“Why do we have to go to school? It’s so boring. It feels like a jail.”
Ah, children, this is your never-ending anthem, performed every morning with the tragic drama of an Italian opera. And because I promised to always take your questions seriously, let’s put the School itself on trial. Exhibit A: your complaint. Exhibit B: My defense.
A (Funny) History of Schooling
Once upon a time, there was no school. Children learned by watching adults. If your family fished, you fished. If your family farmed, you farmed. If your family fought… well, you learned to hold a spear taller than yourself.
Then came the Spartans. Their idea of “school” was simple: teach boys to fight and endure pain. If you survived a night in the forest with nothing but a cloak and your fists—congratulations, you passed.
Meanwhile, in Athens, education looked a bit more elegant: Plato under an olive tree, surrounded by young men in togas, debating the meaning of justice. That was school: philosophy, logic, and sandals with terrible arch support.
Fast forward a thousand years, and education moved into monasteries. Picture cold stone walls, candles, endless chanting in Latin. Students copied books by hand until their fingers cramped. If you dared to whisper, “This feels like jail,” you’d discover how creative monks could be with punishments.
Then the Renaissance arrived. Suddenly, people wanted to read, paint, calculate, and argue about the universe. But schools were still for the wealthy. Ordinary children? They were too busy plowing fields and herding goats.
Enter Napoleon and the Prussians. Napoleon wanted citizens who could read military orders; Prussia wanted obedient soldiers and factory workers. Voilà: the modern school system was born. Rows of desks, bells, timetables, and chalkboards. Tempus fugit—time flies, especially when ruled by bells.
So yes, you’re right. Sometimes school feels like jail. It was partly designed to.
The Mystery of Long School Hours
And then there’s the famous question: “Why are school hours so long?”
Is it because children’s brains are delicate soufflés that need seven hours of careful baking? Or is it… a plot?
Some historians whisper that the real reason was not about children at all—it was about their parents. If children were safely locked in school all day, parents could go to factories, offices, and banks. In short: schools doubled as babysitters for the nation.
So when you sigh about “too many hours,” remember: the timetable might be designed less for your neurons and more for our paychecks. Cui bono?—who benefits? Is it the parents or the capitalism?
But Why Do We Still Need It?
Here’s the twist: school isn’t really about stuffing your head with facts. It’s about learning how to learn.
Take the motto: Non scholae sed vitae discimus—we do not learn for school, but for life.
Yes, you will forget half the history dates, chemistry formulas, and grammar rules. No one at Migros will ask you to recite the parts of a flower or solve quadratic equations before selling you tomatoes. But what stays is the ability to reason, to argue, to think. That’s the treasure hidden inside the “prison walls.”
Prof. Andreas Schwarz
Let me tell you about Professor Andreas Schwarz, who taught Civil Law and Roman Law at Istanbul University, School of Law. He was a German-Jewish scholar who fled the Nazis and found refuge in Turkey. Babacim had the luck to be one of his students.
He and his classmates expected him to grade like everyone else—based on whether the conclusion of a legal case was “correct.” But Prof. Schwarz did something radical. He never graded the conclusion. Instead, he commented on “the way”each student had reasoned their way to it.
“The conclusions will always change with time,” he said. “What matters is the way of thinking you use to reach them.”
Imagine the shock of students who expected red Xs and instead found notes on their logic. Some hated it. Others adored it. But years later, many realized: this was the best lesson of their education. Caveat discipulus—let the student beware: thinking is more important than answers.
My Maths Teacher
And then there was my own mathematics teacher in High School.
He was a very short, hairy man, certainly not a Brad Pitt-looking type —at least, that was the impression at first sight. His arms and hands seemed too large for his small frame, and his looks didn’t exactly command interest at first. But appearances deceive. What he lacked in physical beauty, he more than made up for in creativity and touching the hearts of his students.
He had a special gift: the ability to capture the attention of even the naughtiest, most distracted student. His humour was sharp, his energy contagious. But his greatest invention was this: he wrote poems on our exam papers. Yes you read correct: poems… Four lines for each student. Mine mentioned my green eyes. Another student’s poem praised his football skills. Another captured a girl’s loud laugh.
When we realized he had written thirty different poems, one for each of us, we were stunned. Suddenly, maths wasn’t just about numbers—it was personal. Every one of us leaned forward to see what our “poem grade” would be.
The result was spectacular. In every one of his classes, the average grades rose significantly. He had given us a message stronger than any lecture: “I see you.”
But life is never simple. It turned out he hadn’t completed his military obligation. He was detained by the military police and had to report to the military headquarters. The day before leaving, he gathered all his students in a park. We all showed up. We said goodbye through tears.
That day, I learned that the bond between teacher and student can be as strong as family. He didn’t just teach us math. He taught us humanity, the importance of humour and “everyone can be good in maths”.
Other Teachers We Never Had
Not every teacher needs a classroom. Some are voices in books or videos that reach millions.
Take Sal Khan, the founder of Khan Academy. He started by tutoring his cousin with simple YouTube videos, and accidentally created a global classroom. His idea was radical: everyone should learn at their own pace, with no shame in rewinding, pausing, or replaying. A child in Bangladesh, a mother in Brazil, a banker in Berlin—all can sit in the same invisible classroom. Docendo discimus—by teaching one, he ended up teaching the world.
Or think of Richard Feynman, the brilliant American physicist. He was known as “the great explainer,” turning the mysteries of quantum mechanics into stories anyone could follow. Bill Gates once wrote the introduction to a collection of Feynman’s lectures and called “the best teacher I never had.” Imagine that: one of the richest, busiest men on Earth regretting never sitting in Feynman’s class. That’s the power of a teacher.
Pros and Cons of School
So yes, my dear children, schools can feel like prisons. Bells, rules, bathroom passes, endless lectures. Sometimes the system crushes curiosity.
But schools also give you friends, structure, exposure to different ways of thinking. In some countries, those places are the only places that the children have proper meal and exposure to knowledge. They give you at least one or two teachers you will remember for life. They show you that learning is not just about answers but about journeys.
The truth is: schools are imperfect. They mix inspiration with boredom, creativity with monotony.
A Challenge to You
But here’s the exciting part: maybe you will be the generation to invent something better.
Imagine a school where curiosity itself is the curriculum. Where children present topics instead of memorizing them. Where technology allows replay, rewind, pause—but human teachers still guide with care. Where projects matter more than worksheets, and where the timetable is designed for minds, not factories.
Could you design such a school? Could you turn the prison into a playground of the mind?
Fiat lux—let there be light.
Lessons to My Kids:
- Don’t confuse knowledge with wisdom. Knowledge changes; wisdom is knowing how to think. (Prof. Schwarz would approve.)
- One good teacher can change everything. Treasure them.
- School is flawed. Learn from it, but also dream of improving it.
- Remember: Non scholae sed vitae discimus. You don’t learn for school, you learn for life.
Notes for my 80-plus-year-old self:
Old lady, remember:
- You asked the same “Why School?” question many times before. Read at least the parts of this story if you`ll feel confused.
- Remembered Professor Schwarz, who valued reasoning over conclusions.
- You cherished your maths teacher’s poems more than any formula, and you never forgot the park where his students said goodbye in tears.
- If you still didn`t make a donation to Khan Academy, do it now…
So when your grandchildren ask the same question, don’t roll your eyes. Smile and say:
“It may feel like a prison, but the key to freedom is hidden inside.”
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