Why My Teachers Hate Me

How to annoy your teacher in your homework

My English teacher spent an entire class one day telling us how the youth of today has never worked for anything and we have no passion for anything. Our homework was to choose one of seven headings from an exam paper and write an essay on it. This is my essay.

 

A Personal Essay on the Idealism and Passions of Youth

Sitting in a small, cluttered coffee shop, I notice a young girl, of no older than eight, listening to an iPod as her mother sipped her beverage and sent the young girl amused smiles across the table. The little girl was bopping her head along with the music with a seriousness that only a child could muster.

                It was a scene that probably reminds lots of people of similar moments from way back when they were that age, me included. My childhood – though still in progress according to some people – was full of moments like the little girl in the coffee shop. It was so full of music I could almost call it one long song.

                My father was taught all about the joys and magic music contained from his own father. My grandfather was a music teacher and he played a wide array of instruments that he played at almost all times. He taught my dad how to play six instruments and how to read music but one of the most important things he ever taught my dad was that music brings everyone together.

                The lesson is simple, but incredibly true. I can’t remember a time in my life that music didn’t play a role in. my earliest memory is of when I was four or five, it was around Christmas and my family and I were hanging Christmas decorations. In the background my dad’s old record player spewed out classic Christmas songs from Elvis to John Lennon full blast. Our next-door neighbours and our neighbours across the road called over and soon the decorating was abandoned to make way for a spur of the moment ‘party’ were the grown-ups danced and the kids played.

                At every family gathering I go to there is always one cousin, aunt or uncle who pulls out a guitar or begins to play the piano or accordion. If this isn’t the case it’s because there is already a band (Consisting of an uncle, cousin, second cousin and second cousin once removed) already playing. The hush that comes over the boisterous crowd is almost eerie – until the first chord or beat is played and everyone, whether tone-deaf or not – joins in the singing.

                I recall hearing an elderly woman once remark that the youth of today have no passion for anything because everything is just handed to us. I have never disagreed with a statement as much. Everyone has a passion for something; be it art, history, gaming or reading. One example of a passion almost every youth has is music.

                Every year, millions of people from all over the world attend music festivals. Some even travel to different countries and continents to attend. I once met a girl from Australia who came all the way to Ireland to attend Oxygen because her Irish cousin told her it would be ‘Epic’.

                She camped in the cold, muddy, stranger infested field for four days and went to every act she could. By the end of the extended weekend she was covered in mud, tired, in pain and temporarily deaf in one ear from the crowds, but there was no denying the smile that lay under the thick layers of muck, grime, blood, sweat and tears. I was treated to countless retellings of how she had only three hours sleep in total, but it didn’t matter. The energy that pulsated from the crowd was enough to keep her going.

                It’s not only festivals that make teenagers look crazy as their passions take over, concerts have the same effect. Recently, tickets for a band went on sale. The sale day was Saturday but for two days before hand, there was a line of at least twenty people camping outside in the torrential rain and freezing conditions. The best bit? The actual concert is fourteen months away.

                In a slightly less news worthy tale, I sat beside the same girl in class for two years without ever saying more than hello. The first time we ever had a full conversation was when I noticed a band sticker on her book. I commented on how amazing the band was live and we spent the next forty minutes in class discussing them and their best songs. By the end of the week the teacher had split us up due to constant talking and I began to know her as one of my best friends.

                The elderly lady might not see the passion that the youth of today have, but I have witnessed it.

I got an ‘A’, but she's hated me since.