I Hate School—Because of What It Refuses to Become

“When the school is on fire — but they’re still expected to walk in smiling. This is what it means to be a student in systems that won’t change. Still they rise.”

I hate school.

Not learning. Not students. Not the work.

I hate the missed opportunity — the daily dismissal of potential because adults choose comfort over conviction. I hate watching a system cling to outdated methods while our youth drown in the disconnect.

And most of all?

I hate that I had to walk away from a job I loved just to stand on what I believe is right.

Why I Walked Away

Not long ago, I was teaching 9th and 10th grade. I had a vision — to build Professional Students. Students who communicate, advocate, and execute. Students who understand that school is not just about academics but about becoming someone who can navigate the world.

But my administration wasn’t aligned.

I was told to “just teach.” To scale myself back. To quiet the very thing that makes learning meaningful.

So I asked myself the hardest question an adult can face:

“What’s more important — my ego or the well-being of our youth and our future?”

I chose the kids.

I chose the mission.

I chose to walk.

Not because it was easy — but because mediocrity is contagious, and I refuse to infect my purpose.

Dropping Down to Rise Higher

I now teach 7th and 8th grade. And let me be honest — this wasn’t a demotion.

It was a strategy.

I wanted to know: If I reach them earlier, will they buy in? Will they internalize professionalism before high school tries to wash it out of them?

And in just ONE week?

Seeds have sprouted.

Students are tracking their behaviors. Students are correcting their posture. Students are reflecting on their habits. Students are speaking differently, showing up differently, thinking differently.

Everything I preach is happening in real time.

Because systems don’t discriminate — they just work.

When you give students a process, you give them identity. When you give them structure, you give them stability. When you give them professionalism, you give them possibility.

Mindset Prisons: The New Pandemic

Let’s talk about these mindset prisons — the invisible walls built from years of hearing:

“You’re too loud.” “That’s not how we do it here.” “Stop questioning everything.” “Just follow the directions.”

We train kids to shrink before they ever learn to think.

We lock students into believing there’s only one right way, one right pace, one right personality.

And then we wonder:

Why do they shut down? Why do they lack confidence? Why do they lash out, avoid work, or refuse help?

Kids don’t know what they don’t know — but they’re smart enough to fake it, avoid it, or fight it.

As educators, parents, and community members, we’ve become so busy managing behaviors that we’ve stopped modeling belief.

We correct them without coaching them. We expect growth without giving guidance. We want maturity without practicing patience.

This is not a student problem. This is a systems problem.

Culture Builders or Culture Barriers?

Youth defines culture — always has.

Fashion trends? Youth. Music influence? Youth. Language shifts? Youth. Digital evolution? Youth.

But what do we offer in return?

If we’re not building structure with vision, we are feeding chaos with comfort.

We over-accommodate. We under-correct. We assume they’ll “figure it out.”

But figuring it out requires someone to show them what “it” even is.

What if instead of controlling kids, we channeled them?

What if urgency wasn’t delivered as panic — but as purpose?

What if every classroom became a training ground for navigating real life — not just passing the next test?

The Call: Educators, It Starts With Us

As a Black male educator, I don’t have the luxury of disconnecting. I see myself in these kids. I see who I was. I see who I could’ve been.

Every missed opportunity feels like a debt I refuse to leave unpaid.

We don’t need perfect lessons. We need purposeful ones.

Every conversation… Every correction… Every expectation… Every encouragement…

must be layered with belief:

You can learn. You can lead. You can grow. You can become.

This is why I hate school — because I love what it could be.

A sanctuary of identity. A lab for innovation. A forge for character. A blueprint for truth.

But only if we are willing to redefine it.

So Let’s Build It. Together.

I may have left my last job, but I didn’t leave the mission.

I entered a new classroom with deeper clarity and heavier conviction. And I will keep pushing — teaching, coaching, building — until school becomes what it was always meant to be:

A training ground for life.

Follow the Movement

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