Disclaimer(?): I'm not trying to sounds vain here, but this is what I've experienced from having "above 'average' intelligence" in school and the education system. Long story short, it fucks you up, or it just fucks me up, we'll see.
----
So, it's pretty common knowledge now that schools and school systems test the shit out of children every year to find out who's 'gifted and talented (GT)', to find out who has the ability for more abstract thinking than their peers, so they can put them in classes to challenge and strengthen this type of thinking. This is relatively easy to do because there are a metric shit-ton of other tests going on generally if you tell a kid they have to take a test, they'll do what you ask.
Well, this is what it was like for me 15 years ago in elementary school when more parents told their kids to sit down and shut up, as opposed to now where it's always a compromise between parent and child. Also 15 years ago when it's not like children weren't respected and spoken to on their level by their teacher, but their teachers found ways to deal with them and it was closer to 1 in 15 being on Ritalin, or something else for ADD, as opposed to 1 in 5.
This isn't about that, this is about being an 'advanced thinker' and having people acknowledge that you're not 'average.'
Yes, as a kid I was proud to learn that I was 'intelligent' enough to be put into a special class for people who understood in second grade why triangles and domes are stronger than straight lines; in a class where in fourth grade I decided to use 'queer' by it's proper dictionary definition. Only odd thing about use of 'queer' is other people in my class laughing so it showed a part of my out-of-the-loop-ness that happens every now and again because I'd only ever known queer to mean something was strange or odd and not an insult to homosexual people.
But I digress. I'm saying from a young age, what...about 8 when I started in the 'advanced' classes in second grade, I was told I was different. I was told I was smarter than my peers. This information went straight to my head, giving me my inflated ego. I mean, who at the age of 8 wouldn't be all over the fact that they were 'better' than someone else? Also, to be honest, I enjoyed the GT course for a few reasons: it got me out of regular class once a week, what we did was interesting, and I was told I was better than other people. (Aside: maybe this started my superiority complex...) Third grade I went to a different elementary school where the entire class was GT, we were doing fourth grade work. Aspects of that year sucked, not the work so much as the school, not an encouraging environment so I went back to my original elementary school. I did get to raise chicks in my third grade class, an now I'm wondering what happened to the chickens and roosters. I don't know why I never did ask that question.
I went back to my primary elementary school for my last three years and went back to a 'pull out' GT program. In middle school I was in a GT program all day, every day, except this time it was called the IBMYP- the International Baccalaureate Middle Years Program. Upper level thinking, reading, writing all the time now. I've been taught MLA citation format ever since the seventh grade started. It also introduced me to who would be in most of my classes for the next six years. Seriously, my school system didn't lock down the IB program, in high school at least, but it was fairly contained. Many people took more than one IB class so it was fairly common on the first day of class to see about 1/3 of your first period class also in your second period class. I mean, my graduating class was something around 300-350 students. Of that number I think we had about 75 get the IB diploma, and another 100 or so get one or more IB certificates for the individual IB exams they passed.
Well, I've spent much of my time chronicling my education and what it was like, kind of. We all knew each other, would cheat off of each other and had been told we were special, smart for many years. We got to read multiple banned books over the years. Hell, I think at least one of my teachers tried for everything to be banned, and not just by religious groups, but by anyone. It made for interesting reading to say the least.
As I was saying earlier, sometimes being 'smart/er' sucked. I got tired of hearing "you're too smart to be failing" or "you're smart, so if you only applied yourself..." That shit never helps, it makes it worse because I'm already irritated that I wasn't passing, I don't need to be reminded that I'm failing, generally for stupid reasons. I said I was never good in a quiet environment, and my ability to focus is a bit worse when I'm in a quiet room because then I start making my own music for entertainment instead of drifting in and out of ignoring music that's playing while I do something. Hell, I've got music playing while I write this and I'm writing alright. I was never good at tests, in testing situation because it was always unnaturally quiet. It was a forced heavy silence, like an extended pregnant silence. Since it felt uncomfortable it distracted me more than noise might have.
Showing you were smart as a kid was just as bad as failing. I have been told 'You speak good English' many times. Every time I smile and say 'thank you' while inside I respond 'you don't.' Every time. I have been called articulate many times, my cousin told me I spoke like 'white people,' but he doesn't use proper grammar or pronunciation, I think he was trying to make fun of me, not to sure though. I was a reader as a kid, I still am. I actively seek out controversial, weird or interesting things to read. When I read comics I like something that questions or critiques our culture, same goes with novels and film. I also turn around and love and appreciate much lower brow humour. I enjoy The Shawshank Redemption just as much as I enjoy Tropic Thunder or The Fifth Element. Yes, Tropic Thunder does have more to it than the explosions and the silly, but that's what people see. I like explosions and boom! I like talking and critiquing, I like getting and understanding 'smart' things and enjoying 'not-smart (?)' things.
With what I've said I still haven't quite gotten to my point. The biggest flaw in being smart if knowing that you're smart. You want to be recognized as such when you succeed and when you don't you don't want people to think too hard about it because it's salt in the wound. There are things I've realized, things I know about myself from sitting and dwelling on it. I wonder, how many people sit down and think about when they stop thinking of themselves as a kid, and actually think of themselves as an adult? I'm not talking about turning 18 or 21 and saying 'I can smoke, drink, vote and die for my country; I'm an adult.' I'm talking about how many people can actually acknowledge and articulate, to some degree, why they think of themselves now as an adult. While talking with Alex this weekend we spoke about this for a minute which drunk, but we both have come to the point in our lives where we're looking less to our parents for guidance and we both want to strike out on our own and forge our own paths. In my mind stopping and attempting to put into words a gradual change like that is a very heady thing to do, thinking and dwelling and focusing.
Being smart, intelligent, gifted has been my life in the education system. No one is more annoying than I am with myself for bad grades. When I try to explain my career plans to my family I can hear the disappointment in their voices when I say I don't want to go into science anymore. That doesn't bring me down as much as it annoys me when I say I want to work for myself, drawing my own comics. They keep trying to dissuade me thinking it's childish precociousness and it's not. They think it's about money, I'll find the money, getting money's the easy part. Working the job, the career, I really want is the hard part.
Want to know another shitty part about being smart? I know why I'm depressed almost every time. Usually it's some sort of 'I don't feel loved' bullshit. Every now and again it's about my mom being dead. Knowing I'm not at a point to forgive my father for all of his bullshit, or any of it, I know I'm not ready and I know why. He won't listen, he won't try to listen. He thinks of me as a child, I'm not a child anymore. I don't think I'm a young adult anymore, I just am an adult. I think I'm finally moving out of categorization limbo, now everyone I know needs to learn this so they don't think of me as less then I am.
See, that thought process right there, I want to be respected on my level; I want to be taken seriously on my level. Not everyone is on my level. I think ultimately that's why I drifted away from people from high school. Not just that they knew the 'old' me, but that they weren't really looking to be Adults yet, they were looking to be Young Adults. I've gone back to speaking with some of them and it seems things are leveling back out, we're reaching our next maturity level.
Jasmine P.
Showing posts with label refection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label refection. Show all posts
June 15, 2010
August 16, 2009
Touched By a Book
This is not the first nor will it be the last time that I write about how a book I've read has affected me. One of the last was A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints by Dito Montiel. Before That I wrote about how Hells Angels: The Strange and Terrible Saga by Hunter S. Thompson affected me, I think more how aspects of his writing had made me think because I know I have referenced the Wave Speech from F&L in Las Vegas.
The new book, the new story, is that of one police officer Mr. Frank Serpico. At this time his name is mostly tied to the film where Al Pacino did a fantastic job of dealing with the stress and difficulties that the real man had to deal with only a few years prior. I watched the movie and fell in love. While reading the book, some things were pulled straight from it, and the tapes that the real Serpico made during these trying times, so it was easy to transpose the film into the book. They were one in the same, but they are also wholly separate entities. The book, like any book, was able to cover more details about what Serpico had to deal with and more instances of his altruism were shared with the audience. There were more chances to see how and why he'd become disenfranchised with his job. Reading about is temper, I could only think of Pacino blowing up and just how well the actor fit the part.
There are a few things the book made me consider. First it made me consider what makes a truly good person. I like to think I'm alright, but I have severe doubts that I could do anything that Serpico did. I'd probably turn a blind eye to the corruption in the precincts. I'd probably accept my share; maybe use it, maybe save it up. I'm not sure, but I couldn't deal with the pressure he lived it, and I don't think I could deal with it for as long as he did. He had conviction that what he was doing was right, that it made a difference. It did. More than thirty years after the fact it brought to light what was going on inside precincts and just how corrupt the system is. Every yea we hear about some short comings, but they're never as extensive as what Frank Serpico's story shared with readers and viewers. They're also not as gripping, they weren't as ground breaking. It's interesting to think about just how different things are; it's also a little bit disgusting to see what was going on inside the heads of these people. The police officers, not the people they were booking. How the officers thought, that black people cried rape after it was wanted, shaking down people because of their race. The racism, it's painful to read. I know it still exists, but sometimes I like to stay in my little bubble where those things don't happen, where people look past the color of one's skin and onto the more important parts about them.
Reading the book I wanted to see again just what Frank Serpico had to deal with. His own moralistic hell. People not helping him because he was classified as a hippie. I know people brake off into groups based on their appearance, but it's still a bit bothersome. How many times he was shot at or harassed because he actually looked like he didn't belong to the NYPD, the point since he was undercover. He had to not look like a cop to be a cop. The separation between him and the other officer was insane. I'd say unreal, but it was real. We have the news papers to tell us the truth of what happened, the reporting. A lot of it's there, just waiting to be read.
Something this book did for me was make me consider about my few interactions with people of the Badge or Shield. I have apprehension every time I see a cop that I'm going to get pulled over for something, that I'm doing something wrong. I could be walking down the street to class and I wonder about a cop stopping to ask me a question. I worry about being pulled over again. After first being pulled over last year, that's what I think of. I know he's doing his job, but I was fucking terrified. I then think of when I was out in Wisconsin and I needed some stamps that some officers in the blue and white about to go and police something helped me. I asked them where I could find some stamps, they gave me a name and general direction and I found a grocery store. Something little that helped me out.
That little instance of the cops in Wisconsin helping me makes me think simple of Serpico, or a bit of the other way around. I needed help, sought it in the police, and things were fine. They didn't talk down t me; they expressed confusion, but were willing to help me on my quest for stamps. That makes me think I should be a little less apprehensive the next time I'm outside leaning against my car for a smoke. What I'm saying is that the story of Frank Serpico reminds me that cops are good. They can be trusted, and they accomplish more than pulling people over and arresting criminals. That's important, but giving the public a sense of safety ad well being by helping them on their way can be just as useful It improves the public image, and possible starts competition between the officers to perform more little good deeds.
This story kind of makes me want to try harder as a human to help my fellow person. Should I be able to help someone with a quick phone call-that would be fantastic.
Jasmine P.
The new book, the new story, is that of one police officer Mr. Frank Serpico. At this time his name is mostly tied to the film where Al Pacino did a fantastic job of dealing with the stress and difficulties that the real man had to deal with only a few years prior. I watched the movie and fell in love. While reading the book, some things were pulled straight from it, and the tapes that the real Serpico made during these trying times, so it was easy to transpose the film into the book. They were one in the same, but they are also wholly separate entities. The book, like any book, was able to cover more details about what Serpico had to deal with and more instances of his altruism were shared with the audience. There were more chances to see how and why he'd become disenfranchised with his job. Reading about is temper, I could only think of Pacino blowing up and just how well the actor fit the part.
There are a few things the book made me consider. First it made me consider what makes a truly good person. I like to think I'm alright, but I have severe doubts that I could do anything that Serpico did. I'd probably turn a blind eye to the corruption in the precincts. I'd probably accept my share; maybe use it, maybe save it up. I'm not sure, but I couldn't deal with the pressure he lived it, and I don't think I could deal with it for as long as he did. He had conviction that what he was doing was right, that it made a difference. It did. More than thirty years after the fact it brought to light what was going on inside precincts and just how corrupt the system is. Every yea we hear about some short comings, but they're never as extensive as what Frank Serpico's story shared with readers and viewers. They're also not as gripping, they weren't as ground breaking. It's interesting to think about just how different things are; it's also a little bit disgusting to see what was going on inside the heads of these people. The police officers, not the people they were booking. How the officers thought, that black people cried rape after it was wanted, shaking down people because of their race. The racism, it's painful to read. I know it still exists, but sometimes I like to stay in my little bubble where those things don't happen, where people look past the color of one's skin and onto the more important parts about them.
Reading the book I wanted to see again just what Frank Serpico had to deal with. His own moralistic hell. People not helping him because he was classified as a hippie. I know people brake off into groups based on their appearance, but it's still a bit bothersome. How many times he was shot at or harassed because he actually looked like he didn't belong to the NYPD, the point since he was undercover. He had to not look like a cop to be a cop. The separation between him and the other officer was insane. I'd say unreal, but it was real. We have the news papers to tell us the truth of what happened, the reporting. A lot of it's there, just waiting to be read.
Something this book did for me was make me consider about my few interactions with people of the Badge or Shield. I have apprehension every time I see a cop that I'm going to get pulled over for something, that I'm doing something wrong. I could be walking down the street to class and I wonder about a cop stopping to ask me a question. I worry about being pulled over again. After first being pulled over last year, that's what I think of. I know he's doing his job, but I was fucking terrified. I then think of when I was out in Wisconsin and I needed some stamps that some officers in the blue and white about to go and police something helped me. I asked them where I could find some stamps, they gave me a name and general direction and I found a grocery store. Something little that helped me out.
That little instance of the cops in Wisconsin helping me makes me think simple of Serpico, or a bit of the other way around. I needed help, sought it in the police, and things were fine. They didn't talk down t me; they expressed confusion, but were willing to help me on my quest for stamps. That makes me think I should be a little less apprehensive the next time I'm outside leaning against my car for a smoke. What I'm saying is that the story of Frank Serpico reminds me that cops are good. They can be trusted, and they accomplish more than pulling people over and arresting criminals. That's important, but giving the public a sense of safety ad well being by helping them on their way can be just as useful It improves the public image, and possible starts competition between the officers to perform more little good deeds.
This story kind of makes me want to try harder as a human to help my fellow person. Should I be able to help someone with a quick phone call-that would be fantastic.
Jasmine P.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
