Summer School
by Jerome

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.