Beyond Intentions

         It never occurred to me that the administrators of Jefferson Middle School would find being called Nazis offensive. At least it didn’t seem that way when I was bashing my fingers onto the keyboard the night before.
         I sat, dazed, in the vomit colored office while a string of forceful words exited my mouth: “Wouldn’t your suspending me for a piece of writing just completely prove my point?” and “Damn government schools.” Although these comments were inappropriate, the fact that I truly believed what I said was far more significant.
         The two-day suspension I received for writing a piece of poetry presented me with an obligation to repeat my actions.
         I believed that I was destined to personally carry every problem in the world and that I needed to do everything in my power to fix each one. I would save the students from the horrible institution that is public education. I had to save them. I didn’t know how.
         Nevertheless, I pushed forward and continued to do what I knew best. I wrote. I wrote often and I shared these writings with everyone I knew. The work was creative; however, it always contained some philosophical message. I had to undo nine years of subtle indoctrination. I had to do it fast. So I wrote. I wrote often and through this passionate composition I presented different points of view. The positive reaction I received from my peers only encouraged me to write more.
         That was the case until late spring, when the administrators received a copy of a short story I had written. Of course there were more Nazi references and several other inflammatory tidbits, which included everything from principals drinking excessively to 11-year-old safety patrollers giving their lives while defending the school from terrorists.
         Again, I was suspended. And the five days I spent at home were unbearable. I realized I was doing something wrong. The problem was that I didn’t know what else to do. I wanted to convince a group of individuals of something, yet, I had completely turned them off in the process.
         I was devastated. The only goal I had set for myself was unattainable. It wasn’t until my sophomore year of high school that my desire to effect change rose to the surface once again.
         This desire led me to increase my involvement in the school’s journalism program. Once again, I was able to write. I wrote often and people liked what I had to say. Everything was different. I no longer felt that I had to be rude and insensitive to prove a point.
         It took me a few years to understand that the world is filled with people and their good intentions. The fact of the matter is; people don’t see intentions. They merely see the end result of those intentions. Two years of internal evaluation led me to conclude that ultimately the delivery of the message is far more important than the message itself.