"What's a Rectum?"

There is nothing more boring or forgettable in elementary school than reading aloud out of a text book. We all remember the activity - a student is randomly chosen to recite a paragraph or two, every other kid silently praying they wouldn't be next.

 

These read-alouds were a good opportunity to daydream. The trick I learned was to multi-task - daydream while simultaneously maintaining a general idea of where in the text someone else was in case I was picked next. Or, if I was smart that day, volunteer to read right away, thereby getting a pass to ignore the text altogether after my turn was over.

 

None of this is to suggest that I was a troublemaker as a kid. Quite the opposite. I was a pleaser - misbehavior was usually something I strongly avoided. And I enjoyed school, as well as most of the academic work teachers doled out to us.

 

Except science.

 

Odd, but I don't remember learning anything about science before 5th grade. I have no doubt it was part of the curriculum, but all I can remember now is multiplication tables, spelling tests and recess. Oh, and I suppose a crush or two.

 

And after 5th grade, science was a subject I would never enjoy. Plant and animal biology didn't interest me. Kingdom, phylum and genus were words to memorize then forget. The Periodic Table of Elements was an overwhelming chart of highly confusing upper and lower case letters. I'm sure they mean something. Chemistry class was an excuse to start fires with a Bunsen burner. No joke.

 

Was my dislike of all things Science merely a personal preference? Possibly. But last week's reminiscences about the awesome Miss Cochran jogged another memory too - and could be the reason I did not grow up to be the next Bill Nye (he's the Science Guy, right?).

 

My 5th grade teacher was Miss S. She was good - no Miss Cochran, but Miss S. was young, competent and organized. I don't remember much from that school year (other than the fact the Vikings lost in the Super Bowl to the Oakland Raiders) but the two things I do recall are cemented in my brain.

 

First, and very strangely, Miss S. disappeared in the middle of the school year. Looking back now through my own teaching experience, I know we just don't do this, or at least aren't suppose to if we want to keep our jobs. Nonetheless, Miss S. was gone for an entire month, vacationing in Tahiti. Or at least that's what her substitute, Mrs. Nelson, told us. Tahiti? Really? I know what teachers earn and Tahiti just doesn't seem like it's in the cards, then or now. But being naïve 11 year-olds, none of her students questioned her absence. And if memory serves, she did return with a healthy tan. Eh, maybe.

 

The second memory came from one of those dreaded textbook read-alouds. In fact, I even remember my desk was on the right side of the room, not far from the only window in the classroom. It must have been springtime because Miss S. was a light golden brown (her tan was still holding) and the sun was shining brightly, without the shadowy light of autumn. One of my childhood crushes was seated directly in front of me, adding to the distractions of the day.

 

The room was silent except for the reader. Whoever it was, hindsight tells me they got the pronunciation correct. "A what?" I thought. Confusion. The girl seated in front of me (who - irony of ironies - would grow up to become a physician's assistant) turned around and asked the same question that was on my mind.

 

"Ask her," she implored.

 

I'm the kind of person who needs to know things. Or at least need to know things that interest me. In my opinion, Google is the greatest tool devised in the last half century. If only Google had been around in the spring of 1978.

 

But it wasn't.

 

My hand shot up. Miss S. looked my way. "Yes, Eric - did you have a question?" I did. God help me, I did. I said the only three words on my mind.

 

"What's a rectum?"

 

Silence - like the concept of time - is relative. How the concept of quiet can be ranked against itself seems impossible, but it is not. The quiet that followed my question was comparable to a "do you remember where you were when you heard . . ." moment in history. A silence for the record books. It may have lasted an hour.

 

"Eric," Miss S. said sternly, "you know what it is."

 

Ah, no I didn't. And clearly I wasn't alone. No one in the room laughed or snickered. Many sets of eyes darted back and forth, seeking some level of understanding. For some unknown reason, I knew I should be embarrassed. And I was.

 

That's all Miss S. had for me. I don't recall now, but I imagine her  Tahitian-brown tones turned a deep red. The read-aloud petered out after that, but with an unspoken  - "what's a rectum?" - confusion occupying the minds of students for the rest of the afternoon.

 

Not surprisingly, standardized science test scores from the graduating class of 1985 took a steep nose dive between 1978 and 1984. School district officials scratched their heads at the severe drop-off in scores from the 85'ers compared to the classes that came immediately before and after us. These same yearly scores were examined for any tell-tale patterns, even just one clue that would explain the reason for our annual deficiency.

 

Ultimately, it was decided that something had happened in 5th grade, though no one was ever able to pinpoint a root cause. Teachers were interrogated but blame was withheld. "Maybe they're just dumb," was the teachers' final consensus.

 

No, from the distance of three-plus decades, I can safely say intelligence was not our problem. We just wanted to know Miss S. In fact, we still want to know. Thirty-five years is a long time to wait for an answer. But we wait still.

 

"What's a rectum?"