Favoritism in school was a massive culture shock and truth bomb

Newsletters from local public schools pretend they care about every student. I call B.S. Favoritism in school dominates the academic landscape and they know it. 

Somehow, a lot of people forget it’s B.S. I’ve heard people gush over how far public schools have come and whatnot. I say differently.

We know test scores have regressed, and per Ryan McMaken’s work at the Mises Institute, household surveys give us bleak job outlooks. Establishment surveys may say differently, but household surveys are where the money is. And it’s why the mainstream media refuses to show them in real time.

Since public schools still dominate the landscape, we can assume much of this came from school politics. Why is that? Why are people struggling to succeed if it’s a public school’s so-called mission to ensure all students succeed?

The curriculum quality may be poor, I won’t argue that. Hell, I’ll admit it. But what about favoritism in school? Something we all remember but barely talk about? And it may crush a kid’s confidence before they even reach high school if they’re not part of that hallowed few.

Favoritism in school was the first lesson I learned

I was in the fifth grade and it was lunchtime. This cafeteria wasn’t like others, since it had windows, meaning you could look in and see where people were sitting while waiting to get some of that mystery meat they called hamburgers.

On the first day of school, I saw it. The best-looking girls sitting together and jabbering away, the most athletic kids from grade school I played baseball with at another table, and those who either sucked at or never played sports sitting on the other end.

It was different from grade school, where each grade level had a table to themselves. Fourth graders sat at one table, third graders at another, and second graders at the far end. And I sat at an open seat, often sitting with random people each day.

As for those good-looking girls and the athletes? A strong contingent of them had parents with ties to the school district. And if they didn’t, they were friends with people whose parents had such ties. For me, it was game, set, and match. Or, seemingly…

The school’s ultimate floater

They say everyone belongs to a clique. And those who don’t keep to themselves and sit alone. At the far, right-hand corner of that cafeteria next to the window, those kids sat in isolation. Then there was me, who had no clique, but I also never put myself in pure isolation.

Instead, I floated from table to table, sitting where I pleased. Did I spend more time with one clique over the other? Absolutely. The nerdy non-athletes were my favorite, and God, were they nerdy, as they had assigned themselves seats. No matter the day, every one of them sat in the same damn spot.

I also sat with the troublemakers, who may’ve been my second-favorite. They were always fun to hang out with, and we constantly talked about how we’d “take over the school” by forcing kids to pay “protection money.” Yeah, like we were some kind of school Mafia, I know. That was until the teachers caught on and they threw a fit. The “man lady,” as I called the one who caught us.

Then, there were the Tier 2 athletes. Those who were athletic and had parents who gave to the school, but sat one rung under the “Preps.” Why this was, I never found out. But I didn’t like sitting near them often, since they usually saw my short and scrawny ass as a means to be their “garbage man.”

I wasn’t taking that shit long, I’ll tell you that much. Occasionally, and ironically, I’d sit with the Preps. I was never an athlete, but the parental ties: my parents were on good terms with their parents who, in turn, had ties to the school, at least made them tolerate me.

Why didn’t I enjoy favored status if that was the case? I never played a sport. Still, it got me in on the overall hierarchy regarding the goddamn place.

That favoritism in school was all over the goddamn place

Were the Preps ever in trouble even if they did some shady shit? Hell no. I mean, for the love of Latter-Day Saints, I remember an intramural matball game. I was on the geek team for this one. They were playing the Preps and getting their asses handed to them left and right.

Then one Prep started running at a friend of mine. Like, he left the baseline. The next thing I knew, that friend was writhing on the ground. Those who turned out to watch the game laughed their asses off, the Preps slapped fives with the kid, and the gym teacher who saw the entire thing unfold stood there and gaped like an idiot.

Some might say that’s one example, but it didn’t end there. Go into the classrooms, and a lot of them ended up on the honor roll. Mind you, half of them were as dumb as a box of rocks. And yeah, I’m insinuating a few teachers. Not all but a few, curved some grades.

One teacher was completely notorious

In the seventh and eighth grade, we started having coaches as teachers. I remember once, when they handed out interim reports, the eighth-grade math teacher who doubled as the football coach handed a friend of mine, one of the isolationists, his report. “You better get those grades up,” he said, loud enough for the class to hear.

Sitting in their class, I remember raising my hand during lectures. “What?” they’d say, in their most annoyed voice. Meanwhile, a couple of athletes wrote some morbid song lyrics during a study hall. That same teacher caught them, silently read the song, and simply separated them.

Had that been myself or the troublemakers I sat with at lunch half the time? Oh, they’d have written us up in a best-case scenario.

The “You got an F” incident

That same teacher also called everyone back to their desk, one by one, to get their current grade with a few weeks left in the quarter. I was convinced I, at worst, had a ‘C.’ When I approached, they glowered and said, “TC, what is your problem. Explain this.”

I looked down at the gradebook (remember those?), and saw I had a 63 percent. “You got an F. Why do you have an F?”

Their voice carried, and the whole class knew. The next period, which was with another coach, the Preps didn’t let me hear the end of it. “TC’s got an F in (Teacher’s Name’s) class.” “What are ya, TC? Stupid?” “What’s wrong with you, TC?”

Embarrassing my troublemaker friend

When the time came for us to sign up for high school classes, the ninth-grade math teacher had us take a diagnostic test. I didn’t do too badly, and ended up in the third-tier class, called Tech 1. Fine, considering math wasn’t my strength, and it was ahead of the basic math, or what most called, the “stupid people’s math.”

Anyway, my troublemaker friend was behind me and I asked what math they were taking. “Algebra,” they said. I should’ve told them to not even bother, as it would’ve saved them from the embarrassment that followed.

The teacher checked off mine for Tech I, even if they took a long look at it before muttering, “Okay,” as though they did this against their will. I sat down, and my friend flashed their sign-up sheet.

“You’re not taking Algebra,” they said, throwing my friend a what the fuck look.

I turned away and tuned out the rest of that lecture. I didn’t need to hear anymore.

They were the most notorious case for playing favorites

While this teacher occasionally called out their football players, it was hardly anything more than a brief exchange, and often quietly enough for only a few of us to hear.

The only time I remember them embarrassing one of their players came after one of them got suspended for beating up a sixth grader. Oh, they let that kid hear it every time. “Do you need to beat up another sixth grader?” “You beating up another sixth grader today?”

That said, the player in question was primarily a backup. As for the top players? They’d get a talking to if they stepped out of line, but rarely, if ever, subjected to public embarrassment and shame.

This pattern continued throughout high school

I could name several incidents that would’ve resulted in severe punishments for the troublemakers, an isolationist, or even a geeky kid who stepped out of line. If an athlete, or anyone with ties to the school committed the crime, they’d get punished. But do you think it would’ve affected their eligibility?

Of course not. It was one of those things people talked about regularly behind closed doors, but never once did anyone bring it up or confront a teacher about it. It’s a shame, but that’s the real deal in public school and, really, in many places with traditional schooling. Nepotism, if there’s a word for it.

By then, it’s game over. Kids who weren’t part of the Prep or Tier 2 cliques know where they stand in the hierarchy. They know it’s a rigged game. And they know if they committed the same “crime on campus,” they’d receive a severe punishment. That’s sad.

A more whimsical fictional alternative

But all of the above isn’t the case in my YA academy fantasy, Arcane Elemental Academy. At Arcane, Yote Diamondback’s quick to learn merit trumps all. You either perform well, or you get penalized for underperformance, and it doesn’t matter who you are.

Still, Arcane, an umbrella school that hosts 32 competing private schools, seeks to help students master their elemental ability. And if a kid underperforms, there’s a chance they may not be in the right school and are welcome to switch.

Catch the first three chapters now of Book I, The Arcane Prophecy, meet Yote, and find out how she ends up at Arcane. If you’re sick of favoritism in school, whether public or mainstream private, and you need an escape, you’ll love this book.