"How can teacher's expect us to take things seriously when there're ducks in the courtyard, constantly quacking?"

-Bob Donahue

3/27/00
    Consider the duck – with his little orange webbed feet and his curly feathery tail and his oh-so-recognizable quack.  He doesn’t have term papers.  He doesn’t have algebra homework.  He doesn’t even have SAT prep work.

And yet still, he’s all boxed up here at Dulaney, just like the rest of us.

He’s got the same little soap opera relationships going on with the other ducks.  His day follows pretty much the same bland pattern day in and day out, just like ours.  He can be loud and gawky, and sometimes disruptive.

Only he can fly away whenever he wants.

I suppose we can, too, only we’ll suffer for it.

Or will we?

There are academic consequences for cutting class, sure.  There are issues about graduation attendance requirements and stuff like that.

But in the grand scheme of things, is it really going to matter if we fly away for a day or so?

And I don’t mean cutting out of class for a smoke break or a joyride.

The duck doesn't do that.

The duck escapes his little courtyard box in order to see what exists outside the brick and glass walls.  Or to meet other ducks.  Or to find new and different sources of nourishment.

Or just because he’s disenchanted with the whole idea of being boxed up in a high school.

Not that his box is all that bad.  The courtyard provide shelter, a home base, a hangout spot.  The duck isn’t necessarily safe in the box (after all, he DOES have to coexist with the human population of Dulaney), but he’s safer than if he was just out in the wild.

Just like the rest of us.

And just like the rest of us, he’s a free creature, above all else.

And he goes about his business, both with respect to and outside of, the box.

Perhaps we should take our cues from the duck.
 

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