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September 2004
Each year, in late August to early September, students in North America return to the classrooms for another school year. I'm not sure what school schedules are like in other parts of the world, and of course those on "Year Round" class rotation are also not necessarily going to line up with this statement. Still, by and large this is the "Back to School" time of year. It's a time dreaded by many students, longed for by many parents, and looked back on with nostalgia by those of us who learned too late how valuable the education we were being handed was.
Some of the things my teachers sought to instill in me took rather well. Reading, writing, and even spelling came to me almost sinfully easy. I learned young what a powerful tool words could be, and what wondrous worlds awaited me in the pages of books. A writer could make me whatever he or she wanted, and drop me smack in the middle of the story no matter how far-fetched it might seem. That was a power that I was drawn to, and the surface of which I've still barely scratched.
Numbers did little for me; mathematics wasn't especially difficult. It simply didn't excite me. I learned enough mathematics to "get by", and determined as I slogged through Algebra in ninth grade that I needed no more. I couldn't imagine when I'd even use Algebra, let alone the higher disciplines of geometry, trigonometry, or (shudder!) calculus. How ironic that I should enter the field of electronics where we use, of all things, Algebra. How sad that, at the moment, I cannot remember the name of the teacher who had tried to tell me I might, indeed, have a use for it someday.
Art frustrated me, for I was too impatient to stop and learn how to transfer what my mind could see to another medium such as paper or clay. I didn't want to learn how; I wanted to be adept at it now. For all the efforts my art teachers made to convey that skill to me, it wasn't until I was in my thirties that I stepped back and realized that such things are rarely "natural" for even artists I admired. When I quit telling myself I couldn't draw, I realized I could. Too bad I hadn't listened to my teachers all those years ago. It would be nice to spend time with Peggy Childers again and benefit from her knowledge of art, but I have not seen her since Fifth grade.
History bored me, for I saw it as meaningless stuff that had happened long before I was born. As I approach my 45th birthday, though, I've learned that history is what happens all around us as we go about our lives. Things I've witnessed in my time on this planet are now considered "history", and one day it dawned on me that other people, just like me, witnessed the things I so casually dismissed. They also had lives that they simply wanted to live out and enjoy; passions, loves, fears, dreams, hopes, and disappointments. When I see history through their eyes, it is not as meaningless as I thought. Those who lived through the Presidential campaign between Grover Cleveland and Benjamin Harrison were as concerned and opinionated as we are today with our own upcoming election. Herman Thornton not only taught American History; he had lived it, and had left part of one leg on the battlefields of World War II. What a fool I had been to not recognize how much that man had given for us, and how he deserved far more respect than we gave him in class.
Cardan's Pod part 6 runs this month here on Collector Times, and this isn't a "shameless plug" for my story. In May I finished writing the story that will run here on CT. Cardan's Pod finished at around 137 pages and around 64,000 words. The follow-on story which I began almost immediately (and which I doubt will run on CT) was finished last week at 325 pages and over 142,000 words. Without my teachers; without education, I would never have written even one word. The stories might still have swirled about my mind, but I would not have been able to articulate them for others to enjoy. It is not just my English teachers that enabled me to do what I so love, but also my history teachers, and my math teachers, and my social studies teachers, and my science teachers, my Spanish teachers, and yes, even my gym teachers. They all imparted something to my life that helped me become the person I am today. Even Randy Zane, who was probably the most unusual history teacher I've ever seen; what can you say about a guy who puts on a parachute pack and jumps off his desk for the class?
That you're reading this column implies that you, also, have received a terrific benefit from a teacher somewhere. The value of my words is questionable at best, but the value of simply being able to read is immeasurable.
Since this is supposed to be a column about gaming, I'll conclude with this tie-in. Most of our games require reading and mathematics, at the very least. Some deal with history, and some deal with science. Education not only enriches our ability to work, it enriches our ability to play. When we are offered an education, we can choose to resist it and think little of it, or we can embrace it and wring every single last benefit we can from it.
Grab your education, hold it, and don't let go until you've drained all you can from it.
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