Oscar Luckett

It may seem unfair to expect our educators to teach a completely morally and aesthetically indifferent curriculum, but it is a goal that must be strived for to truly allow artistic and moral growth.

The collection of editors and I have sidled into the main room. We sit and splay across couches, then migrate to the carpet where my itchy nose tells me a furry dog was recently pet. 

The arguably more acute, rigorous work of editing and providing feedback has been completed. We now sit in anticipation of the approaching routine. As at the last KidSpirit Ed Board meeting, and the one before that, the final 30 minutes or so are allotted to the big picture and the abstract, accompanied always by a tray of assorted cookies. It is in this personally cherished time that we depart from minutiae to decide what topics and questions writers will tackle in future issues. It is here that we can take liberties in our exploration of greater concepts, and, most importantly, disagree. Consistently, I am surprised by the breadth of views that are on display, even within the bubble of New York City. 

These conversations are fruitful because each person can come equipped with their own opinion, a reality not viable under a universal education that teaches right from wrong.

The importance of disagreement on what is right and wrong is not limited to the moral — we edit while trying not to impose on the authors’ voices. This results in a collaboratively generated curriculum on what we consider to be the right way a piece should be written, aesthetically.1 A version of right is inevitably upheld, but at least it is reached democratically and as a result of multiple educational backgrounds.

For KidSpirit to exist and for every student to achieve the most out of their education, right and wrong answers to both aesthetic and moral questions must not be dictated and imposed by educational institutions. It may seem unfair to expect our educators to teach a completely morally and aesthetically indifferent curriculum, but it is a goal that must be strived for to truly allow artistic and moral growth.  After all, working towards our own conception of what is right and wrong is the first step in adulthood.

This ideal is not common in traditional education. While right and wrong may not exist, we must choose something to teach, and what we choose in the U.S. is typically one-sided and usually incomplete. However, even if there is an objective right from wrong, we as individuals still can’t access that universal truth. No matter which path a teacher takes, the values and morals inherently instilled by the curriculum are inescapable. And even if the content of a class is completely impartial, students necessarily learn through the lens of a teacher. While I am learning US history, I’m learning Mr. Goldberg’s US history. 

The question of right and wrong situates itself in the moral as well as aesthetic realm.  STEM subjects aside,2 there is just as much subjectivity in any given curriculum as in its morality. Just as there is no universal moral truth because even the “moral consensus” is constantly in flux depending on region or era, no one set of language rules will ever be objectively favorable over another. Considering the purpose of language is only to communicate with others, we can dismantle the concept of teaching “proper” English, codified in the Oxford English Dictionary. While there may be incorrect English, this dissolves as soon as any group begins to use it to understand each other. Formations of new dialects or slang can be summed up this way. The role of a language teacher shouldn’t be to hallow the Queen’s English as superior to other dialects, but to teach and contrast it alongside non-standard variants, noting in what instances each is appropriate.

Similarly, in the discipline of music, it is difficult to obtain a correct pedagogy because there is no clear consensus on what correct is. Often, teaching a musical education based on previous examples of “correct music” and encouraging musical innovation are two cleft concepts. Unless there is departure from the status quo, creative advancements will never be made. For example, the late 1970s New York-based No Wave movement rejected punk’s replication of rock tropes and created a wholly new experimentational art and music scene unique to New York and the period. The name itself, a sub-par pun, satirizes new wave music. Because the movement was short-lived, never reaching prominence in a zeitgeist or appearing in the curriculum of elite music schools, it is one of the few truly successful counterculture movements. Even Banksy, one of the most renowned contemporary artists hailed for his societal and capitalist critiques, has his work sold for millions at Sothebys. Banksy subverts his goal of breaking down the establishment by becoming the establishment. Paradoxically, an emerging aesthetic movement that dissents against normalcy can only be successful when it isn’t popular.

In terms of education, one of the biggest dangers of teaching a moral code can pose is to create a homogenous body politic. It is patently obvious to any pragmatist student that an individual classroom, much less an entire nation, will never reach moral consensus by censoring and filtering concepts. Still, we attempt to approach this ideal. Universalizing a moral code reduces the possibility for dissent. If every free-minded individual were to agree on even one issue, there would be no issue. However, even in miniature, this utopian ambition is unreachable. If anything, teaching a single moral code would alienate minority opinions and undermine hopes for unity by forcing schismatic thinkers underground.3 Within a system of education that accepts ambiguity in right and wrong, there is still room for homogeneity. Columbia University’s common core has struck a balance; they prescribe each student the same book, but encourage individual perspectives, which are necessary for the exercise to be worthwhile.

I think it is important to make a distinction between values themselves and the conditions and norms needed as a preface to discussing them. A necessary and often overlooked duty of the teacher is to monitor and maintain the classroom space. Common decency, as a baseline, necessarily precedes any other lesson — moral or not. This is why raising my hand and sharing were two of the first things taught to me in kindergarten. Even these moral baselines ought to be challenged at some point, when they create a stricter environment than simple civility.4

Dissent is not purely theoretically beneficial. This paper itself is the product of the democratic KidSpirit. Because no stylistic or moral perspective is idolized or given more weight than another, dissent can be voiced in the form of constructive criticism and engaging debate. The input I receive from fellow editors is both a direct product of each editor’s individual background and a microcosm of a dissenting society.  

Because a society and the individuals that make it up will always be inextricably linked, individual growth and advancement will always cause societal progress. And what better way to encourage growth than to let the individual have unfettered, unmitigated, and unmanaged rights to explore? An individual who approaches the world with questions, confusion, and introspection is an individual who engages more with the world around them; individual thinking makes the individual better. While there is a good argument to be made for learning for the sake of learning, what I learn in school becomes even more interesting to me after I see that it is applicable in the real world.

It is hard to find a more terrifying and fascinating application of right and wrong than in artificial intelligence. Self-aware robots are the next student, eagerly awaiting any input of moral code. While it is difficult to quantify moral decisions into metrics understandable by a computer, we may be forced to complete this Sisyphean task in the upcoming decade with the introduction of self-driving cars. One of the questions being weighed is who the car will opt to kill in an emergency: the passenger or the pedestrian? Even though a computerized education seems like an easy solution to teacher bias, we would only be replacing it with coder bias. In the foreseeable future, the answer to thought experiments will be chosen and rendered concrete by coders. Coders from a small, select pool will become educators of an entire new generation, human and not. Even worse, until more sophisticated AI is ubiquitous, computers will be given only a set of examples of where and how they should act, rather than a fully rounded moral compass that would take each unique instance as an independent moral dilemma.

Several questions must be raised. Will morals ever become interpretable to a computer? How will they be decided, and by whom? Will there be dissent against the technology’s new role in morality? Will the code permutate until a robot uprising kills us all? I can’t claim to know the answer to any of these, so for now I’ll choose to let my thought experiments remain as experiments, debated in the NYC Ed Board living room.

In a KidSpirit Big Question response, teen writer Oscar Luckett dives into whether schools should teach students what is right and wrong, correct and incorrect, true and false. 

Should Education Teach Right from Wrong?

Abdullah Sayed

Though I live in the middle of a multicultural metropolis, I find it hard to imagine that any of my non-Muslim friends are truly familiar with the faith to which I attribute so much of my personal development. 

Though I live in the middle of the multicultural metropolis of the world, Queens, I find it hard to imagine that any of my non-Muslim friends are truly familiar with the faith to which I attribute so much of my personal development. 

I do not blame any of them, though. How can I? In the 21st century, Islamic radicalism is the bogeyman that captivates the public’s imagination. As such, it seems every mention of Islam in the public space that is not Islamophobic is instead about how Islam is a religion of peace. Well-intentioned though they may be, everyone is so concerned about disassociating Islam from violence that no one actually knows what Islam is about. Americans should not just identify Islam as a religion of peace, but also as a doctrine of humility and discipline. 

Five times a day, hundreds of millions of Muslims around the world lower their heads to the ground and intone “Glory be to God, the Most High.” This part of my daily prayers is one of my favorite, and it embodies one of the most important concepts of Islam: humility.  

Although it is enshrined in our faith, simply living as a Muslim and as the son of immigrants has been very humbling. When my parents and siblings first touched down in the United States, they had a far more difficult time living in an environment that was far less accommodating for them.  My brother and sister had to be constantly vigilant of eating food that was haram, or prohibited. They faced intense isolation at school for their background. I am thus extremely conscious of the benefits that I enjoy, which my predecessors did not. When traversing the city, thanks to the multitude of gyro carts, I can always be sure that I will find something that is halal, or permissible, to eat. I can always be sure that I will be able to find a mosque nearby to stay on top of my prayers. I can always be sure of my place in the community and of the friends who support me. Not only does this make me grateful, but it also puts me in the debt of all those who have made it possible. It could be Ibrahim, the Egyptian immigrant who makes some of the best chicken over rice on Madison, the policymakers responsible for closing school on Eid, or the immigrants who founded all those storefront mosques. This position of indebtedness has made giving back one of my strongest aspirations. I wish to give back to my family, to the Muslim community, and to the city that raised me. 

One way in which I have been able to give back is the story of my high school’s newly established Muslim Students’ Association (MSA). MSAs on both high school and college campuses throughout North America form the backbone of Muslim-American youth communities. The lack of an MSA, something which is otherwise commonplace at most high schools, was a big disappointment to me in freshman year. This was in addition to the fact that my new school, unlike all the other schools I had attended previously, did not have a visible Bengali or even Muslim population. Up until then, I had almost always seen people that looked like me, ate like me and prayed like me amongst my classmates, and thus I began to feel social anxiety in this new environment. Eventually I found my own niche within the school but I retained a lingering feeling that I had to change myself in order to fit into the school rather than be accommodated for who I was right from the beginning. Initially I dismissed it as run-of-the-mill teen angst. 

Everything changed in junior year. For the first time, I and several other Muslim students in different grades became aware of each other. We were a small group, but that was all we needed to realize that our collective experiences had not been unique to any single one of us. Each of us felt vindicated by the others. For the first time in three years of high school, I felt like certain parts of my life didn’t need to be repressed, that I could be accepted for everything I stood for. Surrounding yourself with people from a variety of backgrounds is important, but perhaps equally important is being close to those who can relate with you. It was acting on this realization that I and several other students, both Muslim and non-Muslim, decided to create the first ever MSA at our high school. Overcoming resistance from the administration and other students, we were able to create the MSA just as the Islamic month of Ramadan started. It is my hope that the Muslim freshmen of the class of 2024, 2025, and beyond will have a bit of an easier time than I did. I am proud to say that this is the first major way in which I have given back to the community and I hope to get the chance to do a lot more in the future. 

The humility that Islam demands manifests itself in other ways as well. As a Muslim, I am encouraged to constantly question myself. Upon hearing this, an observer may conclude that such a self-critical mindset would result in insecurity, but in fact, the opposite is true. Self-reflection is the tool a Muslim should use to improve themselves. However much one may reflect upon themselves, self-improvement cannot be attained without another innate feature of the Islamic faith: discipline. 

The month of Ramadan is perhaps one of the greatest conjunctions of these teachings. As I write this piece, Ramadan 2019 has come and gone. Most non-Muslims likely associate Ramadan with fasting and they are not wrong. All healthy Muslims are instructed to restrict themselves from drinking, eating, smoking or engaging in sexual activities from a couple hours before sunrise to sunset for every day of the month. It is not simply a physical deprivation, however. During Ramadan, we try to turn our attention to God more than ever. It is a time when Muslims strive to both do good deeds and avoid sin. Recently, a non-Muslim friend of mine told me that he wished his traditional culture had something analogous to Ramadan and even suggested that it may have made him a better person. Personally, I believe that the discipline of Ramadan has in fact shaped me as a person. It could be burning the midnight oil to finish a paper or resisting my desire to talk back to my parents, but I constantly find myself relying on a strength and determination that comes from my identity as a Muslim. 

To say that Islam has influenced my personal development is not the whole truth. I learned to practice my faith as the son of immigrants in New York City, surrounded by people who know very little about my religion. It is in these circumstances that I have tried to embrace humility, to regularly reflect upon my actions and motivations, and to practice discipline. 

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, teen writer Abdullah Sayed shares how his Muslim faith has taught him humility, self-reflection, and discipline, values essential to his education.

The Crescent and I

Raavee Tripathi

In the fifth grade, as we were all discovering our freedom as pre-teens, my class decided to explore a problem that took this freedom away – child labor.

“Raavee!” my mum shouts, again. She wants me to carry all the shopping bags from the car, and I respond typically: “Mom, you know child labor for kids below 14 is illegal in India!”

Child labor is a pair of words used, quite often, rather flippantly without an understanding of the true magnitude of the situation. It is something we are all familiar with, and yet something we know nothing about. Currently, there are estimated to be 152 million child laborers around the world, which almost equates to the population of Russia in 2018. 

My school offers a citizenship program. In this program, every class picks a problem that really bothers them and attempts to make a difference in the situation. In the fifth grade, as we were all discovering our freedom as pre-teens, we decided to explore a problem that took this freedom away – child labor. 

We began making posters and spreading awareness about the issue. But our teachers quickly realized that we didn’t truly understand what child labour was actually like. They saw a gap between what we were identifying as solutions (they were superficial) and what could actually be done to change the situation. Hence, the next day, it was announced that the class would be going on the “The Agarbatti Experience.”

In India, the majority of child laborers work in fields or in fireworks factories or roll incense sticks. The Agarbatti (“incense stick”) Experience was an attempt at replicating conditions of child laborers who roll incense sticks. We had to sit in a cramped, dark tent for around six hours, rolling agarbattis without much space to move. We had to “earn” water, a toilet break, and even food by rolling a preset amount of incense sticks. Even then, by the time you managed to somehow roll a certain amount of incense sticks, a very short break was allowed and the food was just semi-dry chapattis and onion with salt. 

Our parents knew what was going to happen at school, and they did agree to let us go ahead with this experience. I think our parents believed that the experience would do a lot to shift our “privileged” mindsets. Some children had asthma, and though they chose to sit through the experience, they always had the option of stepping out. 

Truth be told, the first day, I was very excited. The entire idea of not having classes the entire day, and instead, rolling clay (I figured rolling incense sticks would be like that) appealed to me a lot. Sadly, my excitement quickly fizzled when I found it extremely difficult to roll even one proper incense stick. Our teachers were harsh to us – they told us we had to ensure a certain quality of incense sticks for them to even be counted.  The first day, I was unable to roll more than thirty incense sticks and could only earn a glass of water. 

I went home, took a long bath to get the incense stick clay off my hands, ate some food, and slept. I could feel the clay on my hands, even though I had washed them thoroughly. My legs were entirely cramped due to the small space in which we had to sit. I was not looking forward to the next day, and yet, I was determined to do better and earn my food. I realize that a similar determination, but with a much greater magnitude due to their having no other alternative, spurs child laborers to submit to such harsh conditions – just to earn some money, so they can feed their families. 

The next day, I was more prepared. I knew the technique and I was determined, so somehow, I managed to roll 350 incense sticks – just enough to earn my food. 

I remember rolling my 350th incense stick and feeling extremely irritated when the supervisor shouted at me to wait until they could come and count them. It took forever, and my stomach was already preparing itself for the food. My knee was cramped and standing up was painful, but so was the hunger. I carefully placed my incense sticks out in the sun and went to stand in line for the food. When asked how many chapatis I wanted, my friend advised me to take as many as were being given, because we never knew if we would get more. 

I have always been a picky eater, fussing about how much or what kind of  food I have been given. However, I wolfed down the three chapattis and onions like it was one of the best meals I’ve ever had. 

That moment, after I finished my last chapatti and licked the salt off my fingers, I understood the true magnitude of what our teachers were trying to show us. I suddenly felt like someone who got lucky – lucky enough to have my parents buy my clothes, feed me, even send me to school, while children all over the world could only dream of such a life, or even a simpler one. 

It is said that childhood is the happiest phase of anyone’s life, but I cannot imagine having to work in even harsher conditions, just to put food on the table. Articles regarding child labor have become so common that they seem hardly worth a glance. Though rectifying the situation may seem out of reach, we can do more than ignore it; purchasing things from ethically sourced brands and spreading awareness about this problem would go a long way (or at least a step further than just looking away). 

However, what we experienced was less harsh.Most child laborers in India work in firework factories, and lethal accidents are a very common occurrence. These children are often injured in accidents or fall severely ill due to exposure to chemicals.  Of course, we can never experience such a situation, where children risk their lives purely out of desperation. The class decided to sell our incense sticks in order to raise funds for NGOs trying to resolve this problem. That experience was life-changing, and I doubt anyone involved will ever forget it.

The experience made me realize the enormous privileges I have, and how I am being empowered by all this knowledge to go on and empower others. I realized that my education is not just a necessity in order to be successful but to connect me to the world – and enable me to be the change I want to see in the world. 

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Raavee Tripathi reflects on a school trip that exposed her to the truth about child labor in India.

Child’s Play and Work

Olivia Bailey

In her book Grit, Angela Duckworth explores hard work’s importance to success, and just how much it outweighs talent. 

Think back to the last time you saw something something particularly impressive. Maybe it was at a concert, or in an art museum, or in a book of poetry. How would you explain the musician’s or artist’s or poet’s ability to create something that incredible? 

Would your mind first go to the countless hours that person must have spent practicing and practicing and practicing? Would you first think of the rejection letters and the feeling of being stuck in twelfth chair for the third year in a row? Or would you be quick to attribute their mastery to pure talent, and brush it off as something you could never do?

It’s likely that you, like most anyone else, would dismiss the first chair viola’s skill as “talent.” However, according to Angela Duckworth, talent doesn’t really have all that much to do with it. In her book Grit, Duckworth explores hard work’s importance to success, and just how much it outweighs talent. She then goes on to illustrate the studies that she performed to come to this conclusion, and how one might be able to develop “grit.” She talks about setting large and small goals, the difference between growth and fixed mindsets, and outside factors that affect our grit. The most important message that she gets across, however, is that effort is exponentially more important to success than talent is. 

Duckworth’s theory, in plainest terms, is this:
effort x talent = skill
effort x skill = achievement

In other words:
talent x effort2 = achievement

Grit is a well-written, inspirational book, and I must say I quite enjoyed it. The writing is conversational, given that it’s a nonfiction book that is, at its heart, a 277-page summary and analysis of an experiment. Duckworth maintains a no-nonsense tone that doesn’t give readers room to doubt anything she’s saying. You will also feel like she’s talking directly to you, every now and then, because yes, you do that, and yes, you’d rather you didn’t. Depending on how you rate on her “Grit Scale,” a test she engineered to figure out just how gritty a person is, reading Grit might make you feel quite confident in yourself, or it might make you feel like you’re doing a lot of things wrong. It’s okay if it makes you feel like you’re messing up, though, because Duckworth didn’t write Grit to make people who’ve been told they’re talented feel bad about themselves, and she certainly didn’t write it to make people feel like grit was some unachievable goal. No, Grit is written in a way that makes you tear yourself apart and analyze your determination to do things, and then sits you down with those pieces and explains, slowly and comprehensively, how to go about fixing yourself up. 

Duckworth starts off with a story about how she had been told, all throughout her childhood, that she would never be a genius. She has no argument with this. She doesn’t believe herself to be a genius, if genius means someone who’s just good at things without having to try. But in 2013, Duckworth was offered a MacArthur Fellowship that is only given to “geniuses.” She ends the book with the same story, and after reading 277 pages about the importance of perseverance, the story hits harder. Duckworth was able to achieve this not by being a natural genius, but by sitting down and working, ceaselessly and with everything she had. 

In Grit, Duckworth tells the reader that there are two things to take into account when trying to accomplish something: our potential and what we do with that potential. It’s easy to put more emphasis on potential, especially since we’ve been told it’s so important from such a young age. The moment “gifted and talented” programs start appearing, we’re taught to believe that some people will just be better at things than we are. Obviously, we say to ourselves, “gifted and talented” kids will score higher on tests and generally do better in school than the other kids, because they have a higher potential to do so. Except that’s not true. It doesn’t matter if you have an aptitude for math or not. If you take the time to do all your homework, ask questions when you’re confused, take notes, and study as much as you can, you will be good at math. All it takes is some perseverance. 

Maintaining that perseverance, however, can be harder than it sounds. You need to really want to accomplish your goal. But if you really, really love the viola, then you don’t need to have an aptitude for reading sheet music and you don’t need to get all the fingerings right on the first try. All it takes to work your way up to that dream-like first chair is practice — a lot of practice, and a lot of failures to go along with it. 

I would rate Grit a full five out of five stars. It has good, well-paced writing and an authoritative tone that keeps you reading and quickly breaks down any guilt-driven opposition you might have to what Duckworth says. It’s also a fiercely inspirational book. I had to take several breaks from reading to reevaluate my life choices, and I’ve already started implementing some of Duckworth’s strategies into my life. They’re very helpful to keep in mind right now, with finals quickly approaching. I’m not a particularly gritty person (I scored a 3.7 out of 5 on the scale), and I’m proud to say that Duckworth has taught me a lot about what I need to do to change that. 

I sincerely hope you’re going to click off of this article having decided to read Grit. It will change the way you look at your life, probably permanently. You’ll no longer look at things you want to be good at and think “I wish.” You’ll start thinking “okay, how can I get there?” or  “how can I get better?” And once you’ve changed the mentality that you started to develop way back in kindergarten when Johnny got into the gifted and talented program and you didn’t  (or maybe you’re Johnny and you never learned how to work hard, because you were told you didn’t need to), you’ll be able to accomplish just about anything. Then, there’s only one thing you can do. You sit down, and you get to work. You’ll fail a lot, and you’ll get stuck. But it will all be worth it for the applause that washes over you that much more intensely when you’re in first chair. 

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Olivia Bailey gives her take on Angela Duckworth's book Grit. 

First Chair: A Review of Grit

Peiyao Yu

The words in my books 
Cry out, as loudly as they can:
Some argue that God exists, 
And some prove the opposite;
Some honor my nation, some deflate it.
Their voices are so clamorous
That they overwhelm my own.

The numbers on my transcripts
Tell me who I am. 
Like Greek epic poets,
They tell a tale of this “I”
— A hero, or a boring villager.
They offer me a crown of flowers,
But its fragrance suffocates me.

So when the school bell frees me
Into your nuanced shades of green,
When your coarse whisper
Is the only thing I can hear,
The timetables making up my skeleton
Dissolve in the sunlight;
I soften into a cloud.

This self I put together collapses
As the inner self reblooms, 
Quiet, still, and imperturbable. Like you.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Peiyao Yu seeks respite from the pressures of studying, classes, and grades in the calmness of nature.

Letter to a Tree

Global Youth Voices

In this Collaborative Feature, three pairs of KidSpirit writers from around the world met over video chat for one-on-one conversations about education in their communities. Each pair discussed their school environments, the goals of education, extracurricular learning, and other topics central to their experiences.

When people ask me to describe my discussion late that night, I feel the need to tell it as a story. And so I begin:

I had rehearsed it a dozen times in my head. Ask the questions and make some small talk. That was all I had to do. So why were my insides churning as though they were at an amusement park, sitting on a rollercoaster? A voice broke me out of my thoughts and I saw a girl on the other side of the screen, calling out to me and introducing herself as Lucy Liversidge, the 16-year-old I would be interviewing that night. I smiled shakily, trying to collect myself as about a dozen thoughts raced through my head. I managed to get a meek “hello” out of my mouth before Lucy, evidently noticing my discomfort, helped us climb the ladder onto the ship to adventure.

Our first stop on this sea of discussion was our school life. Now Lucy is three years older than I, so she had already learned the ropes and how to handle the wild seas while in high school, whereas I was a first-time sailor, finding it difficult to even hoist the sails to catch a breeze. But I slowly advanced, and began to see the similarities between my dinghy and her ship. We talked about how in our countries, academics and grades are highly valued, but in our lives it is the skills we learn that truly matter. Skills like communication, teamwork and creativity. Skills we were both using while sailing on that sea.

Lucy then steered our ship into a talk about our interests. So I started talking to her about my dreams of becoming a director or writer. Surprisingly, I found that she too had an interest in story writing, particularly non-fiction. It seemed I’d found a treasure chest when I wasn’t even trying. Our similarities extended further into a talk about wealth disparity. As a girl living in the developing country of Pakistan, I had witnessed the poverty, child labor, and overall difference in the social classes that made up our country. The pain of not knowing how to help them and at the same time knowing how unjustly this “social hierarchy” functioned was something Lucy and I bonded over. 

After our discussion I felt odd. I felt as though I had seen only a fragment of the world and Lucy had somehow unveiled the rest. So how would I describe my discussion with Lucy that night? It was as fascinating as learning to sail.

In the midst of my standardized test preparation, I was surprised to hear of the mandatory SATs Pakistani high schoolers take in their senior year. The ACT, the SAT, the ISEE all seemed like such Western bureaucracy, misplaced in a country that struggles with primary school education. It was at this point in my conversation with Iman that I realized I had approached our time together as I would expect most Americans to: I anticipated Iman’s discussion of Pakistan’s low literacy rate and modest enrollment with little regard to this American hypocrisy. While the United States boasts ascendancy, 32 million Americans are illiterate and 1.2 million American high school students drop out each year. It is all too American to critique and lament the shortcomings of other nations, particularly those still developing, while ignoring domestic issues and falsifying supremacy. 

Iman and I are both the exceptions in our respective homelands. Like Iman, I attend a private school with well-trained teachers and an emphasis on our futures. We both play the piano, participate in club gatherings, and study Shakespeare. The two of us have high hopes for ourselves; we expect to pursue at least a tertiary education and go on to work fulfilling jobs, start families, run businesses; the list goes on. For the millions of teenagers without their high school diplomas in America and in Pakistan, however, life can be constricting, and the list may stop short. Government corruption and a lack of investment in education seem a mutual influence. In both countries, childhood education is required by federal law, yet a lack of state schools and severe underfunding undermine such legislation and isolate quality education to the rich neighborhoods of Lahore, Islamabad, Southern California, and New England, thereby perpetuating a growing class divide. The education systems of Pakistan and the United States, separated by East and West, third world and first world, are joined in their mutual need of drastic reform. 

With my point being made, it is also only logical to recognize the great differences  between Pakastani and American dialogue around education, access to schooling, and even female existence. In this country, white females are nearly as likely to complete the same level of  education as their male counterparts in the same socioeconomic demographic. In my schooling, I will likely not be pressed to choose marriage instead. The American freedom granted to my own demographic is one Pakistan cannot afford Iman. Devestating child labor keeps millions of primary-aged Pakastani children out of school each day. Gendered prioritization of young boys’ education prevents female autonomy and professionalism. The United States allocates 7.3% of its GDP to education, while Pakistan spends only 2.4% on schools. There are inhibiting variations in state-wide access and cultural precedents, particularly for lower-income and female students in Pakistan, yet with a multiple of the Pakistani education budget in hand and “freedom” at the core of America’s dogma, the shortcomings of American education make it difficult to believe that mine is a country committed to equal opportunity in schools and out. 

Iman and I spoke for nearly an hour on Pakistani and American education in English. Our conversation ranged from what literature our English classes have had in common to what  selective colleges we hope to attend to what our standardized testing preparation will look like. 

Though everyday and mindless to us, the brand of education Iman and I subscribe to, the kind focusing on cultivating the individual, analyzing 17th century scripts, and recognizing the importance of playing a musical instrument, is not the education granted to millions of equally deserving peers across my country and across hers. Iman’s perfect English, in particular, has given her the opportunity to interact with a teen-run online magazine based in New York City. What we have, and appreciate, is an education so far removed from what is traditional - or state run. I had a great time speaking with Iman and recognize the insight we both shared, but it is clear we are both, to some degree, incapable of offering all the details, the big picture. I look forward to filling in the holes in our stories. 

I was a little late to my call with Archie, but luckily we were able to get comfortable right away. We started talking about writing and editing for KidSpirit, and I learned that a Beijing branch existed — it struck me again just how awesome it was that I had the opportunity to connect with teens literally all over the world.

I got to hear a very different perspective about education within the first minute of the call. Archie goes to public school, while I go to a private school here in India. I learned that private schools are a new concept in China, and that the best schools are public schools, something that I can't even imagine myself saying about India.

Public schools in India are under equipped and over capacity. However, from what I heard, those in China provide opportunity for children who want to study, while private schools are for the spoiled, rich kids. I always thought India's public schools weren't great because of our huge population — but China has a larger population, and here I was talking to someone who really likes public education there!

Otherwise, our experiences in school sounded pretty similar and relatable. Both of us have good relationships with our teachers; we consider them to be friends! Both of our schools are places which give us room to be  creative and encourage original thinking, rather than just reading out of the textbook, by giving us access to resources such as student led clubs, where we discuss and learn about something everyone is interested in.

The importance of the Gaokao test seemed crazy to me — that single test determines what a lot of people are going to do all through their lives. However, I soon realized that we have a similar test, the JEE, in India. Archie and I talked about how just one test shouldn't be able to determine what we do in our lives, and Archie emphasized the value of an all-rounded assessment. With that, we started talking about the very purpose of education and schooling.

We know that not everything we learn in school is going to be useful in our future, but we still see its purpose because we’re viewing school as a sandbox to life. Archie put it eloquently: Education is learning how to learn. We're going to be learning throughout our lives, and in these years we're learning how to do it — education is  a framework for how we're going to live our lives. It teaches us about how we should approach problems we face in life, and how we should react when things just don’t seem to make sense. The way we see it, most things we’re going through in school are slowly building up our experience and will influence how we make decisions in the future.

Education, a way of changing one’s fate and social status, has been heatedly debated by educators across the world. Having similar situations in his mother country, my Indian pal Samarth and I had a scholarly conversation upon the merits and defects of our current educational system. In exchanging ideas, I formulated a more comprehensive understanding in terms of the positive and negative effects of exam-oriented education in nurturing younger generations.

To begin with, exam-oriented education fails to nurture talents or bring out creativity among students. Both Samarth and I recognize that conformity, the opposite of creativity, is inevitably pervasive in our educational systems, as standardized testing is arguably the only feasible way of assessing millions of students in a densely populated nation. When testing becomes the only means by which students can obtain education, students become exam-taking machines. Traditional Chinese students devote their entire senior year to heavy memorization to ensure their best performance on the three-day Gaokao exam, during which they almost lose their sense of self and anything else apart from exam preparation. The same thing happens in India. According to Samarth, Indian senior students also have heavy test preparations, like monthly exams in all subjects. It is like students must take the SAT test every month. That would be extremely tiresome! Most importantly, “hell-like” exam preparation leaves no space for creativity and individuality, which ought to be cultivated from adolescence. Thus, the exam-oriented educational system, which derives from the difficulty of accurately assessing a massive student population, is ultimately futile in nurturing talented and creative people for the nation. 

Secondly, educational resources are unfairly allotted across social strata. While exam-oriented education is meant to shape students into test-taking machines, private schools and international educational programs provide relatively looser and more liberal environments for students in India. According to Samarth, students in these nice private schools can spend their free time in a variety of club activities, playing sports, or extending their academic interests through doing research with teachers. They have access to a variety of courses taught in English, provided that their parents can pay the expensive tuition. While it’s acknowledged that education is a basic human right, the cost of a liberal arts education functions as an invisible barrier that excludes the economically underprivileged, enforcing the existing social gap by providing students with different forms of education: one that promotes scrupulousness, one that nurtures creativity. Kids in the exam system won’t necessarily fail in the future, but they may have a more competitive experience on their path towards success than those who are born at the top economically. 

Aside from disapproving of the current educational system, we also agree that there is a certain merit of exam-oriented education. While the knowledge memorized during exam preparation may not last forever, fading away in the edges of our memory along with fleeting days, the spirit of perseverance and mental strength developed through heavy exam preparation will benefit a person throughout their entire lifetime, enabling them to overcome the difficulties or setbacks they may face in the future. In a year’s preparation for Zhongkao, a counterpart of the Gaokao for middle school students, I personally faced many setbacks and disappointments. While agonizing in the short run, these experiences ultimately taught me an important lesson on maintaining courage and overcoming challenges in the future.

I truly believe that education should not be oriented merely towards scoring higher on standardized exams. The right to education should be made equally accessible to everyone on this planet, regardless of social and economic status. Even if this idea is optimistic, potential social and educational reformers like us may keep moving it forward. 

It was a unique opportunity to be able to chat with another student about their educational experience. I was privileged to speak with Samantha, a seventh grader from Minnesota. While our schools are quite different, we realized we had more in common than we originally thought. We learned our beliefs about education are similar.  Education should empower you, as a learner, to make a lasting impact on the community you live in. Education is a spark that allows me to create change in my school, community, and state.

Samantha and I both believe that education gives you the tools to become the person you are meant to be. Samantha thinks the purpose of education is to teach us fundamental skills and help prepare us for what comes after graduation. To her, a good education should challenge students, and help them discover themselves as individuals. Samantha hopes that education will help her navigate the real world and become a well-rounded and caring person. 

While I attend a small school in rural Kentucky, Samantha attends a large public school. Her day is organized much like mine. We both have required courses we must complete. Samantha’s typical school day consists of her taking core and encore classes. The core classes are math, English, science, and social studies; her encore classes are art, spanish, cooking, and health. 

Bullying seems to be a bigger problem in her community than in mine. The difference in our school population is one reason for this. However, Samantha did say the majority of the problem is cyberbullying. This is not the experience that I have. There is some cyberbullying in my area, but traditional bullying is the norm. We both agreed that teachers try to help and talk to students, but it usually doesn’t relieve the situation.  She stated, “Sometimes the teachers can’t pinpoint where the bullying started, so it usually just causes more drama.” I agree that when it isn’t obvious who the bully is, it typically makes it worse.  All students end up getting another lecture on bullying without getting to the root of the problem. At my school, there is a policy in the handbook, but it is rarely followed except in serious cases.                    

If Samantha could change one thing about education, she would have teachers trained to resolve conflicts. She said a lot of older teachers don’t understand cyberbullying and other methods of bullying because they didn’t grow up with it. Samantha and I agree that education has changed a great deal from when our parents and grandparents were in school. While technology has created new and creative ways to bully, it has also created new opportunities for learning. We think teachers are more creative and entertaining than they were even a couple of years ago. Teachers seem more aware and use technology to enhance each student’s individual learning experience. 

Our communities stress the importance of different subjects. Samatha stated that her favorite subject is math and that her school favors STEM. Samantha has two communities that are important to her. In Minnesota, she lives in a community where most people feel as though liberal arts and philosophy are the most important subjects; yet, in her Indian community, mathematics and science are seen as the most important. 

Samantha’s school prepares students for major tests like the ACT/SAT, but does not prepare them for what comes after the test. When it comes to testing, most people focus on teaching for the standardized testing and not the student. This is a commonality between our schools. The test must be taken seriously, but we believe the individual goals of students should be important as well. 

Samantha has great relationships with her teachers. She likes her gifted and talented  teacher because she gives Samantha opportunities she would not usually get. Her school tries to push creativity and uniqueness, but also critical thinking. I have had a similar experience. A wonderful teacher asked me to be a part of the KidSpirit Editorial Board at my school. My involvement in art and other creative paths was encouraged by a teacher who believed in me. 

Talking to Samantha was great; we both had a lot to say! Samantha and I concluded  that the most important parts of our education have been great teaching and inspirational teachers. Samantha and I agreed that our geography has influenced some parts of our education, but not everything. Central to both of our schools is the opportunity to make an impact and strive to be a better version of “who you will become” than when you first entered the school building. 

It was the starting question that sparked a conversation filled with questions and understanding between Annalee and me. The starting question that sparked a change in my mindset.

To make some formal introductions, Annalee is a soon-to-be ninth grader from rural Kentucky, with approximately 400 kids in her middle school. I am a soon-to-be seventh grader from suburban Minnesota. My middle school has over 1,000 kids. For two hours, I related to and empathized with Annalee about something that we are both deeply passionate about: the education system.

At first glance, Annalee and I may not seem alike, but we've managed to discover our similarities. We are both too friendly and too trusting. We are both looked upon as weird, expressive geeks. And we are still trying to find our own unique selves. But, the core connection between us was our steady belief in reforming the school system for all Americans.

Education is not a privilege, but a right in the United States. Education is used to get into a good college, get a well-paying job, and overall lead a stress-free and financially secure life. According to teachers, prosperous businessmen, and my own family, success requires loads of work ethic (a set of values regarding the importance of work) for a rewarding life. But does education and work ethic equate to success? Annalee and I probed this subject.

Because education is a tool, we wondered how successful people used this tool. Steve Jobs, Ellen DeGeneres, and Dave Thomas (the founder of Wendy’s) are or were all billionaires and extremely successful by society’s standards, but they didn’t finish college. Obviously, college is still an integral aspect of a secure life, but these successful entrepreneurs are proof that the education curriculum isn’t the key. So this means that good education doesn’t teach you how to be successful, rather it emphasizes the following traits: critical thinking, curiosity, and creativity. But, we believe that the American school system doesn’t stress these traits.

Annalee and I agreed that both the teaching methods and curriculum aren't teaching us these traits. They are not emphasizing curiosity, critical thinking, or creativity. Instead, they teach us to get A’s on tests and to fill out worksheets. They teach us to be robots, not functioning humans that must one day contribute to society’s welfare. The sheer amount of standardized testing and hours preparing for these exams in the classroom only serves as proof. Curriculums need to be modified and include newer aspects that teach traits like flexibility, self-reliance, and adaptability.

But it isn’t just the lack of personal skills being taught. Annalee and I have both felt like we have been let down by the school system in other areas as well. The curriculum is inadequate, as it doesn’t teach you how to proactively think on your own, engage in the real world, or learn enough about careers and jobs. The work etiquette that needs to be taught was never taught, as students are being lost in their careers. 

So how can we stress these work standards and raise the curriculum bar? We believe that the curriculum has to expand and allow different lessons that can teach children a different work ethic. We agreed that the curriculum needs to be taught in an engaging way, where students will think on their own and gain independence. 

With these reforms, we can seal the cracks in our fractured education system. 

In a KidSpirit Collaborative Feature, teen writers from California, Minnesota, Kentucky, India, Pakistan, and China meet to discuss education in their communities.

Connect to Learn

Hannah Grove

Thou whose lips flower in earnest,
Thou who lingers in contemplation sublime,
Spiritual historian whose eternal success,
Transcends the manacles of ephemeral time.
What tragedy graces thy soul’s complex shape,
Romance fractured or prohibited growth?
With reflection, was thy death truly in Italy?
Or home in England, or possibly both?
What were thy dreams that never escaped?
What was thy wish for thy legacy?

What great revelation was thy life’s sacrifice?
What ending were thou planning, how would thou bless?
Thou knew the world better than most, yet thou lies
Silent, in the ground in garlands dressed.
What proverb of being did thou grasp, so sure,
Or what enigma did thou have yet to quell?
Spoken words undying, though those unspoken we mourn,
Chained within thy skeletal breast, evermore.
Thy wisdom silent be, and not a soul to tell
How thy hoped of life lived, and passions unborn.

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; yet still thine early thoughts speak on;
Not to the sensual ear, but to the soul, unfettered
Though thou sweetly sleeps, preach to the dawn.
Fair youth, in the spring of thy life, thou canst not leave
Thine utterings not often twinged by the death of budding affairs;
The climax of life never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
The autumnal life, thou shall forever miss,
For youth shall not wilt with love in midair!

Though life pricked thy skin and thou bled
Thy heart never bid thy love adieu;
And, thy cognizant artist, thy persisted unwearied;
Unrelenting devotion, thine senses unsubdued.
Thou grasped love! Oh undying love!
Forever warm and still pulsing, and abiding joy!
Forever charitable with affection and tongue,
And forever stained by the outcome thereof.
Yet the words on thy lips are never to be cloyed,
By the ache of thy throat and sorrows unsung.

Oh undying love, oh death without heed,
Thy excitement in life still so widely sought.
Preserved while blooming, thy youth never seceded,
And thy own silent form provokes collective new thought.
Ages shall benefit from thou dying in youth;
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thy thoughts shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Forever preserved as thou say'st:
“All truthful is beautiful, all beauty is truth;”
This is what thou knew on earth, and all ye need to know.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Hannah Grove pays homage to an English poet.

An Ode to an English Poet

Jenna Plank

I sit on the soft green grass,
and listen to the bugs
and the birds chirp and buzz.
I stare out at the setting sun,
I feel the hot, humid shine on my face.

I listen to kids yell and play,
and wish I was little again,
so I could do the same.

I watch the leaves blow off in the breeze,
and glance out at the colorful horizon,
with the fluffy buttermilk clouds.

I look at the newly cut grass,
run my hand through
the softness of it,
and breathe in the sweet smell of fall.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Jenna Plank savors the autumnal sensations of fall.

Beautiful Day

Lyla Cheary

In the United States, 43.1 million people live in poverty. This a huge problem. Because of poverty, school systems in the United States are shutting down. But there is hope. 

There are people who are aware of this issue and are willing to donate their time to fix this problem. Two of these people include Emily Pilloton and Matthew Miller, who are the creators and teachers featured in If You Build It.

If You Build It, directed by Patrick Creadon, is a documentary about Emily Pilloton and Matthew Miller’s shop class in Bertie County High School in North Carolina. Bertie County High School is, according to students, boring and uninspiring. The high school gives no motivation to the kids, and the kids talk about leaving the town. 

If You Build It is about Emily, Matthew, and a class of 11th graders, who conduct a project they name Studio H. Studio H stands for a number of things, some of which are: heart, health, happiness, and helpfulness. The students’ goal is to improve their town in North Carolina in one year. Emily and Matt teach the shop class so the high schoolers learn how to change their environment and make their community a better place. They design and build very unique chicken coops, models of architecture, and drawings of structures. Studio H builds all these things with NO funding from the school board. The teachers never get paid a penny, but still teach the hands-on experience to the high schoolers. Emily and Matt try very hard to get paid for teaching their shop class. Even though they fight hard with the school board, the board does not budge.

At the beginning of the movie, the Superintendent of Bertie County High School hires Emily and Matthew to be the Studio H teachers. Very soon after, the superintendent is fired because the school board does not want big changes being made. Emily and Matthew beg the school board to let them stay, and the board eventually agrees but says that they will not give them funding for the project. This is what starts the challenge for Emily and Matt.

The documentary constantly keeps you on the edge of your seat, because you are always wondering what is going to happen next or if the students can finish the projects and how they will turn out.

If You Build It has a lot of interesting features, such as the way the filmmakers introduce the characters. The high schoolers talk about themselves and about their experiences before and after they finish the projects. The director, Patrick Creadon, directed the documentary in a way that reminded me of reality shows. He lets the students have their moments to talk to the camera alone and express their feelings, emotions, and thoughts. I liked this because it gives you a moment to listen to the students’ true thoughts and feelings, and because the viewer gets to understand what it is like to be part of the project.

The filmmakers do not reveal the final project until the last quarter of the movie. The farmers' market, the final project, is like the finish line. Since the main project is at the end, it helps to sum up the movie and to tell the viewer that goals were accomplished. Studio H does not come up with the farmers' market randomly; the community votes for it. They think that a building for the farmers' market will be helpful because the grocery store charges high prices, since there is nowhere else to buy food. The community also says that it will encourage people to start their own businesses. 

It was interesting to see if Studio H could finish the project with the time restraints and lack of funding. While the structure is in progress, it looks a bit messy. To me, it looked like a lot of wooden planks nailed together. After the market is done, it looks modern and well-crafted. It looks simple, without the look of someone trying too hard.

If You Build It is an entertaining documentary. It is inspiring to activists, architects, and artists. It inspires one to help poorer communities. The movie shows how building community structures can help bring a community together. This movie is probably intended for activists, builders, artists, and people who like to learn about problems around the world (and, hopefully, can help fix them). While this movie is inspiring and entertaining, it also teaches the viewer about Bertie County in North Carolina.

I would give this documentary a four out of five star rating. I gave it this rating because the transition to each different project in the movie took some time and was a bit too slow for me. In between each project, the students would talk a little bit about their lives. Although the interviews had great significance to the documentary, I felt as if the interviews went on for too long. Otherwise, the movie was interesting. I got to watch two caring, kind people use their abilities to help a community that’s living in poverty.

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Lyla Cheary gives her take on the documentary If You Build It.

A Review of If You Build It

Elijah Olson

Drawings, doodles, thoughts, caboodles, 
Let my hand and pen run astray, 
Let the giants fly, and the flower die 
And your soul wither and decay. 
Let a light of happiness 
Pierce the dark 
And the bunnies happily hop and play, 
Ink and paper, run amok, 
Don't wear a smock, 
Let the stains wash your sins away. 
For the kingdom of my mind, 

Well, within? All I can say it is a 
Neverending din. 

Trumpets of philosophy, oboes of song and poem, 
And for drawing and writing, I think I'll pick trombone. 
Let my orchestral head blair a cacophony 
Very strange and crazy with many things to fear 
Yet a chest of gold lies within, 
everything more clear. 

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Eli Olson lets his imagination run wild. 

Mind

Michael Deschenes

I don’t quite remember when I learned how to read, or even who taught me, but I do remember how I learned. 

I’d sit down next to a parent, or a sibling, or a grandparent, or a teacher, and watch them read, absorbing the mannerisms that seemed to define that very act. When I was a toddler, I would scan lines of text and flip pages with a complete lack of comprehension, simply hoping to emulate the readers in my life. After looking on for some years, I began to try out letters, words, phrases — to test the literary waters. My vocabulary and confidence slowly grew as I moved from The Cat in the Hat to Diary of a Wimpy Kid to Harry Potter. Just as I had watched the readers around me when I was younger, my teachers now watched and guided me, correcting me when I misread or misunderstood. By second or third grade, I had become the reader I am today, voracious yet indecisive, often juggling more books than convenient.

I came to realize, at some point in elementary or middle school, that many don’t have the same experience of learning to read as I did, for reasons socioeconomic, familial, or even geographic in nature. The unfortunate absence of reading in some of my peers’ early lives seemed an even more disappointing reflection of more general problems within our education system. On a more personal level, I tried to imagine my life without the role models that sprung from the books of my youth: Will of the Ranger’s Apprentice series, Hermione, Percy Jackson, and so on. I couldn’t. Education, which should be the great equalizer, seemed to have fallen short for some students. I decided action was necessary, but the proper avenue for that action was unclear. 

When I stumbled upon Reading Partners right before my freshman year of high school, I knew I had found the best option for me. Reading Partners, a national literacy organization, operates mostly in underfunded elementary schools in cities across the United States, coordinating individualized tutoring sessions for struggling students in kindergarten through third grade. Tutors for Reading Partners are provided with abundant resources and guided through each session by an intuitive lesson plan, which allows them to focus on building positive relationships with their students while directing educational growth. I began tutoring for Reading Partners that year and have continued to do so nearly every week since.

Each individual Reading Partners tutoring session mirrors, at least in a general sense, the experience I had while learning to read. To begin, the student and tutor pick out a book for the tutor to read. Known as the “read aloud” portion, this part of the lesson gives both the tutor an opportunity to demonstrate what a proficient reader looks like and the student a chance to share that experience of reading, and with a book of their choice at that. In these minutes, I am miraculously now the model for another budding reader, completing an educational cycle. Not only is the reciprocal demonstration of reading, in my mind, the logical extension of everyone’s early years of sitting by others, but teaching another student also offers me the chance to understand both just how similar my student and I are and the role others have played in my education. Where older people in my life gently guided my reading and oration, I now can do the same for another student. It is important to remember that the latter half of that sequence is directly predicated on the first. My reading ability — just as is true for nearly all other abilities of mine — is the product of my interactions with many formal and informal instructors. 

The next part of the tutoring session focuses on the direct instruction and then implementation of reading fundamentals or strategies. After reading to my student for 10 minutes, I might work through vowel pairs or sentence structure or inference patterns, providing methods for them to be more comfortable in moving through a more advanced text than ones with which they are already familiar. 

The hour ends with the student reading a book that corresponds to their reading level. For some students, this part of the session is the best, a moment for them to show their confidence and advance their learning; for others, it can be terrifying, a moment during which they must face an activity with which they have struggled in the past. Through it all, every student in Reading Partners continues to grow. Particularly with students I have worked with over months or even the entire school year, witnessing this reading process is an experience incomparable with any other. 

In my three years with Reading Partners, I have not guaranteed the educational success of all of its students, revolutionized the act of teaching, or even ensured the reading success of any individual student. But I have been able to offer an improved reading ability to a few, which is gradual change but change nonetheless. I have come to understand the measured instruction and patience that must accompany teaching. I have learned about the intricacies of the mind of the beginning reader. Most importantly, I have seen the blossoming of countless young students, students who will undoubtedly continue to learn, become more confident readers, and ultimately sit down with someone else and show them the great wonder of reading. 

In a KidSpirit Helping Hands article, teen writer Michael Deschenes shares how his experience tutoring with Reading Partners, a national literacy organization, changed his outlook on education.

Reading for Me, Reading for Others

Yifei Wang

“Normal” just means that when we grow older and more mature, we’ll still have a dream to fight for, only we will be more willing to work with other people.

Somewhere in my lonesome junior school years, a saying found its way to me by accident, or should I say, in a very common and orderly way. It jumped out at me while I was reading a book whose name I have already forgotten. 

Since I got most of my shallow knowledge from books, it didn’t arouse much excitement at that time. It was a phrase like this: “One significant sign of adulthood is realizing that you are normal and being happy about it.” There are many different ways of understanding this sentence. Grown-ups say that someday, we will settle down in some safe and warm place and be grateful for what we already have. The statement seems to support their idea. “Normal,” in their opinion, is settling down without dreams. However, dreams should always be pursued. “Normal” just means that when we grow older and more mature, we’ll still have a dream to fight for, only we will be more willing to work with other people. 

In those young and vulnerable years of our early childhood, we sometimes viewed ourselves as the majestic leader of this society, the chosen one, and we would, undoubtedly, contribute good to this world. Nothing ordinary could possibly make us excited. And the word “normal” was probably one of the least desirable prospects for our future. Being “normal” was like being one of those bystanders in the middle of a world war who can only cry and scream and wait for their savior. We grow up believing that it is possible to change the world by relying purely on our own abilities. Our dreams reflected this way of thinking. On one of the Dream-of-the-Future cards we were asked to write in kindergarten, my childish handwriting shows that I used to dream of becoming a princess who had magical powers and protected the world from being gobbled up by vicious aliens.  

When we were in the early stage of our lives, our dreams usually consisted of a grand setting, like the earth, and a series of serious problems, like aliens trying to take over the planet, and a hero — us. We grew up in a world filled with Spiderman, the Flash, and Captain America. All these heroes gave us the idea we could save the planet all on our own. We got ideas from unrealistic sources and added the elements we read or saw to our own dreams, perfecting them on the stage of fantasy. A friend of mine once told me that she got the idea to join an ancient tribe in the jungle after reading several books on the subject, and that her greatest desire at that time was to ride a tiger through the jungle while wearing a dress made of leaves. This phenomenon reveals that we do not have a clear sense of our true abilities.

As time quickly slipped away, we gave up trying to be the one to save the human race and began thinking about how we could make this race a better one after reaching adolescence. Now, in this stage, there are a lot more options for us to choose from, such as becoming a scientist, doctor, or an artist. In our teenage years, we try to change the world for the better, instead of saving it from some unearthly creature. The cheers and applause for our unique success often haunt us in our dreams. We want success for ourselves and hope that society will remember us and us alone for our dedication. Our dreams are often marred by our desperate desires to succeed. Normal means dull and unexciting, and if we were normal, we would just be nobodies in society. People wouldn’t know our names and we would not stand out in any way, and that’s just terrifying.

Nevertheless, schools and teachers seem to care more about our grades than our dreams. Our parents and other grown-ups don’t usually take our dreams seriously, either. Some say they are just fantasies for children. Children are somehow blind to all the evils and difficulties in this world, and their arrogance and optimism are the clear marks of their age. Some say that things will change a lot when we grow up, and that we will see things in a different way then.  

What kind of different way? According to some novels that are quite popular nowadays, a different way means to lower your expectations of yourself. You have to realize that you are of average intelligence, average-looking, and a whole lot of other averages. And the truth is, an average person like you and me just isn’t likely to be rich and famous in the future. At least, this is what they say you are supposed to realize on your long and troublesome path of growing up. 

In my opinion, however, the process of growing up should be a process of trying to fulfil our dreams. Beethoven loved music from a very young age. To the young Beethoven, music was a dream full of wonderful things that could bring him happiness and warmth. When he grew up, though he suffered from poor hearing and disease, his passion for music remained. For adult Beethoven, music was no longer a kind of comforting fantasy, but the source of willpower that helped him to stay strong. He practiced playing the piano with shocking diligence, and ideas came along with hard work. He was able to add melodies to accompany his personal struggle and unforgettable experiences, mixing them into a wonderful symphony. Adulthood means more ideas, more energy, and more opportunity to make our dreams come true. The only difference is that when we grow up, we will be more willing to cooperate. We will be willing to discuss a matter with other people, perfecting our own ideas by listening to other people’s opinions. Growing up does not mean settling down without a dream and passion. This state of life is not what I call “normal.” It would be laziness and cowardice. 

The “normal” in the sentence “One significant sign of adulthood is realizing that you are normal and being happy about it” should mean moving into adulthood and no longer wanting the credit for ourselves. One day, it will occur to us that we all belong to one society and every one of us is essential to it. We will begin to realize other people’s brilliance and will be happy to work alongside them, giving each other support. “Normal” should mean that someday, as adults, we will be fully intact within this society, absorbing energy and warmth from it to support our own career, just like every other living soul. “Normal” should mean that when we are full of knowledge and wisdom, we will not brag or show off. Instead, we will appreciate what other people have done for us. For without this society and every living soul in it, it would be impossible for us to achieve anything. 

For everything we have accomplished, we owe some credit to others. We can easily detect this point from the Harry Potter series. Although Harry was the “Chosen One” and the only person who had ever survived Voldemort’s killing curse, his power was nothing against Voldemort himself and his army of Death Eaters. It was Ron and Hermione and thousands of others who put their faith in Harry and helped him along the way that let him finally overcome Voldemort. Voldemort took advantage of those who worked for him instead of viewing them as his friends. He took pride in the fact that he had no friends and didn’t need any. He didn’t cherish the value of cooperation and in the end suffered an ultimate failure. 

We once had to do a music project in school. Having been in a chorus for three years and loving to sing, I was hoping that this would be a chance for me to win glory. However, after I decided to share my idea with my friends and discuss it, we managed to come up with tons of interesting thoughts. In the end, we displayed our project as a group and won first prize. As I stood on the stage among my friends, I suddenly understood the true meaning of “normal.”

 “Normal” doesn’t mean living without a dream, it means that we will be more willing to cooperate with other people and learn from others. Adulthood is when our perspective will be more diverse because we are willing to work with other people and learn from others. By no means do words like laziness and cowardice associate themselves with the most important state in life, adulthood. There will be difficulties and obstacles on the path of growth, but it doesn’t matter. Tomorrow, we will run faster, stretch our arms a little longer, and someday, we will reach our goal alongside thousands of people who have supported and are still supporting us. 

In a KidSpirit Feature article, teen writer Yifei Wang delves into coming of age and aspiring to pursue a "normal" adulthood.

The Redefinition of “Normal”

Keesha Joseph

All aboard the wonderful train
Of pure drain and anguish
Filled with the delicious pain
For which one would never dare to wish.
Numbers? Too cruel!
Words? What a drag!
We’re too cool for school —
We don’t need such a lag.
Education is a mess
Just like my rock of a head.
I just want something less,
Something other than dread.

Teachers, we’re sorry, it’s not you who are the issue —
We just think education gives us the need for a tissue.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Keesha Joseph offers a student's perspectives on the worries and woes of education. 

Class Perspective

Emilija Krysén

Our cultural upbringing shapes the narratives we tell and greatly influences our views of the world. 

Growing up as a third culture kid, I often struggled with this part of my identity. A third culture kid is someone who has never lived in the places that they come from. For context, my mother comes from Lithuania and my father comes from Sweden. We lived in Russia for seven and a half years before moving to Switzerland, where we have resided since. 

The countries I’m from and the places I’ve lived always seemed like completely unrelated entities that I couldn’t connect to in the way that others around me seemed to. I have never particularly felt a patriotic streak for any country. Moving has given me a wider view of the world but has also taken away the feeling of home. When people ask me where home is, my mind goes blank. Is home where my house is? Is home where my parents are from? Is it where I live? Is it where I used to live? I couldn’t tell you. To switch between countries is a gift my parents gave me that I will always be grateful for, but it is also a double-edged sword. I have freedom that many can only dream of, but I also have the ever-present loss of a place that I have never known. Until recently, this was not something that greatly troubled me. However, a recent experience has transformed the way I feel about my background and other people who have similar stories. 

Currently, I attend an international school. When we first moved, we were unsure of our plans and how long we were going to stay in Switzerland, so this path was an easier alternative to moving often, growing accustomed to a new school system, and then having to start all over again. As with any case, moving can present its challenges, especially when you’re presented with a completely different culture. Instead of one, I was bombarded with many diverse cultures. This is perhaps the most exciting part of human interaction: exchanging stories and beliefs. Learning from one another and growing as people. 

I am extremely grateful for the way I have grown up, because now, I can say without hesitation that I truly consider schooling and education as one of the largest influences on my intellectual and personal growth. I have met people from all over the world, people of different nationalities, cultural backgrounds, religious beliefs, and personal values. It is almost unbelievable that people that are so different have found their way to a single place. People that would otherwise likely not have crossed paths are now connected by a common experience. 

Recently, my English teacher brought us outside. Even though we’re teenagers, this simple but wondrous concept had us racked with anticipation as if we had gone back to kindergarten. As instructed, we stood in a line as she gave us a brief, vague description of the activity for the class. This activity, called the privilege walk, is a relatively common activity in the United States but never one I thought we would do or that would so drastically affect the way that I view my peers. Starting shoulder to shoulder, the teacher reads out statements. Depending on whether it applied to us or not, we moved forwards or backwards. In the end, we saw where people were in relation to each other, which was meant to illustrate who was the most privileged (the most at the front and the least at the back). 

Everyone was brave and respectful in a way that is a rare experience among high school students. As the activity went on, people felt more comfortable opening up. It was an incredible sight when everyone looked around at the end, the looks of surprise on people’s faces as they saw where everyone stood, themselves included. I did not realize how many assumptions I had made about my classmates. I don’t think most of us do. It is very easy to distance ourselves from others, especially if we don’t truly make the effort to take the time to get to know them or if they’re far away. People tend to get caught up in first impressions or gossip that they hear about others, so they subconsciously put them in boxes. Therefore, we sometimes forget that we are all connected. 

Personally, the most surprising part of this for me was the newfound connection I found with other students, which comes back to shared experiences. It was mostly the negative ones that struck me. The girls who stood forward for sexual harassment. The kids who acknowledged a substance abuse problem in their family. The people who shared their mental health or development issues. A large portion of the class who said that they barely see their parents. I don’t know if this necessarily should have been the most astonishing part for me. Everyone has their own struggles, even if they don’t show them. You can never guess what people are struggling with; most people will not show their true feelings because it is the way they have been conditioned: to look out for themselves and bottle up their feelings. This means it can be draining to trust people and open up. However, opening up and showing empathy are the only ways we will ever truly understand each other. 

The reason this activity was so successful was the level of vulnerability it required. If no one is honest, you don’t get a clear picture. Once someone is brave enough to speak up, other people gain courage as well. It’s a snowball effect. Especially in a very academically driven school, we often neglect personal relationships in favour of academic success, meaning that we do not have the same connection with our peers as students in some other schools might. The success of this activity and the new trust that was born from it was due to the bravery and vulnerability of our small community. 

As a society, we build walls using bricks made out of labels we assign to one another. We then use these walls to block out other people and to block in ourselves. If there is one thing that I have learned from my multicultural background, it is that despite our differences, at the end of the day emotions are a universal human experience. From the privilege walk, I have changed my perspective about myself and how my experiences have influenced the person I have become. My background has gifted me a larger understanding of the world. When I think of the type of person I want to be and what I wish to accomplish, I am glad to have my life to look back on as a source of wisdom. As cliché as it sounds, no matter our cultural or religious backgrounds, we are one people. 

The privilege walk helped me overcome the wall between myself and my classmates to walk the road towards empathy. In a world so divided, we have to stand together despite prejudice and bias in order to fight injustice. We all have voices. We all have ears. We only have to learn how to use them in balance. 

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, teen writer Emilija Krysen shares how a school activity taught her to appreciate her international education and her background as a third culture kid.

My Multicultural Upbringing

It’s odd, as if I may be able to move them
But shouldn’t

I feel that same squirm right below my ankles
But this time it’s different, as if these
Feet might have a purpose in life

I feel my ankles get stuffed right through
And I should move everything so I
Should not fall

Soon enough I feel a joint
Grow big that allows me to run or
Walk very fast

I feel so very
Unstuffed as if I have the
Power to live
But different from before

I feel a jolt of red straw blood as I
Get hay stuffed in place of my heart

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Lyla Cheary brings a fall mascot to life.

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