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Under what twisted logic did society’s designer take the pleasures of education away from the retired and elderly and patient and appreciative in order to imprison all our restless, witless, ill-disciplined adolescents who cannot see beyond a big, beautiful, bouncing pair of weekend nights and a nice, tight window of time for an illicit cigarette behind the bike shed? There is only one way to bring the schoolboy willingly into the classroom, and she comes one in a thousand.
Teacher, you have my full attention.
I will do my homework. I will not be late. Yes I am sick, but not that sick, and I will still attend. I am so hungry to be taught. My curiosity for knowledge is inflated to dangerous levels and I need to be satiated. Pardon me madam, may I go to the boy’s room and satiate myself? Thrive me with thy knowledge, madam, I beseech thee. Teacher, you are so young. Young enough to be my sister. Young enough to be my – enough, of course, apologies. Thank you for class today. A thousand times, thank you for class. [Pete Bradt] |
