A Prodigal
Elizabeth Bishop
The brown enormous odor he lived by
was too close, with its breathing and thick hair,
for him to judge. The floor was rotten; the sty
was plastered halfway up with glass-smooth dung.
Light-lashed, self-righteous, above moving snouts,
the pigs' eyes followed him, a cheerful stare—
even to the sow that always ate her young—
till, sickening, he leaned to scratch her head.
But sometimes mornings after drinking bouts
(he hid the pints behind the two-by-fours),
the sunrise glazed the barnyard mud with red
the burning puddles seemed to reassure.
And then he thought he almost might endure
his exile yet another year or more.
But evenings the first star came to warn.
The farmer whom he worked for came at dark
to shut the cows and horses in the barn
beneath their overhanging clouds of hay,
with pitchforks, faint forked lightnings, catching light,
safe and companionable as in the Ark.
The pigs stuck out their little feet and snored.
The lantern—like the sun, going away—
laid on the mud a pacing aureole.
Carrying a bucket along a slimy board,
he felt the bats’ uncertain staggering flight,
his shuddering insights, beyond his control,
touching him. But it took him a long time
finally to make up his mind to go home.
The well-known parable of the prodigal son, typically read as a story about sin and forgiveness, is also a parable about education.
In it we meet two familiar archetypes, the spectacular failure who achieves a dramatic turnaround, and the steady performer who maintains consistent, competent results without fanfare.
When we view this ancient fable through the framework of education, we encounter questions about recognition, merit, and the nature of learning itself, questions that become even more pressing as AI reshapes the structure and purpose of school.
The prodigal son represents the proverbial F student, not merely in terms of grades, but in terms of engagement with the educational process. This student has squandered their intellectual inheritance, treating learning as a commodity to be consumed rather than a relationship to be cultivated. They skip classes, ignore assignments, and remain intellectually absent even when physically present. Their “exile” is self-imposed, a rebellion against the structure and expectations of formal education.
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