... A Product of my Environment ...
I had originally hoped to not have the need to touch on this subject. Acknowledging it would only fuel the fire of elitism. Even at this moment I'm not entirely sure why I'm calling this to attention, but it's been on my mind for a good year and a half, so it's about time it sees the light of day in written form. With that being said:
The town of Ridgewood has a superb school system.
If you're from Ridgewood, you're already privy to that. It's the only rational for your being raised there. There is no reason why anyone in their right mind would choose to settle in Ridgewood if they didn't have the need to educate a bustling litter. Growing up, you hear about the fact that "our" (I'll use this since the majority of people reading this are from there....for those who aren't, imagine life with tree lined streets, white picket fences, and the most beautiful high school you will most likely ever see) school system is notorious. We outdo everyone, perform higher than the average, and bask in all the glory it brings us. Our sports program is intense, our theater program is extraordinary, but most of all, we are all a gaggle of intellects. For most of my adolescence, I, like the rest of RHS kids, was disgusted with our wealth, neglected how valuable the education truly was, and scoffed at the idea that we had the best. We had money, and that's why we were famous.
Coming to college, you reap the benefits of the Ridgewood Avenue edifice. You understand them, and you appreciate them more than you ever would. I recently was asked to read a paper by a student who sat next to me. He was not my friend and barely knew me. My guess was that he was under the impression I was a good student, what with my furious note-taking skills and promptness at handing in reports. Anyway, I accepted seeing that he was in need of my assistance on account of his complete resentment towards our teacher and all out lack of effort in the class.
What I received was shocking.
Here was this person, three years my elder, handing me something I'd be hesitant to deliver a teacher in sixth grade. Had the assignment been to glorify the run on sentence, there I'd be, wielding my red pen eager to distribute the A+. Grammar problems, misspellings. NO variation in sentence length, no feasible understanding of punctuation beyond the period. How in God's good name could this person have elevated to this level? Unnoticed?!?! I tell you children, I feared for his future.
Being exposed to such an essay, I came to the conclusion that I can be nothing but appreciative for the education I was given. In my two years of college, both at separate establishments mind you, I have yet to be as challenged as I was in high school, let alone Ms. Ziemba's eighth grade class. With that being said, I have nothing but praise for the likes of Dino Eftychiou and Matt Donohue, who taught me how to write and read between the lines. For Mark Ferrari who exposed me to the beauty and relativity in mistakes, Carolyn Sloan for ingraining slope-intercept into my brain, and Rachel Daum who exposed the true meaning of dedication to myself and hundreds of others. For this, I am truly grateful.
Disclaimer: I'm fully aware that this was a pretentious rant, filled with assumptions about the majority of the high school students at Ridgewood High School. I know that not everyone is like this, but I'm willing to believe that even the "dumb" sports kids are listening to what we're being taught. I also know that there are tens of thousands of other students at other high schools who are the equivalent to this. Trust me, I know. In addition, I'm not necessarily under the impression that I am one of these so-called "intellects", but I know that they exist. Make a cup of coffee and cuddle up with a buzzing laptop and a Frank Lee Xanga entry. Argue with Dave Hancock. Watch Alec Strum on stage. Listen to Ali Stroker sing. We are an exceptional bunch, and if you're soon departing the hallways of Ridgewood High, leave knowing that your time was well spent.
I can't believe I just wrote that...