“Respublica Armenia” newspaper (March 23, 2005)
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“Skipping that failed”
I have heard about skipping classes many, many times. All the people who have ever skipped say that they always exercise a kind of excitement either in the corridor or at the school exit. There is always a fear of being caught by the teacher; the heart always thumps, the conscience always tells you to turn back, to listen to the teacher.
At the same time there comes the childish self-persuasion not to listen to the conscience and run away, go home because everything is going to be fine.
I want to feel all these things myself and one day I had the opportunity to try.
“We are skipping today, guys,” said Ann.
“Which class?” Karen asked.
“Russian.”
“Are you sure everybody’s ready to do this? Last time we had problems with some student refusing to join the whole class.”
“This time is for sure.”
“What shall we do with the register?” I asked.
“I will take it to the teachers’ room.”
“And what will you say?”
“I will say something, don’t worry.”
“Like what?”
“Well…”
“We better leave the register here, in the classroom. We can hide it in the book case.”
“Then, who will come to take the register?”
“I will, I have some studies later.”
The bell rang. It was the history class. Although it was warm in the classroom, we had already put on our coats, hats and gloves, not to lose time on dressing during the break. I forgot to tell you that our rucksacks were ready too. We passed forty minutes dressed in warm clothes waiting for the bell. At last…It took us a second to leave. There were still some students who were getting ready. We were encouraging them to hurry. Finally everyone was ready. We were standing at the staircase- the most dangerous place from where the teacher could see us easily. We decided to leave in small groups.
At last we were out, in the schoolyard. We hurried not to leave place for hesitation, but…
“And if they get really angry with us?”
“I am leaving, you do what you want,” I said angrily.
Who could ever imagine that there would be those ready to decline at the very last moment. Everyone went back, and I had nothing left to do but follow the rest.
This happens every day. I decide to skip but always change my mind. I cannot explain this. But I will run away tomorrow for sure, even alone. I hope I would not change my
mind.
I have heard about skipping classes many, many times. All the people who have ever skipped say that they always exercise a kind of excitement either in the corridor or at the school exit. There is always a fear of being caught by the teacher; the heart always thumps, the conscience always tells you to turn back, to listen to the teacher.
At the same time there comes the childish self-persuasion not to listen to the conscience and run away, go home because everything is going to be fine.
I want to feel all these things myself and one day I had the opportunity to try.
“We are skipping today, guys,” said Ann.
“Which class?” Karen asked.
“Russian.”
“Are you sure everybody’s ready to do this? Last time we had problems with some student refusing to join the whole class.”
“This time is for sure.”
“What shall we do with the register?” I asked.
“I will take it to the teachers’ room.”
“And what will you say?”
“I will say something, don’t worry.”
“Like what?”
“Well…”
“We better leave the register here, in the classroom. We can hide it in the book case.”
“Then, who will come to take the register?”
“I will, I have some studies later.”
The bell rang. It was the history class. Although it was warm in the classroom, we had already put on our coats, hats and gloves, not to lose time on dressing during the break. I forgot to tell you that our rucksacks were ready too. We passed forty minutes dressed in warm clothes waiting for the bell. At last…It took us a second to leave. There were still some students who were getting ready. We were encouraging them to hurry. Finally everyone was ready. We were standing at the staircase- the most dangerous place from where the teacher could see us easily. We decided to leave in small groups.
At last we were out, in the schoolyard. We hurried not to leave place for hesitation, but…
“And if they get really angry with us?”
“I am leaving, you do what you want,” I said angrily.
Who could ever imagine that there would be those ready to decline at the very last moment. Everyone went back, and I had nothing left to do but follow the rest.
This happens every day. I decide to skip but always change my mind. I cannot explain this. But I will run away tomorrow for sure, even alone. I hope I would not change my
mind.
Narineh Daneghyan
13 years old
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“It's cold in school”
"Ella wake up, you'll be late."
I opened my eyes reluctantly.
It would have been better not to open my eyes. It was very dark outside. If it is dark outside then in the school it will be dark and cold too, because sunshine never gets there.
I looked at the clock, it was 8:30 a.m. (take into consideration that I usually wake up at 1:00 p.m., and you will understand that it was too early).
"Mom, look what disgusting weather."
"Enough! Want it or not you must go to school. Your teacher called and asked you to come to school today because officials are coming."
"OK."
I quickly dressed and went outside. I hardly reached the school, because I was half- asleep. It turned out that our clock was slow and I arrived for the second class. When I came in, the headmaster got angry with me.
"Why are you late?"
I muttered something and went into the classroom. There were six students at class, all with red noses. Soon my nose was red too. I apologized to my teacher for being late and sat on my cold chair. My teacher came in with a thermometer in her hands and said:
"It's eight degrees in the school, children. If officials come, you tell them that, you tell the truth." I was cold before that but when I knew that it was eight degrees in the school I began to shiver more vigorously.
"It's cold," I said.
"Finally you noticed," said the student who was sitting on a soft pillow in order to be less cold.
When I saw her I remembered the pillow under my head. My duvet, my warm soft pillow. I was in heaven before my hand touched the cold table. My dreams about pillow and duvet disappeared at once. I took my pen and began to write the teacher's task, which I couldn't understand.
It seemed that cold had got to my gray cells too.
"Ella wake up, you'll be late."
I opened my eyes reluctantly.
It would have been better not to open my eyes. It was very dark outside. If it is dark outside then in the school it will be dark and cold too, because sunshine never gets there.
I looked at the clock, it was 8:30 a.m. (take into consideration that I usually wake up at 1:00 p.m., and you will understand that it was too early).
"Mom, look what disgusting weather."
"Enough! Want it or not you must go to school. Your teacher called and asked you to come to school today because officials are coming."
"OK."
I quickly dressed and went outside. I hardly reached the school, because I was half- asleep. It turned out that our clock was slow and I arrived for the second class. When I came in, the headmaster got angry with me.
"Why are you late?"
I muttered something and went into the classroom. There were six students at class, all with red noses. Soon my nose was red too. I apologized to my teacher for being late and sat on my cold chair. My teacher came in with a thermometer in her hands and said:
"It's eight degrees in the school, children. If officials come, you tell them that, you tell the truth." I was cold before that but when I knew that it was eight degrees in the school I began to shiver more vigorously.
"It's cold," I said.
"Finally you noticed," said the student who was sitting on a soft pillow in order to be less cold.
When I saw her I remembered the pillow under my head. My duvet, my warm soft pillow. I was in heaven before my hand touched the cold table. My dreams about pillow and duvet disappeared at once. I took my pen and began to write the teacher's task, which I couldn't understand.
It seemed that cold had got to my gray cells too.
Eleonora Harutyunyan
15 years old
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“True Confession”
My classmate Jirayr was not ready for the geography lesson and the teacher asked him that day.
“Miss Vardanyan, I am not ready.”
“What? Aren’t you ready?”
And saying this she came up to Jirayr, turned his head twice and he appeared on the last desk.
I wasn’t ready either, but I preferred to keep silence.
My classmate Jirayr was not ready for the geography lesson and the teacher asked him that day.
“Miss Vardanyan, I am not ready.”
“What? Aren’t you ready?”
And saying this she came up to Jirayr, turned his head twice and he appeared on the last desk.
I wasn’t ready either, but I preferred to keep silence.
Astghik Yeghiazaryan
13 years old
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“The New Student”
When I was in the sixth grade a new boy came to our class. He was an excellent student. There were just two students who studied well and the bad students teased them. A very shameful incident happened this fall. One of the boys took my scarf, wrapped it over the new student’s head and lipsticked him. They wouldn’t let him go. At that moment we saw some of our teachers. They blamed the bullies for ill behavior and the new student for cowardice. I hoped the new student would learn a lesson and would become strong and resolute. But he has started imitating others’ ways: he does not learn well any more, he comes to school unprepared- without books, copybooks, and pens.
He will come to classes and say:
“Mariam, do you have a spare pen, copybook or book?”
Besides, he has become a kind of a carrier for the bullies: he obediently takes their rucksacks and even suggests that I also take some. I refuse to help him.
“You cannot protect yourself, why do you want me to be this way too?”
When I was in the sixth grade a new boy came to our class. He was an excellent student. There were just two students who studied well and the bad students teased them. A very shameful incident happened this fall. One of the boys took my scarf, wrapped it over the new student’s head and lipsticked him. They wouldn’t let him go. At that moment we saw some of our teachers. They blamed the bullies for ill behavior and the new student for cowardice. I hoped the new student would learn a lesson and would become strong and resolute. But he has started imitating others’ ways: he does not learn well any more, he comes to school unprepared- without books, copybooks, and pens.
He will come to classes and say:
“Mariam, do you have a spare pen, copybook or book?”
Besides, he has become a kind of a carrier for the bullies: he obediently takes their rucksacks and even suggests that I also take some. I refuse to help him.
“You cannot protect yourself, why do you want me to be this way too?”
Mariam Palandjyan
14 years old
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“It is necessary; you must…”
I am in the ninth grade and have always had excellent marks but now I feel like not going to school. I am tired. I spend some five to six hours, then hurry to my Armenian studies, return home, prepare the homework for the next day. Then I read the assigned book until my eyes close completely.
My parents constantly remind me of the necessity to study hard to be able to enter the university and I do my best.
I finish my home tasks at ten in the evening and open the door of my room.
Father meets me there and says:
“Do you want to watch TV?”
At that moment I stare at the TV with nostalgia and say:
“I am very tired, I better got bed to be able to go to school tomorrow.”
I am in the ninth grade and have always had excellent marks but now I feel like not going to school. I am tired. I spend some five to six hours, then hurry to my Armenian studies, return home, prepare the homework for the next day. Then I read the assigned book until my eyes close completely.
My parents constantly remind me of the necessity to study hard to be able to enter the university and I do my best.
I finish my home tasks at ten in the evening and open the door of my room.
Father meets me there and says:
“Do you want to watch TV?”
At that moment I stare at the TV with nostalgia and say:
“I am very tired, I better got bed to be able to go to school tomorrow.”
Juliana Arakelyan
15 years old
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“The smell of indifference”
“Children, Yeghishe Charents is one of the greatest Armenian poets. He… ”
“Did you see the episode yesterday? I bet you don’t know what happened.”
There is dull murmuring in the classroom, but it isn’t the children’s noise.
“…if he only wrote the poem ‘Sweet flavored speech of Armenia…’”
“…yes I told him to leave that girl.”
The murmuring increases but the noise is louder.
“…and here are Saroyan’s words…”
“… pass this note, please…”
The murmuring sounded on and the air started smelling strange.
Teacher recited some more of Charents. I wonder who was listening.
The murmuring had become more distinct, the smell- heavier.
“Children, stop talking there.”
“What smell is this?”
It was the indifference that had penetrated in through windows and wall cracks with its murmuring and stink.
“Children, Yeghishe Charents is one of the greatest Armenian poets. He… ”
“Did you see the episode yesterday? I bet you don’t know what happened.”
There is dull murmuring in the classroom, but it isn’t the children’s noise.
“…if he only wrote the poem ‘Sweet flavored speech of Armenia…’”
“…yes I told him to leave that girl.”
The murmuring increases but the noise is louder.
“…and here are Saroyan’s words…”
“… pass this note, please…”
The murmuring sounded on and the air started smelling strange.
Teacher recited some more of Charents. I wonder who was listening.
The murmuring had become more distinct, the smell- heavier.
“Children, stop talking there.”
“What smell is this?”
It was the indifference that had penetrated in through windows and wall cracks with its murmuring and stink.
Lusine Hakobyan
15 years old
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“A bit from here, a bit from there…”
One, two and this is the fifth. These are books, real books. They are nice books and more than that- they are interesting. I have not read them yet but I know. Do not make fun of me, I know they are interesting because I have read their forewords in the library, but I didn’t have time to do more than that. I am a ninth grader and although this is not my last grade there are things to learn from every sphere. Bit from here, bit from there and nothing as a final result. Do you think I should deepen my knowledge in the sphere that I like? This is quite impossible. We are made to study a great amount of things and what we really would like to know and learn has to wait in a long queue for its turn to come. If there were mice in our house they would have long ago gnawed the tall piles of my books, those I keep to read when where is no more school. I wish someone gave me the chance to choose what to study at school. This would both make the process of learning easier and would leave free time for watching a good movie on TV. Oh, I wish they heard me now. You would then have no complains of mine and I would break free from this strain.
One, two and this is the fifth. These are books, real books. They are nice books and more than that- they are interesting. I have not read them yet but I know. Do not make fun of me, I know they are interesting because I have read their forewords in the library, but I didn’t have time to do more than that. I am a ninth grader and although this is not my last grade there are things to learn from every sphere. Bit from here, bit from there and nothing as a final result. Do you think I should deepen my knowledge in the sphere that I like? This is quite impossible. We are made to study a great amount of things and what we really would like to know and learn has to wait in a long queue for its turn to come. If there were mice in our house they would have long ago gnawed the tall piles of my books, those I keep to read when where is no more school. I wish someone gave me the chance to choose what to study at school. This would both make the process of learning easier and would leave free time for watching a good movie on TV. Oh, I wish they heard me now. You would then have no complains of mine and I would break free from this strain.
Naneh Sahakyan
15 years old
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“'Mirror, mirror on the wall…'”
We had a class. Suddenly I noticed that Anush was looking in the mirror and admiring herself. Armen, who was sitting behind her, started to sing in a deadly voice:
“Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who’s the fairest of them all?”
Anush turned around and tried to hit him. Armen managed to avoid getting hit. Elena’s nail-polish took the hit instead. It fell down and poured on the table. The smell was all over the classroom.
“Armen, Anush, what are you doing? I poured my nail polish because of you. I told you not to move the table thousand times.”
The smell of nail polish mixed with the smell of perfume and for a second I thought I was in a beauty salon.
We had a class. Suddenly I noticed that Anush was looking in the mirror and admiring herself. Armen, who was sitting behind her, started to sing in a deadly voice:
“Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who’s the fairest of them all?”
Anush turned around and tried to hit him. Armen managed to avoid getting hit. Elena’s nail-polish took the hit instead. It fell down and poured on the table. The smell was all over the classroom.
“Armen, Anush, what are you doing? I poured my nail polish because of you. I told you not to move the table thousand times.”
The smell of nail polish mixed with the smell of perfume and for a second I thought I was in a beauty salon.
Garnik Kocharyan
14 years old
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“Isn’t it possible without a lecturer?”
Only recently, I came to know that without studying with a lecturer it is impossible to enter a university. One of my acquaintances decided to enter a university by himself. I was told that he was a very smart boy and he would surely pass the examination. The “smart boy” studied all by himself for a long time, but he got an average score and failed.
I wonder why.
Only recently, I came to know that without studying with a lecturer it is impossible to enter a university. One of my acquaintances decided to enter a university by himself. I was told that he was a very smart boy and he would surely pass the examination. The “smart boy” studied all by himself for a long time, but he got an average score and failed.
I wonder why.
Anoush Mouradyan
15 years old
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“The Stolen Saturday”
Starting from last year we have been going to school on Saturdays as well. But I still can’t understand the meaning of this novelty. We were told that this was done to make us less loaded on other days of the week. So we have five classes instead of six every day. But I still keep wondering if a free Saturday was not better. Nothing has changed in sense of our loading: we go to school as usual but now we have an extra day and the school curriculum has undergone no changes at all. We have to get ready for the Monday classes on Sunday so we come not to have a single moment for rest. We cannot choose between school and anything else. No room is left for leisure and relaxation, which is so important. Our time is all staffed, it is impossible to do anything but classes. They stole our Saturday. Was this really necessary?
Starting from last year we have been going to school on Saturdays as well. But I still can’t understand the meaning of this novelty. We were told that this was done to make us less loaded on other days of the week. So we have five classes instead of six every day. But I still keep wondering if a free Saturday was not better. Nothing has changed in sense of our loading: we go to school as usual but now we have an extra day and the school curriculum has undergone no changes at all. We have to get ready for the Monday classes on Sunday so we come not to have a single moment for rest. We cannot choose between school and anything else. No room is left for leisure and relaxation, which is so important. Our time is all staffed, it is impossible to do anything but classes. They stole our Saturday. Was this really necessary?
Gor Baghdasaryan
16 years old
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