I was told education is priceless.
But at what cost is it really worth it?
Waking up before my alarm clock disappointed in myself for not over sleeping.
Just so my excuse for missing the bus could be set in stone.
I’m constantly wondering what crime I committed to be sentenced to a middle school for two years which felt like a lifetime.
Watching my school clothes stain themselves into state green colors growing serial numbers on my back.
Reaching another check point in life’s obstacles.
Afraid of what may be waiting for me at the finish line.
Where you’re placed in a jungle of junior high jocks who test your toughness every gym period they find you alone.
Trapt in a lockeroom constructed maze.
Finding yourself swinging fist in every direction looking for the exit but your blinded by their numbered jerseys.
Hoping to see 911 written across the silk fabric.
I wonder if the blood from my lip will wash out before the big game on Friday.
I must’ve missed the memo that once you complete elementary school the next course would be survival of the fittest.
Where you learn to admire your insecurities because the “cool kids” constantly expose them every day you coach yourself to stay positive.
Think of alternatives…
You may be too fat for sports but there’s always drama class not judging your health.
And act as if the diversity is just as sweet as desert.
I guess this was my introduction to popularity.
Which never included me but who cares I go to class to pass.
Even though my grades fall lower than my self esteem every semester.
Maybe if I spent more time on picking the perfect apple for my teacher’s desk.
They would’ve rescued me from my confusion.
Rescue me from bleeding anymore tears onto my homework.
Help me avoid walking into the nurse’s office exchanging my fear for pain just to be sent home.
Maybe realize that besides my peers, the work is another layer of stress weighing me down.
Fighting to stay afloat from failure.
Just to have more work and less love thrown on me causing my motivation to sink.
I never realized how heavy an academic anchor could feel around my ankles.
To the point that I don’t even think they notice me in the field waving my white flag surrendering.
I’m tired of fighting a battle for attention in a military loaded with test hoping to earn a B+ before my purple heart.
Tired of waking up a teenage alcoholic drunk off sorrow.
Tired of being sent to the office for defending myself because my teacher’s degree didn’t explain the signs of a bully’s affection.
Blinded by the obvious…
To the point where if I stop fighting back and show them the bruises painted on me maybe their guilt will give me the extra credit I need.
Or at least sit down and work with me.
Take off their varsity jackets and cheerleading outfits and actually notice me.
Make me feel as if I’m their only student.
These classrooms are filled with ocean sized numbers but how many kids actually learned to swim with the rest.
I feel as if they treat communication like an unwanted foster child.
Show me that you care about my education just as much as your pay check.
And you want to witness me walk the stage rather than a grave yard.
We need teachers that want to teach and not just pay a mortgage.
Neglect can cause a student to receive a suicide note before their own diploma.
And no matter what subject you may teach.
It’s not rocket science trying to understand your student.
Just sit down and listen to their story.
So if this is the priceless education I was told about.
Receipts are kept for a reason so you can have it back…
-Randum
Ricky Maeweather 