Does Life Seem Nasty, Brutish and Short?
I can't complain about Tuesdays. I put in an hour and half of work beginning at four forty and I'm on the street again at ten after six. It's an hour and a half more than I'd like to work, but I'm grateful to have it. This afternoon, I showed up and taught my first grade class the finer points of a Harcourt story called "Splash!"
"Splash!" is about two shiftless bears that can't get their sorry asses out of bed to feed themselves. One is named Sam, the other one is named Nelly. By the time Sam and Nelly make it to the lake to catch their fish, the other bears are already snatching salmon and bass and whatever other freshwater fish are unlucky enough to be swimming around. The other bears are disappointed to see Sam and Nelly. The pair have a reputation for fucking things up. Sure enough, Nelly slips on a rock and goes into the drink, her companion following her under the pretense of a rescue. Needless to say, this scares the fish away and throws the other bears' game off. Sam and Nelly apologize profusely and manage to persuade the other bears to let them stick around. At this point, the entire group gorges itself on fish. For some reason, the fish--as they're drawn--are all smiling. . . as if to say "Hooray! I'm going to die!" At some point, the "brave" fish swim away. . . The author tells us that every bear was full and that not too many fish were eaten.
I told the class that to flee certain death isn't brave. . . nor can we call it bravery's opposite, cowardice. What we witness, watching those fish plunge into the deep, is the animal desire for survival. . . the desire to stay alive at all costs. Such a will not only runs through the animal kingdom, but motivates humanity, as well. The urge for self-preservation is present in all forms of sentient life and, in the case of mankind, has lead "lesser" men to betray their parents and children.
Moreover, I went on, it takes a lot of fish to feed a bear. Carnivorous bears grow to weight about fifteen hundred pounds . . . which is about ten Mr. Hudsons. If a bear is getting to hibernate, it needs to eat several hundred pounds worth of food to sustain itself through its dormancy. Assuming the bears were only taking in a regular feeding, though, it's probably safe to say they'd feel full after consuming between thirty or forty pounds worth of fish. Considering that your average salmon will be about six to seven pounds, each bear would need to eat about six fish to get its fill. According to the one picture of the bears going after the fish, in which no less than twelve bears were seen, we'd be forced to conclude that at least seventy two fish died in that lake.
So why isn't the water being splashed about in the fray red? Why isn't blood washing up on the shore. Why aren't the bears soaked through with it?
"Because it are the children-people story, Teacher Mr. Hubbason!"
"That's right," I said. "And what do we know about children's stories?"
"They are packs of lies written so that we may sleep soundly in a cruel world in order to remain fit enough to perpetuate the relentless and indifferent horror!" sounded the class as one voice.
(It took six lessons to get them to understand that, and twelve to say it properly.)
"Very good, class. Who wants to play heads down, thumbs up?"
"Splash!" is about two shiftless bears that can't get their sorry asses out of bed to feed themselves. One is named Sam, the other one is named Nelly. By the time Sam and Nelly make it to the lake to catch their fish, the other bears are already snatching salmon and bass and whatever other freshwater fish are unlucky enough to be swimming around. The other bears are disappointed to see Sam and Nelly. The pair have a reputation for fucking things up. Sure enough, Nelly slips on a rock and goes into the drink, her companion following her under the pretense of a rescue. Needless to say, this scares the fish away and throws the other bears' game off. Sam and Nelly apologize profusely and manage to persuade the other bears to let them stick around. At this point, the entire group gorges itself on fish. For some reason, the fish--as they're drawn--are all smiling. . . as if to say "Hooray! I'm going to die!" At some point, the "brave" fish swim away. . . The author tells us that every bear was full and that not too many fish were eaten.
I told the class that to flee certain death isn't brave. . . nor can we call it bravery's opposite, cowardice. What we witness, watching those fish plunge into the deep, is the animal desire for survival. . . the desire to stay alive at all costs. Such a will not only runs through the animal kingdom, but motivates humanity, as well. The urge for self-preservation is present in all forms of sentient life and, in the case of mankind, has lead "lesser" men to betray their parents and children.
Moreover, I went on, it takes a lot of fish to feed a bear. Carnivorous bears grow to weight about fifteen hundred pounds . . . which is about ten Mr. Hudsons. If a bear is getting to hibernate, it needs to eat several hundred pounds worth of food to sustain itself through its dormancy. Assuming the bears were only taking in a regular feeding, though, it's probably safe to say they'd feel full after consuming between thirty or forty pounds worth of fish. Considering that your average salmon will be about six to seven pounds, each bear would need to eat about six fish to get its fill. According to the one picture of the bears going after the fish, in which no less than twelve bears were seen, we'd be forced to conclude that at least seventy two fish died in that lake.
So why isn't the water being splashed about in the fray red? Why isn't blood washing up on the shore. Why aren't the bears soaked through with it?
"Because it are the children-people story, Teacher Mr. Hubbason!"
"That's right," I said. "And what do we know about children's stories?"
"They are packs of lies written so that we may sleep soundly in a cruel world in order to remain fit enough to perpetuate the relentless and indifferent horror!" sounded the class as one voice.
(It took six lessons to get them to understand that, and twelve to say it properly.)
"Very good, class. Who wants to play heads down, thumbs up?"