Both Oars In Education the Second Time Around

May 15, 2009

Ever dreamt that you were called back to high school because of a missing credit or a failed class? Not in your pajamas necessarily, just recalled due to a hole in the record. I have this dream at least twice a year. Sometimes, it comes when I am struggling with making a decision. Other times, it just pops up like a re-run on cable. 

 

When I was younger, this recurring dream was a nightmare.  In disbelief, I would ask the faceless voice demanding my return to Culver Military Academy, the Midwest boarding school I attended, “How can this be? I am in college!”  Once, I remember the otherwise punitive demand came with the concession that I would live in the girl’s dorm—a self-manufactured addition, I am sure, formed out of the memory of a day I spent held up in the basement of one of our sister school’s dormitories during a tornado scare.    

 

As I have gotten older, married and more mature, this dream has become more of an exploratory reflection than a nightmare or juvenile fantasy.  Recently, I contemplated the thought of re-doing school after I awoke. In that moment of clarity just after waking, I pictured exactly what I would do if I were to be given a second chance at schooling. It was an epiphany.

 

In first and second grade, I would learn how to write legibly.  At forty-five, I now know how important it is to be able to handwrite a sympathy note or a thank you letter.  When everything you handwrite turns out looking like a prescription, you find yourself avoiding writing to friends in your own script. This makes communication less personal just when you want it to be the most personable. The typed word, even when it is the right word, lacks the emotional value of a word conveyed by a disciplined hand. I am envious of the cards I receive from older adults who learned how to write, not just legibly, but beautifully.  

 

In third and fourth grade, I would learn how to spell correctly. I now realize that the rule and the exception are both important. I arrived at college nearly illiterate because of the wave of “just let them write” educational theory that hit elementary schools in the seventies along with shag nap rugs. Memorization isn’t for uncreative dummies; it’s for those who do not want to be totally reliant on spell-check their whole lives. I still respect Mark Twain’s scorn for a man who can only spell a word one way; however, I am tiring of the penalty for having been an early devotee.

 

Proper diction helps, too. If you pronounce words like “our” and “are” correctly, you are less likely to make careless errors. So, reading out loud does make sense if you are fortunate to have a teacher with an ear for language like my wife.

 

In middle and junior high school, I wouldn’t let them talk me out of being interested in math just because I was better at literature and history. I would stick it out and struggle through the advanced theorems. Having spent five years as a futures and options trader, I now know that I am capable of learning and understanding theoretical math. I enjoy numbers, economics and forecasting. Having been bounced out of the calculus path early, I had a lot of lost time to make up in my professional career.

 

Back in high school, I would actually try to learn a second language. I would probably take Spanish instead of French. Although, the small amount of French that my British French teacher managed to get into my head between all the “red herring” I brought up to distract the class has come in handy in my work in Haiti. Forced to learn Kreyol like any newborn learns his or her native tongue, I could make people laugh in a whole new language after living only six weeks in country. After six semesters in high school, I couldn’t speak enough French to order wine without being laughed at. I would definitely relish the chance to spend an hour a day learning a language again. No goofing around, I would be all ears.

 

In college, I would travel to the University of Connecticut to find the woman who would eventually become my wife and marry her four years earlier. At the very least, we would both be a lot younger and more energetic raising our kids now.     

 

I think I have always been at least subconsciously aware that I have these holes in my education. Maybe that is why the dream of being called back to high school has persisted into my forties. The only difference now is that I am willing to go back.