class began, the instructor interrupted the entire class to yell at me.  Seriously.  In a class that I, a grown man, paid for, I am being mocked and shamed for, get this … dancing!  Yes, there shall be none of that here, swinging is for serious folks only and how dare you enjoy yourself. 

It didn’t end there.  During the course of the hour, as the class looked on in astonishment, I was yelled at several more times, and at one point was literally told to separate from my wife since we obviously couldn’t behave ourselves.  When that didn’t seem to satisfy the guy, he literally brought me up to the front of the class where he engaged in what could only be described as a very physical, testosterone driven pissing contest over who would reign supreme in control over his class. 

At this point, I’m having flashbacks of High School misery and can’t wait to leave.  Right on cue, the guy gets into a rant about how he was a High School teacher for 20 years and he sees everything and I won’t be able to get away with my nonsense on his watch. 

I’m in my own personal hell. 

For a while, I was just pissed off and imagining ways in which I could extricate myself from the unnecessary stress.  But it wasn’t long before I was awash with pity for the guy.  Being an adult educator, I have no personal experience with rowdy classrooms.  But after 20 years of dealing with a failing, apathetic, and pathetic school system, this poor guy has been rendered completely incapable of engaging with adults on any level.  The only tools he knows are control, intimidation, and shame. 

Following my Gandhi-esque moment, I returned to anger once again, this time at the country of my birth.  We live in a land literally saturated with affluence and yet wholly incapable of managing a school system that falls within even the same neighborhood of quality with Any. Single. Other. Industrialized nation.  I can’t find a new link, but the last I checked, we were not even in the top 25%.  For me, High School was a joke.  I never studied.  Never.  And yet I squeaked through along with every other nimrod who could barely tie his own shoes.  I actually performed better than our president!  Just plain shameful. 

Why is it that we have never managed to prioritize education?  Why do we pay our professional teachers a pittance, shove them in a class intentionally dumbed down to the lowest common denominator leaving them bitter and jaded?  Why can’t we manage some level of equal funding so that we are not perpetuating educational gaps?  Why are we leaving our children behind? 

The conspiracy theorist in me wonders if we enjoy having an underclass.  The rich are in charge and want to stay that way and don’t need the competition from all those brilliant but poor folks.  But I suspect the truth is somewhat blander.  That we have too long entwined politics and business with our education system.  Too long have we allowed political winds to influence what can or can’t be taught.  Too long have we allowed businesses to dictate what gets printed in our textbooks.  And too long have we neglected teaching independent and abstract thought in favor of the more quantifiable assessment systems based on facts and dates. 

I’m 32 years old, am mere months away from completing my Ph.D., have traveled the world over, and am financially comfortable.  Yet STILL experience a physical reaction in the pit of my stomach whenever anything brings me back to those High School daze.  What a mess.