When I hit a certain age, my parents decided that I was either ready for, or could no longer be shielded from, adult issues. I guess you could say that we had “the talk.” Birds and bees and the nonexistence of baby-carrying storks really shook my young world.

I felt lied to. I had spent so long assuming that I was going about life in the correct way, only to find out that I had been the fool who couldn’t understand that he was being used.

The adults in our youth never gave us much reason to trust them: Remember that little thing called Santa Claus? From telling me that my nose had been “gotten” between their fore and middle fingers to their explanations that eating too many candies would, in fact, turn me into a candy, I don’t know why I continued to listen.

But I did. I listened to adults for a rather long period of time. Sure, my parents and family members eventually started treating me like a mature person, and after that, some family friends did the same.

But there was one major institution in my life that just never .

School always lied to me. It started with white lies to get me to take advantage of nap time — what was I thinking not taking advantage of nap time in the first place? — and to convince me that mommy was going to be picking me up really soon. It then turned into the exaggerated warnings against playing too loudly at recess and the assertions that I would use cursive someday.

As I got older, the lies became more believable: A permanent record would determine my path to college, and curves were only there to help. I ate it all up like a kid who just used his last swipe at Market Central. I kept believing the school system, and it kept telling me that I was going about life on the one correct path.

Well it certainly took me long enough, but I am done believing the lies of the school system. There are a number of teacher phrases that I took as canon for so many years, only to find out that they were all one big Santa Clause.

“The test will only be based on material covered in class.” Oh, yeah! I guess my night of studying is going to be pretty easy. We only covered like six slides anyway. Guess I can catch up on an extra episode of “Homeland.” I paid attention in class, so I will definitely be fine.

Day of the test: 20 questions, 15 of them on material only covered in the book. In fact, if I had just read the book, I would have been fine. Good thing I took all of those notes in class.

“I know the book is $300, but you really need to buy it.” OK, I know that I just told you that you should read the book, but that doesn’t mean you have to buy it for every class. But when the teacher says that you need to, I usually take it as I need to. Guess that new PlayStation 3 is going to have to wait until next semester.

Twelve weeks into the semester: I looked up a definition once in the book, and the best part is that it had to be a new edition, so Amazon wasn’t even able to bring the cost down. Good thing I can get $11 from a buyback.

“Exam questions will be mirrored by the suggested problems in the textbook.” Nice! All I have to do are these suggested problems, and I am a master of the information. I can do all of these if I just sit down and finish the problem set.

Sixteen minutes into the test: There is not one problem even remotely similar to the suggested problem. In fact, I don’t think this is even the same chapter. We didn’t use calculus on those problems. Good thing I have half the class period to sit here and still not know anything.

“This class is not mandatory to attend. If you don’t want to come, I’m not going to babysit you.” Awesome, the teacher is OK with students missing classes. I’m not blowing it off just for fun, but I have other obligations, and sometimes I can get the notes from a friend. It’s nice when teachers don’t judge.

End of the semester grade announcement: I got a B-? What? What is this participation grade? No. NO! Good thing I already got my grade back.

It’s pretty clear that we are lied to as children. It might be the defining characteristic of children: They always believe the ridiculous lies they are told. I’m making a decision to vault into adulthood. I’m done believing the falsehoods.

The time has come for me to move on. I now know how to be a man. I’m going to find my own path to success in school, but first I have to go to Convocation really quickly: It is required.

Write Andrew at [email protected].