Static Learning

Most people define static learning as when a person accumulates data (passively and actively) then forms “knowledge webs”.  Static learning is seen as the least effective. Without correct sources you corrupt the system.  I learn this way though it is not my choice.

My form of S.L. can be seen thusly.  Imagine a mass of every color and none, with every shape and none.  That is my mind.  Pose me a question and my mind reforms to display all my knowledge on a subject.  The info comes out of the mass as “chains and strings.”  A chain is a line of thought as string is an e.g. or memory, the line of thought.

Ask me about my past before the 7^th grade, my mind is a fissure.  Inside it are memories I buried under layers of therapy and a few tons of Paxil.  Rarely that fissure releases a fragment of my past.  I have two options, except the fragment or banish it to the hell it came from.

You ask me what makes me Max. How did I change from a person without any concept of others’ feelings, to a person who creates graphs to define people?  How did these groups get made in the first place?  How do the groups help me understand people?  Because of S.L., the only answer I can provide is I don’t know in truth, but I can let you see what my mind shows me.

Chaos becomes order, the mass twists becoming chains of infinite strands.  The chains are the mass, they reach out.  Do you see them?

Mrs. E. Whir

Disclaimer: the names and events are all true and have not been altered. None of facts are taken out of proportion save attempts at artistic descriptions.

My Memories:

I stand before the portal under the gray sky (a sign of a good day). I think of what is on the other side – asshole babies, bullies, crazies and insane people.  Blue starts to break through my gray sky.  I enter sighing in my mind.  I notice the carpet; it must be my age.  Dirt and food have fused with wool-like fiber.  It is cleaned bi-weekly yet I never see the difference.  I say hi to Mrs. Whir and take my seat.  My things and I are now affixed to the particle board.  I think to myself, Gotta clean these.  The desks tables really embody yin and yang. The school will not shell out for adaptable desks, so Mrs. Whir got these. They have a problem.  They are sticky and I am the only who that cleans them.  I see little Jake and big Liz the class’s snakes.  Jake reminds me of glaciated serpentine with water cascading down it. Liz, her scales remind me of the forest floor at Lundy Lake canyon. The day starts, my gray skies are gone I am told I was born during a lightening storm and the first time I saw the sky it was a rich gray. I feel its loss and steel myself for the blinding light that will stream through the beer bottle brown windows, and I think to myself this is gonna hurt. When the light pierces through I am blind for it is drawn to the dark spots under my eyes. On any given sunny day, without sunglasses I can’t see.

After a few weeks I grouped the students; the titles came later Babies-kids that should be grade level but aren’t and have the emotional range and capacity of an infant.  Crazies – kids that have no real problem other than any little or no self control and are self destructive.  They are put in the class because other teachers don’t want them. Insane-kids people like me with social and mental handicaps; insane students do their work constantly and well. Bullies-are kids that spend all their time yelling and fighting in class. Drummers-people that spend time banging the desk and yelling.  The groups were indirectly created by Mrs. Whir from our conversation about how kids were doing. I never told her about that I grouped the people.

            Not severely handy handicapped (N.S.H) s student that has social or mental handicaps that make it hard to function in the mainstream (normal school). You would almost never notice an N.S.H student unless they told you they were N.S.H or their quarks bubble up to the surface. Severally handicapped (S.H) students are kids that have no chance of joining the mainstream. They are often locked up in a wheel chair and look like animated corpses. I have often wondered why kids that can’t learn advanced or vocational skills are in school. The answer I often get is there is no place to put them. Once they turn eighteen or graduate they are their parents and societies problem. I am not sure how the grading system works for S.H kids.

The first time I meet her that was the first day of seventh Grade.  I thought the class was off, students yelling at random and Mrs. Whir answering the babble.  I thought to myself easy A+… I could never work and still get the highest marks. I floated through the day observing the students, Tommy Walker – loud mouth has a history with Carla Watson (crazy).  Carla Watson-crazy, loud mouth, has a spontaneous demeanor.  Basil-quiet, lazy, soft child, one of the babies.  Ken or Kenneth – closeted, super quiet, he looks like a vice was applied right after birth.  Shilo – bully baby, past a bad attitude is a worse core.  Angel – started the drummers, unknown past his status as a baby.  Rashedda -one of few NHS students not a crazy or a baby, is insane.  Jordan – has a love-hate relationship with Rashedda.  Maliek – bully, asshole, baby, crazy.

The times Mrs. Whir and I talked, we exchanged ideas on the state of the U.S and social, biological theory.  We became friends she taught me to manipulate the school system and the government programs.  We spoke about why people like us should manipulate the system.  People with problems, the insane kids with Aspbergers (I have Aspbergers), ADHD, ADD, and dyslexia, are looked down on, so to even out the world we use the system for our own needs. Mrs. Whir taught us that because we have I.E.Ps we can get government funded health care. I was shown that I am eligible for handicapped parking placards.  We even started brainstorming about school policy.

We talked about how everyone has weaknesses.  These make us what we are.  We as people hide our weakness, but since we worked in class to identify and fixing our problems and weaknesses.  I learned to see and understand them.  Because of Mrs. Whir, I was taught anyone, even me, can be pushed into doing what you need. This relationship is built on the fact that we both had the same goal.  Learning and how to learn smarter, not kill oneself for little to no reward.  For my friendship, I was awarded stewardship of all the class animals and had one of my classes switched. Becoming an I.W.E. let me expand the groups and sub-groups.  By being observant of others you can find out how good a student they are, where they will go, their vices, quirks and disabilities, thoughts on life and social structure.  I can even use some of the aforementioned groups, to find which group the average person fits.

            Time passed and I became her independent work experience assigned student (I.W.E) or T.A, because I was kicked out of art class. The teacher hated that I asked her to do her job. The class was always out of control and a group of kids threw stuff around the class room and sometimes at my head. I asked the teacher to get a handle on the class or at least make the kids that threw stuff, stop. After, a pencil sharpener hit me in the head for the fourth time I threw it back and hit them in the head. I was promptly sent out. That was how I became her I.W.E. As the I.W.E, I was steward of all the animals two snakes and two hamsters.

            As the steward I cleaned the cages and made sure they were happy and well fed. I learned a lot about how the snake’s minds work. Jake just wants to find a warm spot to curl up. He doesn’t care if you touch him. Liz, on the other hand, darts around the room and gets caught in the joint of the tables and sometimes cuts herself. If people are not careful she could kill herself. I clean the snake cage first, then the hamsters never the other way, because if the snakes smell hamster they will bite.

Unfortunately I HAD to do it the other way once since Mrs. Whir wanted to show another I.W.E how to do my job if I was out. In the end Liz bit me and coiled around my arm. The I.W.E and T.A both went nuts, and grabbed some texts books and got ready to beat Liz. At the same time, telling me to bash her into the door frame. I yelled “No, I know what to do,” but to be sure I was right I need to see Mrs. Whir. I ran outside, down to King Pool. I showed Mrs. Whir what happened and stuck Liz into the pool but kept her head out of the water. She let go, I grabbed her and placed her on the grounds outside of the pool area. Liz was taken away with a stick and I ran like a bat out of hell to clean off my bleeding hand.

The next few weeks, there was a perfect outline of Liz’s mouth, teeth, and jaw. I showed it to anyone who asked and explained how she coiled around my arm and bit me. I learned around the time the outline faded, that if I forced my hand back she would have HAD to let go of me because of how her teeth work and that her windpipe would be obstructed. Mrs. Whir told me I never had to handle the snakes again if I didn’t want to. I told her no it was my fault. I continued my job for the rest of the year, clean the snakes cage then hamsters. I was not bitten by the snakes again. I care about them still and when  Mrs. Whir and I both thought Liz and Jake had mated I would take a few eggs and raise the little buggers.

Disclaimer: due to the nature of my mind at the time I have repressed my life before the seventh grade. I will NEVER think about it, only fragments remain.

That which came before:

I sit in Mrs. Whir’s class thinking of what I did to be here and how the students were treated before I came. I thought how everything was. sixth grade I forced myself to forget the name of the teacher. I am seated and it looks like I am reading a text book. I am asleep my eyes are open, my head is up, but I am asleep. That is how everyday is. Then I am forced awake and have to listen to the white noise fused with a strange pain.

It’s a group work project I have to cut something out I am not sure what. I think of a world of rich gray. The gray turns red first a thin line. The pain of peoples’ voices all talking at once two or three at me countless more around me. Demands, demands, insult more red that’s what I hear and see. I answer as best I can, but it doesn’t stop that would be too easy. It drags on my gray becomes a vile, burning, painful red. I work trying to find my balance doing your work it makes them leave you alone. Now another woman comes in I think she is a T.A. I forced myself to forget her as well. I remember scissors. A fight with a student, me cussing at people I was suspended about nineteen times over the year. 

About two years back at King Middle School Mrs. Whir started her last year as a Special Day Class (S.D.C) teacher bound by out dated methods. The pre-made material speaks for its self. Whenever a student says something nice or smiles at the teacher s/he is given a gummy bear. However the teacher does not want to give sugary sweets to his/her students so they must distract the student and vanish the gummy bear. This is done to S.H and N.S.H students. One teacher will manage one class meaning one person teaches math, history, ECT. P.E, break, and lunches are considered special. The S.D.C classes will have their own P.E, break, and lunch away from mainstream student to keep the S.D.C students from hurting or scaring the mainstream students. Again this is done for both N.S.H and S.H. students. The students are instructed on which games they may or may not play at these times.

            N.S.H and S.H. both had the same room, The Blue Room. Outside there was a large sign proclaiming it so; the letters were the same color as the room itself. The Blue Room desks and bookshelves were sky blue as were the walls and chairs. The idea behind the color is that it would calm the students. The room had to be used as a changing room for kids that soiled themselves or ones that throw up on themselves. The Blue Room was also used for kids that had no control over them selves; kids that would scream and cry at the top of their lungs while the teacher told them how to talk to the bus driver and how to color little bunnies. The room slowly fell apart and a hole began to open. You could see outside and some people could stick there arm or head out.         

            The little yellow bus, all kids know what it means; that’s the retards bus. At King and all other schools N.S.H and S.H. kids are put on the same bus. This is still true today. The teachers of the N.S.H and S.H. kids had to have one of their number collect the kids and wait for the bus. The teacher would stand out in front of the school and have the kids line up or be put into a line for the bus. The little yellow bus came before the normal ones left but was delayed because the kids couldn’t line up or the kids weren’t put in place. So the mainstream kids got a full view of the S.D.C students. Thankfully I never had to go on the bus I live within walking distance.          

            Mrs. Whir decided to ask for a separation of N.S.H and S.H students so they would have two core teachers. She then made a system to help students get up to grade level and prepare themselves for high school. This was the first time in King’s history that a teacher did this. She forced kids to work and learn. She could whip any student into a yes Mrs. Whir, no Mrs. Whir routine in about a week. Kids who functioned at the third grade level in two to three years were grade level and ready for high school if they tried.