March 1st, 2010

I had some really wonderful teachers throughout my school years, but I question some of the material I had to read. I often wonder if my perpetual sense of impending doom was cased by those Dick and Jane books I read as a kid. What was Dick always running from? And why did he have to be told twice? Maybe I could have handled that sort of thing had I read it as an adult, but I suspect that reading Dick and Jane in my early childhood crippled me emotionally. I can’t put my finger on where it all started to go wrong some days. The Dick and Jane theory is as good as any right now. I think if there hadn’t have been great teachers in my life things would have turned out a lot worse. I wish I had cared more about learning when I was a teenager. In the Old West teachers were allowed to hit students. Some of them even threw things at their students – a book, a stick, a shoe?. I’m glad that isn’t a practice that continued on through time, but I can’t help wondering if that could have helped me. I think if a few of my high school teachers would have thrown something at me I wanted like a really good looking guy it could have improved my receiving skills.