Sometimes when looking at a classroom of students, all I see is a room full of zoombies. Not your typical skin-rotting, degenerate, brain-eating creatures from the grave. No, im talking about a high-tech, de-sensitivized, note-hungry mass of uninspired zoombies.
Students who stare at the chalkboard with blank eyes and open mouths. Peers who instead of taking notes, have their eyes glued to their cellphones or the Internet. Fellow classmates whose attention span is shorter than that of a goldfish. The classroom, in reality, is a lot more like a zoombie wasteland than a educational facility. A place where a few survivors, with the professor as their leader, have to fend off a mass of brain-dead zoombies.
What happens when the survivors have had enough?
Unlike in a zoombie-apocalypse film, the survivors in the classroom can´t stand up and fight. They can´t grab baseball bats and start clobbering zoombie skulls. Instead of melee weapons, all the survivors have are chalk sticks. Instead of bullets, all they can shoot at the zoombies are words. And in this movie, the protagonist (professor) is forced to keep feeding exam-information to the student-zoombies or run the risk of being eaten alive.
What happens when a recording machine can just as easily carry out the work of a professor? What happens when everytime the professor goes off topic, he is meet with a cascade of falling pencils? – If it wasn´t for those couple students that actually do CARE, most professors would feel competlely de-humanized, impotent and useless.
Now the reason im writing this reflection, is because of something I witnessed the other day in class.
I noticed how our professor, a shy man, got tired of talking about the same classroom material he always talked about. Mr. Shy decided to take a break from being a teacher, and for just 20 minutes, give his students advice about LIFE.
He didn´t lecture us. He didn´t act as a superior-being. All he did was give us, his students, good advice on the matters of LIFE. Knowledge and wisdom that he had obtained through experience. The kind of desinteristed advice a grandfather gives to his grandchildren.
How did we, the students, thank Mr. Shy for his thoughtful advice?
With cold stares. Eyes saying ¨Who the F*** do you think you are, telling us this¨
With the loud noise of dozens of pens hitting our desk.
With mouths yapping gossip left and right.
With inconsiderate yawns and laughter.
¨Respect your elders¨ they say…
And there I was. Alone, sorrounded by a crowd of inconsiderate, disrespectful, ungrateful XXI-century student-zoombies.