My Barbaric Yawp

As a Future Generator, my life is essentially one long montage of scenes reminiscent of Dead Poet’s Society, Dangerous Minds, Stand and Deliver, Mr. Holland’s Opus, and Bad Teacher.

It is in turbulent times like these that we look to our Future Generators for inspiration and meaning. I was considering what a daunting task this is for a broken and soulless shell of a man, when I remembered these lines from Whitman:

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

Having never tried it before, I attempted a barbaric yawp as I was entering the Prison of Perspicacity. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard a successful barbaric yawp, but I’m reasonably certain that wasn’t it. In fact it came out as something between a groan and a a sigh of despair.

It does make you wonder at the wisdom of entrusting the inspiration and education of our youth to middle aged people that are so embittered that they not only refer to their occupation as tending to the Pit of Despair, but no longer even try to escape.

 

Just last week another Future Generator and I were discussing how many years we had left on our sentences. Sure, there was a kind of dark humor about it and I don’t imagine that either of us meant anything by it other than the usual workplace banter, but stop and think about it for a minute.

Imagine a scenario where Future Generators didn’t have mindless nonsense heaped on them from every direction for decades at a time. Imagine what it might be like where actual effort went into improving the physical environment or implementing actual research-driven (not “data driven,” thank you) instruction. Imagine, if you can, a world where teachers aren’t considered servants of the Pillars of the Community, but rather as esteemed Pillars themselves worthy of deference and respect.

Hang on, wait! I think I can feel it! Yes! A barbaric yawp is coming! This is it! Here it is…

 

So close! I’ll keep working on it.

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