I came into teaching late, which means I lived several other lives beforehand. Among other obscure accomplishments, I’ve climbed 250-foot Douglas-fir trees, studied African rainforest birds, and prepared barnacle specimens in a Welsh biology lab. All of these events enrich my English lessons – but only at the right moments. Now and then the perfect opening arises.
In a Food, Inc. essay that we read for class today, Peter Pringle discusses several reasons people fear genetically modified foods. “And some extreme leaders of the anti-GM movement, like Great Britain’s Prince Charles, are simply antiscience,” he finishes. What?
Before class, I miraculously located a long-ago scan on my computer and coaxed my balking printer into printing it. I waited till the end of the discussion to project it onto the screen.
“Actually, when Prince Charles visited the Marine Science Lab in Wales 35 years ago,” I told my students, “he was very well informed. Not only did he pay attention to every exhibit, he also asked intelligent questions.” As the scientists at the lab concluded, he’d done his homework well.
“Of course, he was a whole lot younger then,” I added. “And so was I.”
“That’s you?”
“What did you talk about?” one student asked obligingly.
I said I’d told him I was a histochemist. “But that was a lie,” I added. “I was really only a histology technician – I was just nervous.”
“You lied to Prince Charles?” And everyone laughed.
It was an enjoyable end to a good discussion, and it reminded me of how much we all bring to our teaching, no matter what our backgrounds. Where I teach, most of my students are first-generation college students; few have traveled far. They appreciate a glimpse into other worlds.
The picture, taken by my visiting grandmother, brings alive a world that’s both exotic and mundane. Young and earnest in my white lab coat, I gaze up at a prince. In the background, my boss blows his nose.
In a Food, Inc. essay that we read for class today, Peter Pringle discusses several reasons people fear genetically modified foods. “And some extreme leaders of the anti-GM movement, like Great Britain’s Prince Charles, are simply antiscience,” he finishes. What?
Before class, I miraculously located a long-ago scan on my computer and coaxed my balking printer into printing it. I waited till the end of the discussion to project it onto the screen.
“Actually, when Prince Charles visited the Marine Science Lab in Wales 35 years ago,” I told my students, “he was very well informed. Not only did he pay attention to every exhibit, he also asked intelligent questions.” As the scientists at the lab concluded, he’d done his homework well.
“Of course, he was a whole lot younger then,” I added. “And so was I.”
“That’s you?”
“What did you talk about?” one student asked obligingly.
I said I’d told him I was a histochemist. “But that was a lie,” I added. “I was really only a histology technician – I was just nervous.”
“You lied to Prince Charles?” And everyone laughed.
It was an enjoyable end to a good discussion, and it reminded me of how much we all bring to our teaching, no matter what our backgrounds. Where I teach, most of my students are first-generation college students; few have traveled far. They appreciate a glimpse into other worlds.
The picture, taken by my visiting grandmother, brings alive a world that’s both exotic and mundane. Young and earnest in my white lab coat, I gaze up at a prince. In the background, my boss blows his nose.
Cool! This looks great! And, of course, good story.
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