Philosophy of 8th Grade

On Tuesday I talked philosophy with an 8^th grader. I dropped some Sartre and Camus, he provided some ideas of his own. The illustrations are his.

Question 1) What happens after you die?

A bit taken aback by his boldness, I only managed to stammer disjointedly until he took over: We know that often times when a person has a near death experience or dreams, they are not able to remember it afterwards. This is because at these times the pineal gland secretes an acid that inhibits memory formation. When a person dies, the pineal gland dumps the maximum amount of this acid into a person’s brain. We also know that energy cannot be created or destroyed. So, when a person dies, their life energy leaves their body and floats through the universe (not in heaven, not in hell, and certainly not in purgatory). Eventually this life energy finds its way into another body, a person being born. However, we don’t remember the lives that our souls have lived prior to our current life because of the memory-erasing enzyme of the pineal gland. So as a result, you could formerly be anyone from Jesus to Hitler.

Question 2) It all started with a big bang. But what happened before that?

Once again, I was unable to string together a coherent response. He provided a viable theory: Before the big bang there were two molecules, one was positive and the other negative. They got in a fight and kept bashing themselves into each other faster and faster until finally they fused into one molecule and exploded -- the big bang.

Question 3) Where do you stand regarding the Pittsburgh Zombie Dog experiment?

 

With no idea what he was talking about, I attempted to distract him by changing the subject to a recent discovery by Lawrence Kraus, but he promptly intervened and described the recent experiment in Pittsburgh that involved killing dogs by replacing their blood with a saline solution and leaving them for three hours before reintroducing the blood and bringing the dogs back to life.

Question 4) Have you heard of the “New Earth” (an Earth-like planet) recently discovered in a faraway galaxy?

 

No. Hence, I am pictured beneath a rock.

A Trip to the Hoover Dam: Go US!

“…yeah, they translated “pre-school” as ‘kindergarten.’ ”

“Well that’s normal; in Germany they start school at 4. I actually went to kindergarten in Germany.”

“Oh yeah, how was that?”

“A lot different. Much more about learning critical thinking and concepts. Not like the rote memorization with flashcards in America.”

“We actually do a lot of that where I work at the preschool for Google employees. It’s much more focused on building critical thinking and socio-emotional skills. Like, instead of teaching them the alphabet we give the kids cameras and have them take lots of pictures of things they’re interested and then we teach them about the things they want to learn about. So maybe they haven’t memorized what shapes the letters of the alphabet look like, but they can tell you about the parts of a car and why they’re there. And we put their pictures on the wall with quotes so that they’re invested in the words they learn. Like the other day we were working making things out of paper and one of my students said, ‘I love paper! There are so many things you can make out of paper. I’d like to make a costume out of paper.” So I wrote that down and made it the caption of his paper project. And we do a lot of socio-emotional skills, like mediating and helping them learn how to settle disputes. They’ll pick up the alphabet at some point, but these are skills they’ll need for the rest of their lives that other teachers might not take the time to teach. And honestly my students teach me. Like I have one student who’s really into space and he’s always talking about the Sombrero Galaxy or how a rocket ship is different from a space shuttle—”

“The Sombrero Galaxy?”

“I know, I had to Wikipedia it. But that’s his area of expertise, and he knows more than me on his area of expertise, even if I know more about every other subject. You know, teachers always are thrilled when the administration gives them more liberties, they always feel like they finally have the flexibility to really teach, but why don’t they give that liberty to the students? Help the students learn what they’re interested in instead of forcing a curriculum on them. A lot of teachers say they learn more from their students than their students learn from them, but that’s always outside of the classroom, how many actually apply that in the classroom? And, granted, it's difficult to be a teacher and figure out how to best suit your students’ needs, but that's no reason not to. My only concern is that once my students leave, they’re stuck in a regular school. I talked to the parents of a former student who told me their son’s 1st grade teacher assigned a family portrait assignment and their son drew his family driving in a car on a highway and his teacher told him he was wrong, that his family should’ve been sitting in a garden.”

By now we’re pulling up to the empty parking lot. I remember as he read aloud that afternoon: “The Hoover dam controls the Colorado River and provides electricity and water to nearly 20 million people…for the dam to be built the river had to be inverted. The cooling process of the concrete was sped by pumping ice cold water through pipes in the dam. It’s the largest singly poured concrete structure in the world.”

 Night has already fallen. A shock of frigid wind claws at our coats as we step from the car. We shuffle under the stale cast of yellow streetlamps. Black water licks the jagged cliffs, the only sign of life an occasional yellow glint on a wave. To the right, a powerful river, greater than most lakes I know. To the left, a gash, a wasteland, a stark nothing. Lean over the edge and behold the splendor of America’s great concrete cathedral: not a seam, such perfect conformity.

Another Trip Begins

The thrill of travel is a tingling on the skin and the verge of a smile. A silent challenge issued to every passer-by: “Ask me how I’m feeling, I dare you.”

A chipper security guard accepts my challenge, clearly naïve of her inevitable defeat:

“How are you today?” She’s asking for it.

 “I’m doing great, thanks.” BAM. Take that. And to gracefully refrain from grinding her to a faceless pulp with my superior circumstances, a conciliatory gesture: “How are you?”

“I’m fantastic! Living the TSA dream.” …except it isn’t said with a scathing tinge of bitterness. Unbelievably, she seems perfectly content, even happy. What strange turn is this? A week in Vegas thwarted by a day on the job? Perhaps it would be better for me to just go home.

But finally she concedes, “Excited to get out of town?”

Yes! Redemption: “I’m so excited.”

“Alright, don’t party too hard.” Even when you’re going to Las Vegas for an internship with Teach for America, everyone still assumes you’re going for the party.

So many passing faces. First glances are moments of recognition that evaporate before you can scoop them up: A long lost coworker, a distant relative, Judi Dench. Second glances are always anonymous. The two boisterous men behind me in Cincinnati jackets chortling as they exchange garbled jargon about sports odds and speculate as to whether a Dave and Buster’s card is an acceptable form of state-issued ID? No one I know.

And somehow when you travel alone you’re accompanied by everyone you’ve ever traveled with, and a few you’ve only imagined.

Why does a trip to the airport inevitably recall every trip I’ve made to the airport? Here I’m getting lost on another layover walk led by my dad who so confidently doesn’t know where he’s going. Here I’ve just turned a corner in Heathrow and spotted a dear friend and her fantastic purple jeans. Here I’m nervous I won’t make it through Sicilian airport security (silly thing to worry about). In homage to my father, I calmly wait in the terminal after everyone else has scurried to the gate to finish my orange and jot a few notes as the line subsides.

Look, airplanes!

Look, I took a picture of my feet!

Look, it’s Phoenix!

Man, I used to love these things back when I was convinced every plane ride was fated to crash in the ocean and I’d have to debate between my seat cushion and the inflatable life vest for a flotation device!

Sometimes I suspect that the only difference between writers and regular people is that writers are convinced that every mundane detail in their lives that a regular person wouldn’t bother writing down is fantastically interesting and they’re determined to get you to listen. Or maybe that’s just me.