Have you seen the movie, All I Wanna Do? It's a relatively unknown film from the late 1990s. On the surface, this movie about an all-girls boarding school in the early 1960s is fluff. But as the story develops, we learn that some of the girls are there because they are rebels, hard to handle, there because their parents didn’t know what else to do. Fluff, fluff, fluff… And then they learn that, because of financial difficulties, the school will merge with a boy’s prep school. Our rebels become leaders of a movement to preserve their school’s single-sex status. (Stick with me, here.)
The headmistress has told our heroines that with the merger, the girls will slowly but surely become second-class citizens and fade into the shadows. All their hard work, both academic and in learning to think, speak up and be heard, will be lost in the new, blended school. (Remember, this is the early ‘60s, and even though more women were going to college, many had no intention of using their education. They were getting married, having children, and supporting their husbands in their careers. It was still, truly, a man’s world.)
These girls who have been labeled trouble in some way, instinctively know that this place where their parents have ‘warehoused’ them has been a blessing in disguise. They will not go down without a fight. They organize the student body and insist that the board of directors hear what they have to say, in the form of a vote on the merger. The leader first says to the headmistress, "You gave us a voice. You can’t take it away." Then she says to all the students (paraphrased):
"Some of you think this place is a prison, and being with boys is a good thing. You will vote for the merger. Some of you realize that this hasn’t been a prison… it’s the place you found your freedom. You will vote against it."
Sorry to spoil it for you, but the majority vote against the merger, the girls take money from their own spending money to give to the school, and a movement is born.
I really want you to think for a moment about the idea that a place or situation can represent a prison or freedom.
When we sent our son to Hyde School, he thought of it as a prison. To this day (he’s 27 now), he will tell you that he’d rather not talk about it. Even so, he acknowledges that he needed to be there. He was so out of control that he couldn’t live in our home any more. And yet, this very place, full of demands and restrictions, was also a place of high expectations and exploration of his potential. Hyde gave him back to himself, and ultimately his freedom to make productive choices about his life. (He graduated from Hyde, and college, and is working in the field of his choice… and he is so darn good at it! He’s also a nice guy to hang out with.)