Leave us kids alone

It’s been a week now since M. started going to high school, and I’m happy to see they’ve learned a lot so far. They’ve learned the generic rules of the place; and the rules of the class of Science, the rules of the class of Geography, the ones of the classes of English, Catalan, Spanish, German, and of every other subject they’re going to follow during the year. They’ve also minutely learned how they’re going to be tested—what percent of the final score will correspond to every aspect of their performance. They’ve been warned against untidiness in their notebooks. The P.E. teacher randomly selected two students after the class and asked them to open their bags and show him the change of underwear they’re required to bring (they good boys complied so he told them that, for the time being, they’ve been spared a penalty. Thank goodness.)

Some teachers have been so busy explaining away their rules and making sure the students wrote every one of them down in detail that they mustn’t have had the time to introduce themselves to the class, and haven’t. First-week no-name intimidating ghost-teachers, one would say.

What the kids haven’t been shown, actually, is a welcome smile; and what definitely haven’t been taught is that there are (there should be) only two rules that matter: a willingness to learn, and a passion to teach.

If by any chance there was any of them boys or girls left that had managed to pass through the previous six-year school period without having lost the sense of wonder and the joy of learning, has now; in a week, and forever.