In
which we see that feelings no less than principles can have revolutionary
implications
Kylie.
—Hi.
I heard you made the basketball team. Congratulations.
—Thanks.
—Kylie is going to be great. She’s going to be our other
guard.
I’m sure Emily’s right, Kylie. I imagine you must be proud. Last
year’s team was county champs. It’s an honor to play for the Eagles.
—Yeah, it is. I’m not one of the main players or anything.
The important thing is to be part of the team, right?
—I think so.
There’s just one thing.
—Uh oh. Watch out, Kylie. Here it comes.
Yesterday you committed an infraction against
the school dress code. That sweater you were wearing: it was a little too short
at the waist.
—Kylie wasn’t wearing a sweater yesterday. She wore her game jersey
to school, just like me and the rest of the team. We had our first scrimmage.
Never mind the details, Em. The point is that we have a school
dress code. As you all know.
—We do?
It’s in the student handbook. Page 14.
—You’re kidding, right?
—No, Emily, he’s right. It’s there. But no one ever pays
attention to it.
Well we’re going to start paying attention to
it now, Sadie. Dr. Devens told me last week that faculty really needs to start
enforcing the rules. There’s a state accreditation coming up, and we can’t
afford to fail. Last time we caught all kinds of grief for not having enough
fire drills. Kylie, maybe you were wearing a sweater yesterday, and maybe you
weren’t. A full investigation will clear you to play this season, assuming of
course that you have nothing to be guilty about. You can explain to the
Disciplinary Committee when it meets next week. In the meantime, kids, I
recommend you pay close attention to the dress code. I know I will.
—He’s kidding, Kylie. He’s not serious.
This gives me no pleasure, Em, believe me. As far as I’m
concerned, enforcing the school dress code is nothing but an invitation to
trouble. But it’s not my job to question the rules. I’ve got a job to do, and
I’m going to do it. You understand, Kylie, don’t you?
Kylie?
Is that a nod? You’re looking a little confused. Adam looks like
he wants to jump in here.
—Oh just get on with it, Mr. K. You’re trying to make the
point that the school dress code is just like something from the American
Revolution. Let’s hear it.
Fine, Adam. If I must. Class, the school dress code is a little
like the Molasses Act of 1733.
—And that would be because …
Well, that law went on the books and went largely unenforced for
thirty years. Then the French and Indian War happened. And those huge bills to
pay that I mentioned the other day. So the British were looking for ways to
raise revenue. They were going to have to come up with new sources. But it also
made sense to enforce the old ones. Like that tax on molasses.
—I get that. But why the whole basketball team thing? Why not just
start class by telling Kylie she broke the dress code?
Well, Kylie is proud to be an Eagle. Just like the colonists
were proud to be members of the British Empire. Not just for winning the French
and Indian War. That was just one in a string of victories. As Kylie noted, it
feels good to be part of a team. Right, Em?
—Damn straight.
Especially a winning one. But then along comes Dr. Devens, who we all know is our
principal, but what that really means is that she’s in effect the chief
administrator, like the Prime Minister, of our high school.
—Isn’t Dr. Devens more like the king?
No. That would be Christina Themistocles, the school
superintendent. She’s the King. I mean Queen. (Let’s not get
too bogged down in the gender binary, shall we?) But she’s far too important to
bother about some silly old sweater—
—Kylie wasn’t wearing a sweater.
Well, aren’t you the stickler, Emily. You
must be from Massachusetts or one of those prickly New England colonies.
Anyway, Dr. Devens and the other members of the administration have decided on
this policy, a policy dictated by outside circumstances (that upcoming review I
mentioned) and since I report to her, I have my orders, even when they put me
in the somewhat embarrassing position of monitoring the student dress code, one
that I’ve been even happier than all of you to ignore. But the situation has
changed. I’m sure Kylie understands that. Don’t you, Kylie.
—Now I do, Mr.
K.
Thatta girl. And this doesn’t affect your feelings about being a
member of the Eagles, does it?
—No, not really.
Not really? What’s that supposed to mean?
—I mean, I don’t like it, but it’s not like it really affects the
way I think about the team.
Excellent. Exactly the kind of attitude I like to hear from a
girl.
—Hey!
Oh calm down, Emily. We all know Kylie is a member in good
standing of the Eagles athletic program. She just happens to be … a female.
Like George Washington.
—George Washington is not a girl. And what does he have to do with
this?
Again: we’re not getting bogged down in that gender binary.
Washington fought in the French and Indian War. As a matter of fact, you might
say he started it. The governor of Virginia sent him
as an errand boy out to the frontier in 1754 to tell the French to get lost.
Washington had some Indian guides, who as it turned out had their own agenda.
Washington never got the chance to tell the French, because the Indians went
ahead and murdered the French officers he was supposed to talk to. Awkward! Major international incident triggers
world war. Rookie mistake, you might say. Didn’t really matter; the British and
French were itching for a fight anyway. Washington actually fought quite well
in that war. For an American, that is. Here’s
the pathetic part: Washington actually hoped he could get a commission as a regular officer in the British Army! Poor schmuck. A
wee bit clueless: that was never going to happen. He wasn’t
even from a prominent Virginia family, for God’s sake!
Don’t get me wrong. Some of the Americans were really quite
good. I mean, Washington, he was fine. Really. And that
Benjamin Franklin! A starter on any squad! All those experiments.
Great guy, too. Let me tell you: There was a team player. Even after other
colonials started grumbling, he remained loyal. Things got a little messed up
at the end, and he ultimately quit the team. Feel sorta bad about that, even if
he showed poor judgment (involved some letters; let’s not get into it now). But you would never quit, would you, Kylie?
You’re not going to let a little misunderstanding about a sweater or an
indelicate comment about your membership in the gentler sex interfere with your
love of the school now, are you?
Kylie? I’m having a little trouble reading your expression.
—You’ve left her speechless, Mr. K.
Ah. It happens. Well, anyway, you all get my point. Which is?
—Don’t try out for the basketball team.
—No, Jonah, wait:
Form your own basketball team.
Well, yes, Adam. That of course was the
ultimate lesson. But that’s still about a decade in the future. Because, as my
analogy with Kylie was meant to suggest, there’s not any one thing that starts
making you feel bad about the team and the school. The stuff accumulates over
time. And note here that I’m talking about something a little different than a
religious, or a military, or an economic issue. It’s more like a psychology, a
sense of morale. This is a subtle thing that’s mixed in with a lot of others.
But I wanted to spend a little time talking about it, because I think it’s
important. People do what they do for a variety of reasons. Some involve ideas
and interests; others involve feelings. They’re always interacting.
Next: Why they stomped on the Stamp Act
