The fourth grade classroom rested in tranquil silence, each
student but one reading from their favorite book or short story. I sat stone-faced and defiant at my desk; my
little four foot two inch frame shaking from pride, fear, and a concrete
conviction. “Carver, why aren’t you
doing your reading? It’s reading time.”
Miss Kraft’s voice, I always thought, sounded like a
repressive dictator’s howl. Low in tone
for a woman, and blubberish, her voice matched her despotic personality and appearance.
Hers was a voice of cruel injustice,
demanding far more from her students than I thought prudent. Assigning homework every day? What gall and arrogance. It was more than my fourth grade soul could
bear. And the others were with me, but
lacked the courage to resist, to revolt, to rebel.
“Carver?” Miss Kraft
asked again.
A hot fusion of blood rushed to my head, blushed my checks
with courage, and with my eyes closed I silently mimicked Kevin from Home
Alone, “This is it, don’t get scared now.”
“I’m not reading, Miss Kraft.” I said with my eyes still
closed and head bowed.
A hushed gasp raced through the ranks of my classmates. I could feel their eyes nervously shifting
from me to Miss Kraft and back to me again.
Slowly, deliberately, I started to speak.
“You tell us every day to read and I’ve had enough. I am an
agent of my own choice and action. So
today I choose to no longer follow your tyrannical laws of education, but
instead to make my own path to freedom!“
Energy surged through me. Turning
in my chair I met Miss Kraft’s burning glares with stiff resolve. I found myself slowing rising from my chair,
fists clasp in haughty disobedience, voice shaking but ever increasing in
volume and force.
“Send me to the corner, to detention, to the principal’s
office itself, but I am not reading today!
Too long you have reigned over us in prejudice and inequality. Too long has your despotic arm stretched its
stinging shadow of pain and homework over our nights and weekends. And too long has your undisputed power been
left unchecked to ravage and pillage our childhoods!”
I was no longer shaking.
The fear had dispelled and I spoke clearly while anger wisped from my
lips. “Well I say no more! I say no more
reading, no more history, no more science, and for mercy’s sake, sweet heavens
above, no more math!”
I was on top of my desk now, all eyes fixed upon me in
awe. Out of breath, chest panting, I
scanned the room and saw glimpses of hope and courage in the eyes of my
classmates. Now was the time if ever
there would be one. I gathered what
remained of my resilience, looked at Comrade Frau Kraft sitting behind her
imperial desk, and boldly shouted to those in my periphery, “Who’s with me!?”
The children were now rising too from their seats. First to his feet was Ben, my ever faithful
colleague and my brother in arms. Then
Alice, my sweetheart to the end, stood beside her desk. All arose; all threw down their texts of
lies, their images of discrimination and deceit, and joined together in united
opposition against the secret society of repressive grade school education.
“Carver? I said, why
aren’t you reading?”
Miss Kraft’s voice shook me from my day dream. Her repeated question slowed Alice and Ben
from their flirting just long enough to glance my way before continuing their
disgusting display of juvenile romancing.
“I am reading, Miss Kraft, I promise.”
I opened a random book and hung my head in submissive defeat. Maybe tomorrow I’d find the courage. Maybe tomorrow I’d find my words.
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