The Missing Stair
Throughout elementary school, I was somewhat of a "goody two shoes". I had near-perfect grades, I didn't like to rock the boat for fear of getting in trouble, and I believed pretty much what my elders told me. In fact, in first grade I got through most of the year without getting any wrong answers in my workbook. Then came that fateful day that scarred me forever. Two wrong answers on the same page left me devastated… And angry!
The workbook page was all about Tom, Betty, Susan, and their pets, Flip the dog and Pony. They were playing around the backyard swing set. Each in turn, we were asked whether Tom, Betty, and Susan could climb the ladder to the slide, to which the correct answer was "yes". Then we were asked whether Flip and Pony could climb the ladder to the slide. Now, I had been to the Shrine Circus. In fact, almost without exception, every crippled kid in Detroit had been to the Shrine Circus, because the Shriners always sponsored free tickets for us.
The Shriners, they were an interesting lot (probably still are). You see some of them were simply kind old men who wanted to do something good and important with their money, so they spent it on operations and braces and circus tickets for the "poor crippled kids". Then there were the other ones. The ones who made you feel creepy because every time they saw you, they wanted you to sit on their lap, give them a big hug, and accept a huge sloppy kiss. I knew they all "meant well", and I went along with all of it, because I knew that I needed them. My parents could never afford the leg braces, crutches, back braces, wheelchairs, and surgeries I needed to get through childhood with my particular disability. This all meant that I grew up with a sort of love/hate relationship with the idea of charity. I mean, I needed the help, they were willing to offer it, but there was an emotional price. Even as a kid, I knew I didn't really have a choice. So, I smiled in their pictures, accepted their affection, and enjoyed the circus!
In my trips to the circus, I had seen many Flips and Ponies jumping through hoops, even hoops of fire, climbing stairs and ladders, and doing all sorts of interesting things. So, of course my answers to the Flip and Pony ability to climb the ladder questions were "yes". How could this ancient first-grade teacher who had traveled with so many first-grade classes to the circus not know that Flip and Pony, of course, climbed the ladder? I mean, maybe they weren't trained yet or something, but they certainly had the same capacity as the dogs and ponies at the circus! So as I said, I was angry and puzzled. When I asked about why the question was wrong, I never really did get a clear answer from her, just an indication that she was rather astonished that I missed these "common sense" questions. All I knew was I now had a workbook with big checkmarks in it, no longer clean and pure. I think perhaps this is my earliest memory of disagreeing with a teacher. I'm not sure which was more frustrating, the fact that my workbook was now messed up (yes, I have been a perfectionist at least since the tender age of six), or the fact that I could not convince this otherwise reasonable teacher that dogs and ponies could indeed climb stairs and ladders.
The workbook page was all about Tom, Betty, Susan, and their pets, Flip the dog and Pony. They were playing around the backyard swing set. Each in turn, we were asked whether Tom, Betty, and Susan could climb the ladder to the slide, to which the correct answer was "yes". Then we were asked whether Flip and Pony could climb the ladder to the slide. Now, I had been to the Shrine Circus. In fact, almost without exception, every crippled kid in Detroit had been to the Shrine Circus, because the Shriners always sponsored free tickets for us.
The Shriners, they were an interesting lot (probably still are). You see some of them were simply kind old men who wanted to do something good and important with their money, so they spent it on operations and braces and circus tickets for the "poor crippled kids". Then there were the other ones. The ones who made you feel creepy because every time they saw you, they wanted you to sit on their lap, give them a big hug, and accept a huge sloppy kiss. I knew they all "meant well", and I went along with all of it, because I knew that I needed them. My parents could never afford the leg braces, crutches, back braces, wheelchairs, and surgeries I needed to get through childhood with my particular disability. This all meant that I grew up with a sort of love/hate relationship with the idea of charity. I mean, I needed the help, they were willing to offer it, but there was an emotional price. Even as a kid, I knew I didn't really have a choice. So, I smiled in their pictures, accepted their affection, and enjoyed the circus!
In my trips to the circus, I had seen many Flips and Ponies jumping through hoops, even hoops of fire, climbing stairs and ladders, and doing all sorts of interesting things. So, of course my answers to the Flip and Pony ability to climb the ladder questions were "yes". How could this ancient first-grade teacher who had traveled with so many first-grade classes to the circus not know that Flip and Pony, of course, climbed the ladder? I mean, maybe they weren't trained yet or something, but they certainly had the same capacity as the dogs and ponies at the circus! So as I said, I was angry and puzzled. When I asked about why the question was wrong, I never really did get a clear answer from her, just an indication that she was rather astonished that I missed these "common sense" questions. All I knew was I now had a workbook with big checkmarks in it, no longer clean and pure. I think perhaps this is my earliest memory of disagreeing with a teacher. I'm not sure which was more frustrating, the fact that my workbook was now messed up (yes, I have been a perfectionist at least since the tender age of six), or the fact that I could not convince this otherwise reasonable teacher that dogs and ponies could indeed climb stairs and ladders.