Adolescents, Report Cards and Canada

It’s great to know how you’re doing in school: if you’re failing or acing like you should be. Our teachers are showing us our averages and announcing the class averages. I acknowledge the fact that our class is looked as a whole so if most of the class is failing, we’re all doing bad.

“How was the test results,” says a garrulous girl (out loud, without raising her hand like a good girl).

“You know, we didn’t do so well this time,” says my Geography teacher. I jump at the word we.

The usage of it is so divine  in this sentence; to recognize the class as something more than just a group of kids that have to be in school by law. And if it wasn’t for us being fourteen not sixteen, some of us wouldn’t even bother with school anymore. (I’m not one of those adolescents, if you were wondering.)

Those report cards, not even cards anymore but just sheets of useless paper, are coming in next week and for some other people, by the end of this week. I’ve always found report cards terrifying. The closing of space when you see the envelope because that’s the decency the school to present us the grades that determine a pass or not. The idea that the people around you are okay. Because they may be okay; they may be doing much better than you. You may be that slow kid because sometimes I do feel that way. I’m riding nineties and eighty-fives while my friends are scoring ninety-fives and maybe even higher in most of their tests.

It’s weird when I hear people tell me that I’m really smart or (I’m quoting this) “a math genius” because I don’t think that at all. Then again, I don’t consider myself an average student either. I just think I’m good but not great. Not that genius cause that’s over-whelming and it sets so many standards and if you know me, I’m all for lowering expectations (which is another great post idea).

I think my grandfather thinks I have some sense and this would be a little uncomfortable when he reads this because I know he reads this and he’ll know exactly what I think of myself. It’s not the same when you want an elder to know what you think and the average adult. To me it feels a little different. And this blog, you could say, was actually my grandfather’s idea.

He told my mom to tell me to start writing. It had taken me some time to actually think about what I should do. I just assumed he wanted me to blog and that’s the idea my mom was giving off too but the commitment of writing is big. The commitment of anything is a big engagement. I don’t think I would’ve started if it wasn’t for my mom’s constant need to tell me to start writing. I finally made this account and started writing. It took some time to get to the groove of it but slowly and with the support of a few commenters and followers I had the stride to continue because maybe, just maybe, there would more people interested in what I think and do. Ends up, there are! I’m positive 14 people are, one my grandfather and the other my mom.

Okay, I just realized I got off topic so let’s get back to my day.

Now, I’m not that scared of report cards. I think it’s because my parents are so situated in it as much as they used to be some years back. So, when I do get my report card, I focus more on if I get 85% or more since 80%-100% is considered an A in Canada. I don’t get it either. Every other great gets ten percent except for the exception of the highest grade which allows the student to get the probably of a higher  grade.

Also, in Canada it’s not a F-ail, it’s a R-etarded. Yes. That is correct. Or should I say R-ong to make it a little funnier? We don’t have F’s which I kind of hate but instead we have R. The worst part is the fact that most people here say “Zed” for the letter Z. Awful, I know. The great thing about North America is that each country has a different culture or standard of living. In America, if I could put it in short, the imperial system. In Canada, the irritating metric system. And I don’t know much of Mexico since I’ve never been there or lived there,  but we all know there is completely different cultural difference. It’s like going to the country of the free, to the British controlled country that’s right around the corner. Sometimes I think Canada wants to controlled by Brit-

You know what, I’m should stop switching topics like I’m talking to my friends.

I signed up for YAG, the Youth Advisory Group, and instead of doing interviews we are going to have a meet on the same day (as report cards are distributed) and that’s how telling you that I’m not too lazy but still relating to the post. YAG is one of the only public things I’ve applied for with the chances of not making it in. For example, I never signed up for the Leadership group in my school; they asked me to join. That’s right! I didn’t have to fill out an application in the hopes of being a good enough girl to be somewhat of a role model for the whole school. I wish life was that simple.

It’s not, for all you adolescents. Youth is not for fun and games, it’s to use up your skills while it lasts to have a secure, happy life.

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