The Darndest Things

Tom has exceptional talent for telling a story. This Foot in Mouth piece is hysterical.

Tom Wootton - Cornell

V:50 I:4 - Foot in Mouth Disease 2nd Place

The Darndest Things

When a close friend, Keri, asked me to give a talk to her sixth-grade class, I was pretty hesitant.  I’m not generally intimidated by sixth-graders, but I wasn’t given a whole lot of guidance.  Our multiple times discussions always devolved into the same questions, and the same ambiguous replies.

“What should I talk about?”

“Whatever you want!”

“How long do you I have to talk?”

“Whatever you need.”

“What are you working on in class?”

“(Insert some topic I haven’t considered since 6^th grade)”

“Should it be related to that?”

“It can be… if you want it to be.”

Thanks Keri. Keri is a fantastic teacher—young, enthusiasticmart, etc.—but I got the impression that with only 3 days before winter break, she was on the verge of checking out.  As a vet student, home for winter break, I understood the sentiment. And I figured that any class time I filled would be a well-deserved break for her.  So I decided to hop in.  I’d talk about sharks.

I’ve always been interested in marine biology (I was a marine science minor in college and earned an MS degree studying gill morphologies in Thresher sharks), and I figured I might as well stick to what I know. Plus, what kind of sixth grader doesn’t like sharks?  I mean, really? 

The day of, I was a bit nervous.  I had this image in my mind of some brilliant 12-year old whiz-kid, fact-checking me on his iPhone, calling me out in front of the class.  And when the kids funneled in after recess, I was pretty sure I saw him.  His name was Harrison.  Most of the kids in the class were wearing your typical pre-teen attire—T-shirts, cargo shorts, sneakers. Harrison was wearing a beige tweed sport coat, black slacks, a bow tie and wingtips.  His hair was (way too neatly) parted and slicked back and his thick tortoise-shell glasses looked like they’d been pilfered from an 80-year olds’ bedside table.  With a cigar, and 35 years, he would have been a shoo-in extra for AMC’s “Madmen.”  I could already imagine him correcting me on the length of the frill shark’s gestation period or the migratory patterns of great whites.  So, when in response to the question, “what is a shark?” he shouted, “a mammal!” I calmed down.

“What do sharks eat?” I posed afterward.  Hands shot up across the room. (I’d love to say they loved me, but as was recommended to me, I was bribing them to participate with candy.) I pointed to a girl in the back.

“They eat fish!” I threw her a Kit-Kat.

“Seals!” Off went a Reese’s.

“One more, guys!” A shy girl hesitantly raised her hand.

“Sharks also eat small things too, like plankton and other orgasms…”

I looked at Keri, my eyes speaking for me, “That’s all you…”

Her glare responded, “I ain’t touching that one.”

I dispensed another Kit-Kat.

I ended up chatting with them for the class period—walking out the length of a whale shark, showing them pictures of the deep-sea goblin shark and generally goofing around.  The class loved it, but not nearly as much as I did.  Sometimes in veterinary school, surrounded by intelligent and inquisitive minds, it’s easy to feel out-matched.  To be intimidated by colleagues. To be a bit surprised to have ended up among them. “I duped the system!” I’d tell friends (only half) joking after receiving my acceptance letter.  But self-confidence is important.  And while we develop it throughout our educations, it’s important to absorb as much of it as we can—even if it’s through teaching 6^th graders about marine orgasms *AHEM* organisms, that is…