The Hip School – a poem by Ernie McCray

At the hip school
they aren’t aware
and they don’t even care
about what their
test scores might be
because they’re much too busy
rolling up their sleeves
trying to keep up with the boys and girls
with their stash of electronic accessories,
their iPhones and iPods and iPads
and a host of other iThis and iThat doodads
and TVs and PCs and CDs and DVDs and MP3s
so they can help them
make sense of the sights and sounds
that make their
world go around –
all the mysteries
in their realities.

At the hip school
they’re up to their knees
in facilitating opportunities
for their mentees
to sketch and draw what they see
and feel inside,
to paint with the colors
that stem from where
their imaginations reside,
to sculpt shapes and write
prose and poetry
and plays that rise
out of the drama in their lives.

And they let reading
and writing
and arithmetic
and the sciences, et al,
find their way in the midst of the excitement of it all
into the artistic minds
they’ve primed
to be open to exploration
of all kinds.

And to anyone who
harbors in his or her mind
the query:

What happens to the child
who has deficiencies
as it pertains
to the aforementioned accessories,
the iPhones and iPods and iPads
and a host of other iThis and iThat doodads
and TVs and PCs and CDs and DVDs and MP3s,
well, they go straight to forming
the child’s artistic capabilities,
no matter what the degree,
you see –
knowing it’s
creative activities
that enable one to better clarify
and discover the intricacies
within their budding ideas and
life philosophies.

At the hip school
it is understood that human beings
learn best
when they have a sense of self
so children, there,
ever so naturally,
over time,
rise and shine
and discover
and refine
who they are and what they have
to offer their community
and, in deed, all of humanity.

At the hip school
such is seen as fulfilling
one’s destiny.

Wouldn’t it be cool
and wouldn’t it be neat
If the hip school
is the one down the street?