Teaching and learning go hand and hand. But the relationship between student and teacher remains one of uncertainty and instability. You see, teachers, whatever the degree, don’t really teach. Rather they conduct the teaching within their designated space. Supposedly, they moderate the classroom with an attentive conscience. Some want you to think that they control every aspect of the room. They do not. In contrast, the student lacks a sense of caring, a lack of understanding, a lack of quality time between them and the teacher. And in order to fill that gap, an influx of after hour assignments is in demand.

here is a proposal: imagine a school without a grade book. Imagine if numbers stopped dictating the voices in our minds. What would you do if a moderator’s markings of approval never signified the true extent of excellence? Would you continue in the winding endeavor, believing in the light at the end of the tunnel? Or would you stop, for the very definition of achievement has lost its fullness? What would you do to bridge that gap?

People act so differently around other people. Often our actions don’t match our intentions. Often our words don’t match our thoughts. It is especially common for the age of eleven. Young’uns say things because they think they are expected to say them. It is out of a lack of experience, out of a lack of identity. In one room, the class is completely silent and intent. The next room they are loud, out of their mind, out of control. It’s what happens if nothing is expected.

I long for the day that we are free from the judgement of our brothers. It is weird; why are some people so full of drama, while others are somewhat cut off? Why is it that if someone is loud, they are thought of as obnoxious? And if someone is quiet, they are thought of as snooty? Why do we prove our enemies true? Why do we always let them win? What is it that is keeping us from ourselves?

I lead a life of empty promise. The work of my hands brings no fruit. The word of my tongue brings no solace. My future depends on a collection of letters placed upon a piece of paper. If I do, “good,” I get a treat. Yet the value of my work cannot compare with a rotten tooth. The authorities hand me two slips of paper for two separate items. I turn them both in; I only get one of those items. Worst of all, I have no one to share it with, because it was given to me amidst the maddening crowd of a false population.

All that I do isn’t all for show. I am not going to distort my way of thinking to get to my place of necessity. If all that I’ve learned was all for me, then I don’t want it. I would give it all away for the sake of my kin. There is only so much I can do to satisfy the requirements. All that I know, I don’t all want. All that I learned, I won’t all need. If I could, when this is all over, I’d give it all away, just to have someone to come home to.

Gather the bricks. We can piece the bridge together again. Just give us a little more time.