I'm Starting My Own School! Enough of the Educational Jargon

There has been a lot of talk about schools and improving these wretched centers of education, holding teachers accountable, and whatever other pedagogical minutiae the public deems fit for scrutiny.

Well, I'm a teacher and I've been there and done that. For all this talk, I'm going to create my OWN school. It will be a happy little utopia where magical stars adorn the ceilings and dreams really can come true.

Of course, I haven't a clue how to fund such a venture or even how to work out the kinks. But, this is my dream, so if you want to shake me awake, go to your own dreamworld where I'll make you sleepwalk off a cliff. There's no perfect school or perfect world. So, let me just have this moment to imagine that I am, in fact, perfect and that I have designed the perfect school.

My dream school - my Shangri-La of educational bliss - will be a tiny one. No more crowded classrooms cramming 35 little bodies into one tiny space. No more hiding behind folders so that Johnny can pick his nose. Though I like the fact that Zoe, the child prodigy, can read her Magic Treehouse books behind the teacher's back, really, she's going to need a better challenge. Zane will no longer fall out of his chair because he can't sit still: I'll be watching. Very closely.

Little Miss Teacher here will be able to see everyone and everything. She will be omniscient. It's easy with a class of 8 students. I'll be able to flash that "teacher look" at Johnny way before he whips out his finger to spur on some mucosal damage.

No more tests. At all. Why? Because I'm tired of sweet Antonia coming up to me crying and telling me that her nightmares are keeping her up at night. How in the world am I supposed to control her test anxiety? Besides, maybe she'll finally stop drawing murderous monsters eating people and throwing flames at every living thing. These nightmares elicit numerous adventures to the counselor's office. When is she supposed to learn anything?

Oh, that's another thing. No more counselors! This isn't a shrink show. If a kid has a problem, he or she can just be put to work. They will have to make their own paper for self-expression. When they finish that, they can build their own desks. If they smash their finger with the hammer, for sure they won't be worrying about what Alfred said on the playground. No, Alfred won't be a bully if the "bulee" is thinking of other things. Besides, if I can see into Alfred's mind I'll know what he's thinking before he does. He won't want to know his consequence. Oh, how they'll appreciate the little things.

We won't have school lunches, either. The kids don't eat them anyways. They're practicing anorexics.

So, instead, everyone will have their own garden plot. There, they will grow whatever they want to eat. While they weed and carry compost each day, they'll take turns holding up the sign, "Will Work For Food." If they work hard enough, they'll indeed want their food. I'll guarantee it.

Not only that, they'll get super-efficient at it because there will be no shelter from the sun. Those so-called "shade trees" will occupy a corner parcel. The kids will surely finish before they fry. Just as the sun makes gardens grow, I believe it makes children grow. Except when it bakes their delicate skin. They should learn how to avoid that - hopefully. If they don't and their skin burns to a crisp, it'll be the perfect opportunity for a science lesson on the virtues of the aloe-vera plant.

This academic Eden will have no place for bureaucratic red tape, either. No more meetings about meetings...that are about meetings. Really, I don't want to sit in a chair while my body atrophies and I have to listen to the principal listening to himself speak. Honestly, doesn't he get tired of himself? Oh, wait. I forgot he gets paid the big bucks to hear himself talk. When I'm the director, I'll just communicate telepathically.

There will be no more paperwork. In fact, there will be a ban on all paper. No more papercuts, and notes in red ink that induce psychological scarring. Teaching already leaves you mentally fragile. Students who need work making paper on the other hand, will be exempt from this rule. See above.

Have you seen how many teacher-alcoholics there are? That laptop bag possibly holds several bottles. The kind with clear water. They might not need so much water if they didn't have papers running amok that reproduce on their own.

Need a note to write? Try those sticky notes programs on the computer.

Need to send a message? Well, since I've eliminated testing and paperwork, and you can telepathically see into students' minds, feel free to just send a psychic email. We'll call it tele-mail. It'll proabably be more effective than sending a real email that the principal always seems to misconstrue anyways.

Need to document the fact that Kara hit Erin? Call Kara's mom. It's about time she faced the fact that her kid is a twit.

A student needs to write a math problem down? They will require the use of the congealed mass of stuff at the top of their bodies and under all that lovely shaggy hair. Pencil and paper only rob their little nerve cells from making real connections. A brain on math doesn't go to waste: It gets connected.

There will be mandatory walks to learn how to identify the birds and the bees. Since some students will undoubtedly be allergic to bees, they'll learn how to run really fast when disturbing a nest. It's always better than anaphalactic shock. Oh and that "other" birds and bees topic? We'll just let the 12th graders take care of that on the bus-ride home. They do that anyways. So do older brothers and sisters. They are an incredible untapped resource.

There will be adequate funding for all activities. How can this be done? Simple. Just as the US government prints its own money when it needs it, we'll print checks and currency when we need it. Need a new computer? Sure. Here's a blank check. With all this money, teachers will have to make a minimum of $75,000 a year starting out. I know we'll have to give them about $25,000 in bonuses each year to accommodate cost-of-living increases, too. If teachers start at 7 and work until 6 (they will not be allowed to take work home...we don't want them feeling like slaves, now) at $35 per hour times 11 hours per day, that is $385 per day for 189 days. In most schools they get around $12 per hour for all their time and work (on paper it looks like $17 per hour, but many pretend that teachers don't grade papers or go in on the weekends). It may seem luxurious to drive around in a 25 year-old Ford Fiesta, but they might not be able to make it to work the next day on that bald spare tire, cracked windshield and no power-steering. They should be able to afford a Chevy Cavalier or Ford Escort that's 10 years old. Geez!

Lastly, we'll teach lots of great vocabulary. Words like vituperative, parsimonious and jurisprudence will be everyday words. I admit, Julie might get beat-up on the playground, but she'll build character, won't she? We want her to grow into adulthood knowing how to defend herself both figuratively and literally so that no one will mess with her. I certainly won't. I don't have that kind of character.

Then again, Julie might suddenly develop magical powers and convert you into an arthropod with a wave of her wand. Hopefully, you'll have a quick counter-charm.

So there you have it, folks. My utopia of a school. Pardon me while I go put people on the wait list.