Friday, April 11, 2014

Learn On Me

One of the interesting things about getting older is seeing how things have changed during your lifetime.  And for your timewaster today, I will use the example of education.
When I was a lass, we did not have Middle School, we had Junior High. I don't know why they did away with that nomenclature, maybe the thought was that Junior High sounded like a 7th grade pot party, instead of an institution of learning. To quote Blazing Saddles, "And they was right!"  In the future, kids will attend Ozone Enriched Brain Enlightenment Centers.  Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose. (Which I learned in "Junior High", so there.)
In this antiquated Junior High, girls were required to take Home Ec.  (That's short for Economics.  I know.  It made no sense back then, either.)  In this class you learned two essential feminine life skills--asserting your independence and  making it on your own.  Ha! Ha!  Just kidding, girls can't do those things, we don't have a penis.  No, we learned to cook and sew. The first thing we learned to "cook" was a Grapefruit Basket. You slice a grapefruit in half, slice the peel around the edges and pull these cut edges up and tie with dental floss to make a "handle". Then sprinkle the grapefruit with brown sugar and broil it. Thereby ruining an otherwise perfectly good grapefruit. We also made a Doris Day-like apron and an ugly blouse. Mission accomplished.   To show you how affective (or effective, your choice),  Junior High was, I am today extremely independent and just fine on my own, but I can't cook or sew for shit.  Thanks, Junior Higher Education! 
I actually have a point here, other than bitching about my puberty, which is:  what is valued as necessary education changes through time.  All right, I get that.  But I confess to being stymied at the current trend to not teach cursive handwriting.  How are these future-adults supposed to sign legal documents?   Or accept Fedex packages of pot?  Maybe the Brilliant Educators of Today treat cursive the same way the Brilliant Educators of Yesteryear treated sex, you'll figure it out.  But, in my dotage, it concerns me.
I guess I could broil a grapefruit to calm myself down, but I think I'll just wait for the Fedex guy. 

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