05/12/2002 - 12:43 a.m.

The endless possibilities I see

After auditions for Vagina (ohhh, deja vu, that's peculiar) Monolouges (cast list will more than likely be posted tomorrow) I went to the library to read for a bit. The library here is open until 12 and the children's section is extensive.

Actually, the library in itself is massive. I think they said it took something like three years to build the whole thing back in the 50s or whenever. It's about the size of a smallish town square, and four floors. Most of the library is deserted and silent at all times. It's possible to wander in and believe you're the last person in the world alive- especially at the back of the third floor. After you pass the children's section and the special collections room (they lock it up most of the time, and when you go in there they look at you like they expect you to steal their precious locked up UNI history books) and the music section (which claims to have CDs but I've never seen them), you head into what is truly a maze of bookshelves. You know those Maize Mazes? OK, I thought not, they're corn fields with mazes cut in them. Midwesterners flock to these with a mystifying passion. I've been to two or three, and let me tell you, you can wander around for hours. That's what the library's like, except it's books rather than corn.

In the midst of this great labyrinth, it is quite easy to forget that others may wander through your path. To come across another person is a rare and peculiar thing, even a tad scary. Especially considering that at about ten, the library turns off a lot of lights.

I should've thought the better of it in the first place. I should've just gone downstairs to go to the bathroom, but I knew there was a bathroom on the floor, and I was determined to find it. So, I set out through the darkling library.

As I walked, I was struck -not for the first time- that the library was a huge, quiet, deserted place. I thought of all the things that could be going on in other parts of the library that no one would ever even know about. Immediately following this thought came "sex in the library". Jeuvenile and even a little gross yes, but it was enough to stop me in my tracks and look 'round incredulously. I listend, and could hear nothing in the semi darkness of the shelves. It was entirely plausible that at least once some library student employee had called up a friend to hang out with them while they worked late and they had gone to "shelve books" together.

Two rows of shelves further after this revelation, I turned to walk to the far wall I was pretty certain the bathrooms would be on. I was again stopped in my tracks. At the other end of the shelf was a couple who, though perhaps not actually shelving books, were definately checking out the Dewey Decimal codes. I backed up and continued without being noticed.

Found the bathroom and afterwards took another path back to the children's section to read The Tale of Peter Rabbit.

My favourite part of that entire book (which I had memorised by age two) was "Peter gave himself up for lost and shed big tears, but his sobs were overheard by some friendly sparrows who flew at him in great excitement and implored him to exert himself." And I knew what it meant too. However, I have recently discovered that "adaptations" have been made to the Beatrix Potter favourite exchanging not only her beautiful paintings to poor coloured pencil scribbles, but her words to such pale, poor imitations as "Peter began to cry, and some sparrows flew down and asked him what was wrong." I am serious.

Why? Why would anybody dumb down Beatrix Potter? That's a book that parents read to their children, they explain what the words mean and the kid gets the benefit of an expanded lexicon. I guess the answer is simple, the parent doesn't know the words, and the teacher isn't going to teach them. You know, I've read Primers and Readers from the 1900's. A second grade child was expected to be able to read. To actually read and understand what they read. Second graders today are the same age they were then. Today's second graders are treated like they're something special if they can string together a whole sentence. Is it not peculiar to suggest that our great grandparents were so much smarter than us when they were all dropping out of school by 8th grade?

We've got a government stressing the importance of not "leaving any child behind". So, the whole education system has got to sit 'round and wait for Bobby with the memory span of a goldfish (That's a whole three seconds, folks.) to learn his fucking ABC's? This is not a situation that's helping anybody. I was the kid in elementary school that finished her classwork light years before all the other kids. I got to be the "teacher's helper", meaning she didn't have to check papers. That's what I got to do. Today I can check about 100 60 question tests in the space of 45 minutes. What do you do when the whole class is waiting on Bobby to finish his worksheet? Eventually, you run out of papers to grade.

And everybody had me decided for a teacher. Oh, how funny. Now, give me a kid like Jane, Allie, or Kathy (my three favourite campers), and let me tutor them or something- that I could do. Jane was a 9 year old sixth grader who knew who Mary Cassat was, and could tell you everything you could ever ask for about art- colour wheels, artists, stylistic periods, everything. Allie, the eight year old who spoke a good deal of French and some Gaelic, could remember songs (long songs, up to 8 verses worth) well enough to teach them, and actually discussed history with me. Then Kathy, who loved the stars and had looked up all on her own the disease her little brother had because no one would tell her what it was. She'd looked it up in the dictionary by guesswork and then gone to the internet. I can't even remember the name of it now, but she could tell you what caused it, how to treat it, and what could go wrong. She wants to be a doctor someday. I think she was eight too.

I would love to teach kids like that, kids who are genuinely smart, and want to learn and can learn. Unfortunately, they're not the ones for whom schools are made. I know, I was one of them. I guess that's why I like 'em so much, I forget that they're nine year olds, I just know that I'm talking to somebody with some sense. I always hated to be treated like I didn't have a brain in my head- why am I using the past tense, still happens. Some people treat people by their age, treat them by their brain and you'll do so much better.

THAT'S IT! That's why I didn't like Stimpy drunk. This just hit me at this moment. Stimpy plummeted about a million IQ points when she was drunk, and it didn't work for me. Stimps, that's what I like about you, you're so damned smart, the wackiness is good, but the intelligence has to stay there too. Vodka doesn't enhcance intelligence.

Anyway, I've been writing about an hour now. I probably ought to go to bed.