It's 9:50 AM and I stumble into my English class, toss my backpack
on the floor, flap down in my chair and fall asleep to the lullaby
of Mrs. Shoppell talking in front of the room. This scene repeats
itself 4th period of almost everyday during the school year.
That probably has to be the worst thing you can do in a class,
but sometimes it did work. I did pass every marking period except
the fourth. I usually managed to get 90% of my work done, with
a little help from Cliff's notes from time to time. It's not
that I didn't care; when I was awake I did good (I think so
anyway). My problem is that, to me, English holds all sorts
of weird stuff. The kind of boring put you to sleep stuff.
Although language is incredible and is how the human species
became "sophisticated," I don't understand why we need
to know a Shakespearean sonnet. The thing we look at when we
study a writer is the same thing we look at when we study an
artist: their form of expression. Shakespeare wrote his works
in his way. Later, his way became our way. He followed no
format, why should we? In English all we are taught is how to
do something the way it was done hundreds of years ago. How
can we express our society today in a form that explains society
200 years ago?
Therefore, in my eyes, English class teaches me to be creative
in a limited way, which is not really being creative at all.
I could be the next Shakespeare if it wasn't for the many restraints
put on literature today. Because English class was something
I could not relate to or even remotely consider relating to,
I inevitably and repeatedly fell asleep causing my failure of
the subject. The only thing I truly learned from this experience
was that one can be creative and at the same time be held back
by yesterdays standards.