Maybe America’s education problem isn’t with the public school system

Iam trying to remember when our public school system became an inferior way to learn to read, write and cipher. Maybe public schools have always been low-grade, but I must have missed the cue because I got a pretty good education.

I guess the blame belongs to my momma and daddy. They generally considered schoolteachers in the same lofty stratosphere with the preacher and the doctor. They didn’t question the word of any of the three.

Unaware of my constitutional rights, if I got in trouble at school, they presumed I was guilty until proven innocent. In their minds, the teacher was right. It didn’t help that this was usually the case.

My parents grew up in a time and place in Georgia where education was not valued.

Neither got beyond the seventh grade. As a result, both my brother and I were expected to at least finish high school. Getting our respective college degrees was icing on the cake for them.

I cherish the memory of my parents, but they were never my “pals” and I don’t recall them ever calling for a vote on how they chose to run the house.

There wasn’t a lot of democracy, just a lot of love.

That carried over into the schoolroom. We were there to learn. DICK YARBROUGH

I felt our teachers truly cared for their students (and I think they still do). Yet, I was told when I could speak and when I could not, when I could get up from my desk and when I could not. I was told to do my homework and to be prepared for upcoming tests.

Absences from school had to be explained in writing. After about three, as I recall, you were liable to get a call from the principal.

My high school principal, an ex-military man by the name of L.L. Deck, could stop hall traffic with one “Stop where you are.” He said it, we did it. Nobody questioned Col. Deck.

I was not always an enthusiastic learner, particularly if I was not interested in the subject matter, but that didn’t stop my teachers from hammering a good education into my hard head.

I was inspired to go to college because I wanted to emulate my older brother Bob. He was and remains my role model. I had a pretty fair career as did my brother, also a product of the public school system, and the rest, as they say, is history.

So, what happened to public education in the interim?

Why the incessant criticism of our public schools (except during election time) and why the insistence of many Republican ideologues to encourage private school scholarships with public tax dollars?

Let me answer that last question first. Many of the ideologues are sycophants of the American Legislative Exchange Council, a super-secret organization of companies and state legislators that supposedly promotes the private enterprise system. ALEC’s stated purpose is good. Their execution is dog poop. Made up of mostly mid-level corporate managers, they play legislators like a one-string banjo and Staff graphic

Of the readers who responded to our most recent poll about the upcoming SPLOST and ELOST voting, 51 percent said No to both; 33 percent said Yes to both; 10 percent said No to the SPLOST, but Yes to the ELOST; and 6 percent said Yes to the SPLOST, but No to the ELOST. Poll results reflect only the opinions of those who chose to participate. even write their legislation, such as the misnamed “school choice” legislation. So, you can see where our legislators get their cue.

Surely, you didn’t think they thought this stuff up by themselves. (Truth in advertising: My alma mater AT&T is a member of ALEC. That is also dog poop.)

How we view public education today doesn’t mean it is not as good as it once was.

It means our society has changed and not for the better. Drugs, transiency, poverty, abuse, school violence, apathetic parents, kids with a strong — and wrong — sense of entitlement.

This is what public schools must deal with today that was not a part of my educational experience.

Our legislators want to use more tax credits to put kids in private schools where the rules are different. Private schools can accept who they want, make the kind of rules they want and kick kids out if they choose.

So, where do they return? To the public schools, of course, which have to accept them.

I have no issue with private schools, but don’t take tax dollars from the state budget to advantage them.

Instead, our legislators should do some heavy lifting for a change and attempt to fix the problems with society that carry over into the classroom. They would then — voila! — have solved many of the problems confronting public schools. Why do I have to think of everything? It must be that darned public education I received. Duh! Coroner: Farmer killed after cow knocks him up against a fence Arrests made in death of Berry student Police: Teens stole pot from student before shooting him Former Rome High wrestling coach sentenced to 4 years in prison 2 arrested in connection with slaying of Berry student 3 men sentenced in robbery of John’s grocery Man charged with felony theft after having van towed to car lot Dustin Cotton found not guilty of Jan. 17 armed robbery Man gets 14 years in prison for burglarizing home of elderly man Rome woman facing felony drug charges after traffic stop 16,051 views 11,873 views 9,354 views 8,803 views 5,779 views 4,502 views 4,294 views 2,016 views 1,989 views 1,537 views or most families, a fourhour trip lasts four hours. Maybe five if you stop and eat once. Maybe six if you aren’t in a hurry and stop to go shopping. Perhaps seven if you pull over at every roadside joint selling fireworks or peaches or boiled peanuts or ice cold wine. And it could even take eight hours if you are riding bicycles. Our family is different. It takes us four hours just to get out of the driveway.

I’m being facetious, of course. It doesn’t actually take us four hours to get out of the driveway. It only takes one hour.

Couple of months ago, our family took a vacation to the Gulf Coast — a four-hour journey by most ordinary measure. But we have to consider other factors when determining how long a trip in the Robbins’ family minivan will take. The chief one being: How long it will take us to make it out of the city limits of Homerville, Georgia.

We’ll have everyone loaded up, every seat belt buckled, every door locked in the house and the alarm on. Then it starts. A phone call. “Oh, I have to go down to the office and sign some checks before I leave,” I’ll say. “It’ll only be 10 minutes.”

On our latest attempt to leave town, it was my wife’s turn. She had to go back inside to handle something for work before she left. Sometimes, things come up suddenly and you have to take care of them.

Other times, well, not so much. Just as I’m about to turn right out of our driveway, within spitting distance of the city limits, my wife will say, “Oh, we need to go by Margaret’s house. I have to drop off a casserole.” Or “Oh, we have to go by Rite Aid first to pick up a prescription.” Or “We have to stop by the bank and make a deposit before we leave.” Or “Aunt Lucy is in the hospital and I promised her we’d visit before we left town.”

It’s hard enough for me to drive and practice Christian patience with everyone in the car critiquing my driving and engaging in distracting conversation. Not getting there in a hurry only rattles my nerves further. Maybe I’m the only human being like this, but I like to get there. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to eat. Don’t really have any interest in bathroom breaks.

I just want to get there as fast as I can without getting arrested.

Then, I can relax. Then, I can enjoy myself. It’s the same if I’m going on vacation, going to work, going to a Georgia football game. I want to get there, and I’m tense until I do. Going home, not so much. “Would you like to spend another night?” OK by me, if you’re paying.

“Can we take a detour and see that Grand Canyon I’ve heard so much about?” Not a problem, dear.

The official time toll for our latest vacation trip: 6½ hours for a 4-hour trip. An hour to get out of Homerville, a halfhour to eat, four hours to drive, and an extra hour because our driver attempted a short cut — unsuccessfully. To protect his guilt, I won’t reveal his identity.