Sedaris's anecdotal style seems to avoid the need for a thesis statement, at least in the classic sense. If you read the essay looking for a sentence that declares what his piece will "prove," you are likely to be disappointed. I suppose you could consider the first line‚—"At the age of forty-one, I am returning to school and have to think of myself as what my French textbook calls 'a true debutant'"—as a thesis of sorts. But that does not quite get at what his essay is about.
Sedaris's argument is about the nature of education, and how, even as an adult, the dynamics of the classroom remain the same. He writes about how learning is hard, and not knowing the answer to a question can be shameful. His teacher is abusive and insulting, but as a student he found himself nevertheless working very hard to please her. In a way, her abuse made his learning possible, because it forced him to think creatively about ways he could prove to her that he was a good student. Her abuse also became a thing all the students had to endure together, a kind of shared experience through which they supported one another.
More than that, however, Sedaris is writing about the process of understanding. When his teacher tells him that teaching him is like having "a Caesarian section," rather than taking offense, he becomes elated, because he could understand what she said. Maybe the best thesis statement comes at the end of the piece:
Understanding doesn’t mean that you can suddenly speak the language. Far from it. It’s a small step, nothing more, yet its rewards are intoxicating and deceptive.
Learning anything is complex and difficult, but when you find that you actually are beginning to understand, the experience is euphoric, no matter what age you might be.
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