Primary School Capers :: essays research papers

It seems so long ago now, since the mischievous days of mid-primary school. Since the days I never did homework, and was ever so surreptitious to avoid getting caught – well trying to anyway. And the days when my little ploys of â€Å"forgetting† to have done homework, were discovered in the most humiliating of ways. There was on specific day this happened, I can vividly remember. It was grade 3, half way through primary school, a time I never contemplated high school or my future, a time when the concept of homework was a joke. Like the facetious Hyena, I was in hysterical laughter at peoples’ earnestness toward school. But life is not without karma, as I now understand the importance of homework and schooling. Today school is about â€Å"ENTER† scores and getting â€Å"A+†. Back then it was about staying away from the â€Å"Goodie, Goodies†, who would always have the homework completed for question time the next day. â€Å"Goodie, Goodies† to us little â€Å"blokes†, were usually girls in the class, or a boy we considered to be a girl – a â€Å"pussy†. Why is it that the majority of human beings have a lackadaisical approach to school? All those cliched comments like â€Å"I hate homework† or â€Å"school sucks big time man†, reinforce a wide spread inclination to not do homework. Is that what it is, or is it all about image and ego to us â€Å"blokes† – earnestly trying to avoid the dreaded label: â€Å"Goodie, Goodie†. It is therefore not half-obvious why schools such as Camberwell Grammar experience horrific cases of school bullying. Occupied with maintaining our â€Å"tough† image, we â€Å"little tackers† never took heed to these important issues. Nor did we take heed to doing homework. During grade 3, our Math homework became accustomed to rotting away at the depths of our school bags, along with the mould ridden sandwiches and three-year-old bananas. One day â€Å"judge dread† (the teacher), was going through the homework question by question†¦ â€Å"Math books open at least nights homework† in what sounded like a vultures screech. I opened at some pretend page and stayed low key, whilst the teacher mercilessly pointed her finger around the room. It was terrifying as she always seemed to sense an â€Å"evader† in the room – her eyes a radar, and her finger a laser, ready to embarrass her victim at any moment. All the â€Å"Goodie, Goodies† held their fingers in the air back at the teacher, which seemed like some tribal link between teacher and â€Å"Goodie, Goodie† – it was the â€Å"Kripendorfs Tribe† of St.