Keating, and high five to that my brother, calls that bullshit. And Keating even makes them rip out the introduction of their poetry book, because it has a clinical formula for rating a poem. He makes them walk in a circle to see how easily they fall in step with each other, which is symbolic of exactly what the rest of the authority figures in their lives want them to do. He makes them stand on the desk, one at time - why? To see things from a new perspective. Keating, the new English teacher, wants to do the exact opposite. They will follow in their fathers’ disciplined footsteps and be successful lawyers, businessmen, doctors, whatever. So John Keating isn’t like the other teachers at this fancy private school. And still in others, it shows us how just a little confidence, like Miss Keating gave me, can make us forge ahead with our passion. In others, it opens us up to untapped potential. Unfortunately in some situations, like in this movie, it ends up in tragic situations. But when someone hands you a piece of magic like John Keating, played by Robin Williams, does in Dead Poets Society, you don’t want to let it go. We don’t live in Cinderella or Harry Potter land. Let’s face it, it is tough to find magic in this world. A teacher that commands and inspires, kindles that fire in your loins to live, and see life in everything. If you haven’t seen Dead Poets Society, (And if you haven’t, SPOILER ALERT!!!) it is about that kind of teacher. Thanks Miss Keating, wherever you are! (Hopefully hoisting a pint in some fun location in Ireland.) And suddenly I felt confident that I could write. She listened and made me feel I could contribute something of value. She was from Ireland and for the first time told me what wrote was good. The first time I was ever moved or inspired by a teacher was in high school, and at my high school those moments were very few and far between. From second grade, to high school, to college, I’ve irritated, been snapped at by, and been tossed out of of classrooms by teachers.
And there was something inside me, on my face, in my eyes, that instinctively brought out complete irritation in teachers, which could be part of why I hated school. Who knew guys who liked poetry could be jocks too?
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