Today, Socrates rolled over in his grave.
When my teacher announced we were having a "Socratic seminar" about The Treaty of Paris (1787), and her first question to the class was "When was the treaty of Paris?", I had to question if she even had Yahoo Answers-level knowledge of who Socrates was.
Since it doesn't look like she'll be apologizing, I decided to take it upon myself:
I'm sorry, Socrates...
and Shakespeare and Poe and Hemmingway and Austen and everyone who has ever done or said or wrote anything meaningful in the history of the word.
Damn, that's a lot of people.
Mr. Socrates, I want to apologize that your philosophical wisdom has been reduced to the thrilling concept of the circular chair arrangement.
That essays on the setting of Romeo and Juliet have ruined your brilliant and innovative use of language and structure, with the power to deeply stir your reader beyond the emotional level, for an entire generation of stressed language arts students.
That conformist poetry teachers have decided your pieces are "wrong" because they do not fit a format outlined in our syllabus. (If you were taking my poetry class, you would be looking at a C- for creativity, at best.)
That the public school system has brushed off the practice of creative writing as a luxury with no real world value.
I'm sorry, guys. Maybe we can get brunch sometime? On me.