why I still dislike elementary school

I spent the better part of this evening filling out forms for my daughter as she begins a new school year in a new State. Having been an absentee father for the past two years, I missed out on the administrative joys of getting a child off to school in our modern world. There are the multiple forms requiring duplicate entry of information; sternly worded dress code notices; explanations on the importance of homework; release forms and permission slips (no, we will not let the school give my daughter fluoride treatments), and a byzantine bus schedule that took me the better part of the evening to decipher. [I'm pretty sure we've got her on the right buses, but it wouldn't surprise me in the least if I get a call tomorrow from Cheat Lake or Scott's Run, telling me that I misunderstood the schedule and I need to drive out 40 miles to get her].

I never liked elementary school. I wasn't good at the cutting, pasting, coloring, or following directions. I was a lousy reader (particularly given the boring drek that they put into the phonics readers) and was worse at math flashcards. I spent the better part of 3rd, 4th, and 5th grade in the hall (where the bad kids go). I started making smart-ass comments in the second grade to make other kids laugh. But this also gave me some sense of power or control in that situation. Of course, that didn't fly with Mrs. Berry. She warned the other teachers about me... and they remembered. I didn't know it at the time, but I was a poster child for labeling theory. In second grade, my teacher dumped my desk all over the floor and told the girl sitting next to me to organize my stuff at a big table at the side of the room. I actually kind of liked that arrangement and proudly told the Principal about my cool big desk. He came to visit that afternoon and on the next day they moved me back to a regular desk. Then there was the hubaloo that I caused by coloring in more than one bubble on the Stanford Achievement Test. I thought our teacher said that we should color in more than one right answer. Apparently, the canned instructions that she read out loud were, "there is only one right answer." When the test scores came back, the teacher announced to the class (with a measurable tone of disgust) "since Corey didn't follow directions, our class will retake the test." Yeah, I got sucker punched in the gut over that one. I was eight freaking years old; couldn't they cut me some slack? In a word, no. That screw-up was enough to get me labeled as "slow" Severn Elementary School. I suppose my current position in life is sufficient evidence to demonstrate that this test's predictive validity for measuring achievement is about as useful as the pieces of corn in a pile of decomposing poo. To this day, I'd still like to take my 2nd grade teacher (who I believe died several years ago) and kick her in the ass.

Anyway, filling out these forms dredged out the memories. My daughter (who generally adjusts better than I do) appears to not have inherited my dread for elementary school; I hope that this can be sustained. Perhaps educators have learned a thing or two since 1980.