No not related to the poly jc debate. 
Funny as heck.
http://waltzofwords.blogspot.com/2006/03/educate-not-indoctrinate.html
maybe the mileage covered today under sunny skies approximated that
of what I used to ride whilst commuting to my junior college in
Singapore, but I suddenly recalled the trials I underwent resisting
the principal's attempts to change me; to make me give up cycling
to school; to "reform" me into what he deemed the proper image of a
junior college student: spandex and jerseys, waist pouches, cleated
shoes and panniers were out; long pants, shirts and regular shoes
are in.
He was--and, to this present day, still is--the most rabid
anti-cyclist I have had ever met. I wonder what made him that way?
Did he experience a particularly traumatic accident with the
bicycle as a kid? Perhaps slipping off the pedals on a turn and
crunching one of his nuts on the top tube at age 7? Or perhaps he
suffers from some sort of hereditary disorder, incapable of ever
mastering the rudiments of an object in dynamic balance?
Be that as it may, his tactics in forcing his views on me were
relentless, unreasonable, even unethical. First, he called my
parents, raising the safety issues involved in cycling 6.25 miles
(10 km) of public roads each way to school, every day. My dad
basically told him that, having forked over $2000 for my mountain
bike, he is not expecting me to restrict myself to the playground,
park or neighborhood estate (by then, I had cycled as far as
Kuantan and Penang, Malaysia, during the school holidays). That
stumped him for a while.
Next, he told me it was against the rules to come into school in my
cycling attire (even though I change into school uniform
immediately after locking up my bike). Fine. I changed at the
restroom of a nearby fast food outlet before entering school
grounds. It took him a while to figure out that I wasn't cycling to
school in my uniform.
Running out of ideas, he tells me that I cannot park my bicycle in
school because its value poses a security risk. When I point to
bicycles ridden by the gardener and some of the canteen staff, he
made the exception that those were cheap bikes. Undaunted, I point
to some of the cars driven by other students: a Mazda 323; a BMW
623i; a MG convertible, as well as motorcycles: some Suzukis,
Hondas and a Ducati. Those are of a higher value and can be stolen
too. If my bike goes, they should go too. He waddles back to the
drawing board.
During this exchange, someone innocent became implicated: my
literature and General Paper teacher. You see, he cycles to school
too. Yikes. One day, he came in and ranted to the class that the
principal banned him from cycling to school because it was a form
of transport "unbecoming" of a teacher. From hence, he had to take
the bus or a cab. Wow. I wonder how many nights the principal
stayed awake to think that one up.
The most annoying straw came when the principal caught me on campus
on a Saturday in my cycling attire (he is usually not present on
Saturday). It didn't matter that there were students coming and
going in street clothes. The mere sight of spandex and a
non-motor-driven two-wheel vehicle shorted out his neurons. Yelling
that I look ridiculous, he produced his camera (??? rather
convenient, eh?), commanded me to stand still, and took several
pictures of me. The following week, he circulated my devastatingly
handsome mug shots during the staff meeting, commanding the
teachers to take note if I show up in such outfits again, and if
so, send me to detention.
How were my cycling outfits ridiculous? It was not as if my cycling
shorts were red instead of black:
Whether such a reaction was due to some sort of repressed
homoerotism or male inadequacy on his part is anybody's guess (and
I am not going to dwell further into it).
Thankfully, by this time, I had only a couple of weeks to go before
the end of the final semester.
From what I recently heard, it seems that he has been experiencing
heart problems due to his sedentary lifestyle. When you can't even
reach your toes because your protruding gut holds the equivalent of
the Exxon Valdez, you are in no position to advise others as to the
type of (active) lifestyle they should adopt.
If I allowed my spirit to be crushed by his draconian antics, and
be reformed transformed / brainwashed / indoctrinated by this bozo,
I would never have the kind of fun and adventure I had, nor the
modicum of fitness I have.
I still get carded regularly (for 18, NOT 21, mind you).
: -)
Sometimes, being pig-headed and resistant to change are not
necessarily bad traits. Undergoing the process of education does
not mean being reprogrammed into a clone or a drone.
Educators should nurture, not prune.
I'm not your *BEEP* bonsai tree.
Speaking of education, here is a quote from Professor Pradyumna S.
Chauhan, of Arcadia University, (and, indirectly, one of my
favorite authors, Sir Vidiadhar Surajprasad Naipaul):
[T]he consolations of history, thus, turns out to be especially
satisfying to the dispossessed of the earth, for time, as Naipaul
repeatedly reminds us [. . .] humbles those who once humbled
others.
Hence, my indulgence in a little schadenfreude today:
Enjoy your warfarin, Sir. I am certainly enjoying my 8% body fat
percentage. (Update: 7% now - 4/10/06)
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Thumbs up for that guy.
