The sum of 12 years of education recently came to me and
450 peers at J.J. Pearce High School in the form of a piece of
paper from the state of Texas declaring us graduates of its
public school system. Joy of joys. As our families told us
what an accomplishment it was, many of us could not help but
feel as if we had just been processed through the machine.
The whole process of graduating felt like an assembly line
in a factory operated by robots. We lined up to pick up our
caps and gowns, lined up to get our invitations, lined up to
buy our stoles and lined up for the ceremonies. At one point,
we felt like sheep being herded.
As the school year drew to a close, I asked several of my
friends how they had spent their high school time. The
responses ranged from "staring at walls" to "staring into
space." I began to question exactly what it was we had done
the last three years.
In sociology, we learned about the "hidden curriculum,"
which is what you actually learn in school. In essence, it's
not the theorems and the historical dates that are
significant, but it's how you learn them, how you go about
using them to solve problems and deal with people and the
world.
I decided that the most important thing I learned in high
school was how to discover the hidden curriculum,
understanding the system, what it wants from you and how to
get done with it and get it off your back. That might sound
defensive, but it's the best way I can think to describe it.
After considering all of this, I was starting to wonder if
this "education" I had really meant anything, and for a while
I was saying it didn't. But I had a reversal of opinion a few
weeks ago.
Riding the DART rail downtown one day, I scanned the faces
of my fellow passengers and wondered how many of them had
earned a high school degree. A couple of them appeared to be
homeless, some unemployed and a few just down-and-out. I
realized that of the dozens of people on the train, few
appeared to be graduates of any scholastic institution. At
that moment I decided that a high school diploma actually did
mean something. It served as a reward for sticking with it
and, as a result, opened an infinite number of doors.
So as my friends and I walk the stage, you might hear some
of us making cow or sheep noises, but deep down, we are very
proud of ourselves.
Chris Steffen, 18, graduated May 26. He is bound for the
University of Oklahoma in the fall.
