20190821.0430

I have often toyed with the idea of writing a memoir of one kind or another, of setting down in pages printed or pixelated the days and deeds of my life. Who would read such a thing is unclear to me; those who might be most interested are those involved in the events and who recall them, or who would have access to the root sources from which I would be most likely to work. Ms. 8 will have access to my personal journals at some point, presuming she will be able to read my writing--a comment I make not because "kids these days can't read cursive" but because my pen-hand has never been good (even though I cannot get anyone to tell me what, exactly, makes it bad). Why she would need a more "public" version, I am not sure--and, again, I don't know who else, save perhaps family, would want to read the damned thing.
Thinking on the idea of a memoir, though, or autobiography (and where the difference between the two is, I am not certain), the idea occurs that the major break-points in my life have largely related to schools. (Ms. 8 starting Kindergarten this week is still very much on my mind, as might be imagined.) School through fifth grade was different for me than school in sixth grade through eighth; it changed again when I went to high school, yet again when I went to college, still again when I went to graduate school. There was a perhaps subtler shift when I completed the PhD, since I had already been at work in the field where I spent the next few years, but those years still revolved around different schools and the search for work among them. The birth of Ms. 8 is, of course, a major break-point; being a parent is different than not being one. But even many of the markers with her have involved school, and I expect that quite a few more to come will do so, as well.
Such breaks help in framing narratives, of course. Periodization is perilous, admittedly, but boundaries have to be drawn for the mind to take in things even close to well. Series have volumes and books have chapters for reasons, and categories can be aids to understanding and interpretation, even as their determinations are always fraught with meanings that may not be intended but are present, nonetheless. They also serve to remind me how much of my life has been bound up with learning, and I have to wonder how many other people's lives function similarly. Given the prevalence of alumni merchandise I see on display (and I am not immune to its allure), given the alignment of people with colleges they and their families have never attended, I think it is no few.
Given that, I wonder that we do not hold teachers and schools in higher esteem, collectively. I know well that many individuals have reasons to hold formal learning in contempt, and I know that specific political entanglements always skew things. (Yes, your curriculum was and is political. It always has been. Think about who makes the decisions about what gets taught; it's not only the people in the classroom.) But for as many as trumpet the schools they attended, for as many as mark their lives through their schooling, perhaps it would make a bit more sense to be a bit more favorable towards such institutions.