Wednesday, January 28, 2004

The future of America...

Current Mood: Pretty good, kind of thoughtful. Listening To: Escaflowne music. I once told my dad that because I'm going to be a teacher, "The future of America is in my hands." He replied, "Oh dear god, what have I done?" Thank you, Dad. Really. Heh, okay. I have to be honest with you guys - I really enjoy school. I always have. The learning part at least; there were a few years there that I absolutely hated because of my classmates or teachers or whatever, but that's bound to happen to everyone, I think. Anyway, I find myself in a perpetual state of learning, especially since coming to FSU. College means that while you do have a few requirements here and there, you're mostly taking classes that YOU want to take. Classes that, more likely than not, you'll be interested in what's said and what there is to digest. Obviously, as a liberal arts person, most of my classes lean towards history, literature, psychology and philosophy.. that sort of thing. But the astronomy class (and the lab) I have this semester is, for lack of a better word, fascinating. I've always liked stars, the evolution of the universe.. that sort of thing. I'm not too fond of a lot of the physics aspects, but I have to admit that that's mostly because I'm just not that good in physics. People always wonder why I (or anybody else, for that matter) would want to be a teacher, too. They sort of give you this look that says, "Oh, so you want to be poor." (By the way, the solution to that is to marry rich, or win the lottery.) I think I can safely put some of the blame on a history teacher I had for a couple years in high school. Mr. Pritchard. He was a fantastic guy, and an even better teacher. The kind that absolutely loves his job, and loves kids, and loves to let people know that. He knows tons about European history, the stories behind it all, and I remember countless times when the entire class would be totally caught up in whatever it was he was talking about. He's even gone overseas to different countries and has brought back his stories from his time spent over there. And damn, can the man tell a story. I remember one in particular about the Nazis, but more specifically, the people in Germany during the Third Reich. He'd been staying with a friend of his, who was German (naturally), and his friend's mother had taken quite a liking to him, even though she didn't really speak English all that well. Pritchard asked her lots of questions about WW2, since she'd been alive during it, and she was happy to relate to him her memories. Finally, he asked her the age old question why - why had so many people in Germany allowed Hitler to do so many horrible things? She looked at him, and then told him calmly, "I was a Nazi." And I still remember Pritchard's face, heh. He told us he was so surprised that this friendly, gentle old woman could have ever been a Nazi. But she had explained to him that when Hitler first came into the scene, he was really like a god-send to the people. He was getting things back on track, since France had crippled Germany after the first world war. They adored him and he gave Germany a new sense of pride that they thought they'd lost. And then, of course, things started to turn, but by then, what could any of them do? The SS was brutal (as you're all well aware) and they were afraid. The lady told him that for a lot of the things, they just 'looked the other way'; as long as they didn't see it happening, it wasn't happening. The woman happened to live near one of the concentration camps, and one of the railways into the camp actually went through the middle of her town. So every day she had to cross the train tracks to go buy groceries, and she always went at a specific time like the rest of the town so that they could get in and out before the train went by. One day, she was late or the train was early, and she got caught on the other side of the tracks as it passed by, transporting with it hundreds of Jewish people to the concentration camp. She remembered hearing them all, even smelling them, and ended up sobbing the rest of the way home. On certain days when the wind blew the wrong way, they could smell the scent of burning flesh. After a story like that (and he had a few of them), the class was always silent. You can only imagine, my friends. But to have that kind of effect on a class? Where every single kid in there is engrossed in what you have to say? Yeah. That's why I want to be a teacher. If I could have a fraction of that sort of passion and influence on a class, I'd be ecstatic. He's been teaching for over 25 years now, and was just named Teacher of the Year. Needless to say, he deserves every bit of that award, and then some. And that's all I have to say about that. ^_~

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