Education is the process by which the young people of today are trained to become members of their society. This process is generally accomplished in schools where young people become acquainted with all phases of knowledge and, after a few years, are thought ready to accept responsibility as adults. In high school the expected picture of a classroom filled with excited, bright-eyed youths soaking up knowledge has failed miserably in trying to accomplish what it sets out to do; our system of secondary education does not provide a person with the necessary training to make his rightful place in society.
Can a large city ever encourage a feeling of friendliness and cooperation among its citizens? Can apartment-house dwellers who choose to race up the stairs to the isolation of their own dreary rooms ever learn to smile and whisper a neighborly “good morning” - even to faces they never saw before? An unusual group of concerned citizens in Manhattan set up an unusual experiment to seek the answers, and what they discovered is very interesting.
Kahlil Gibran in A Tear and a Smile writes, “I looked toward nature...and found a thing therein...a thing that endures and lives in the spring and comes to the fruit in the summer days. Therein I found love.” Nature is often referred to when love is the topic. In this quote, two seasons are mentioned to show the essence of time. Like those seasons and their changes, love that lasts is a feeling that must come gradually over a period of time and must develop only with emotional maturity. People do not just “fall in love.”
A man in a tattered jacket and a face filled with red sores walks down the summer-morning-street cursing to himself. From his back pocket, he snatches a paper bag, uncaps the bottle inside, raises it to his lips, and takes a long gulp. Then, he drops down against a brick wall and, still cursing, closes his eyes. This the Bowery, the place of the drunkard. Although the horrors on this street are everywhere, very little is done by police or other agencies to change the way of life of New York’s fallen men.
Rocks tossed from behind trees; bottles broken on our blacktop driveway; whispering voices behind tabloid newspapers at Meijer; taunts of “hick” and “There’s red on your neck!”, as I march to school alone: a farm kid growing up in a small Midwestern town learns how to hate very early in life.
There are many kinds of hope: snow falling rapidly at three in the morning brings hope for a snow day; taking the lead in a crucial game brings hope for a win; sending someone flowers in the hope that they will like you back. But one kind of hope that is harder to believe is the hope that things will get better - especially for a manic-depressive.