Notes from Nowhere
A superb work. Summarising the feelings of many.
I think I was 14. It was an English lesson, as I recall. And the words were delivered with the hint of a smirk.
‘Well of course, the Sun has a reading age of eight.’
Innocuous enough. And I didn’t know if it was true, nor much care. The truth was less important than the implication, to be honest, veracity less important than meaning. I knew what was going on, what was really being said: ‘here are people who are not like us, we clever ones, we sophisticated ones, we who can see through the ruse to the ignorance of folk. We, children, know better, are better.’
I wanted to be part of the in-group. I wanted to have real status and authority, too. To be like you, Sir, all knowledgeable and self-assured and authoritative. I didn’t want to be one of Them, so subtly scorned with a barbed comment…
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