| The following column was republished in The River Reporter on July 15, 1999. |
By Bert S. Feldman
The Recusant Reporter
I was delighted recently, as I usually am, in reading the witty column of my fellow toiler in the vineyards, Thusnelda, whose observations on the minutia of daily life appear fortnightly on page 5 of The River Reporter.
In this particular column Thusnelda reported on the problems of our children who, during their summer vacation, never seem to have anything to do. When a grandchild uttered his favorite whine, she suggested he take out a book and read. Horrors! The child seemed puzzled by this suggestion and asked his mother whether this strange object — a book —could be attached to his electronic game.
In this age, the 19-inch screen serves as babysitter, sports coach, teacher, minister and all-around factotum, so this situation is not too difficult to understand. No imagination on the part of the child is required; — the face of the tube predigests all for him or her. The thoughts of characters, as written in books, are not reproducible, so action and violence replace them. Thought is becoming obsolete, somewhat akin to the making of buggy whips. Allow me to tell you a true story concerning one of my daughters, who today is herself a mother.
You may recall, if you read my column, that I do not own a TV. This was not some sort of elitist decision. Our house is surrounded by high hills, and we have difficulty getting any sort of reception. Somehow our family has survived, and all are constant readers. When my daughter was about nine or ten, her elm (fourth grade?) was assigned to watch a TV spectacular of Charles Dickens’ "A Tale of Two Cities." She explained to the teacher that we had no TV and therefore could not do the assignment.
"You mean that your set is in the repair shop?" the teacher asked.
"No, we don’t have a TV at all," the child explained.
The teacher knew how to cover her rear. "Is this because of some religious belief?" she queried. When the girl stated that this wasn’t the reason, that we just didn’t own a set, the teacher became confused.
"Whatever are we going to do with you, child?" she wailed.
"I dunno!" replied my daughter.
So she began the march up the ladder of the school hierarchy, teacher to department head to whoever, all asking the same question and posing the child along to the next rank up. According to the school nurse who was present, by the time the girl finally reached the principal’s office she was convinced she had committed some horrendous crime and was blubbering quite freely.
The principal heard the various teachers and department heads tell the tale of a little girl who was some sort of un-American loony, whose parents didn’t — horrors! — even own a TV. What to do?
At this point the little girl looked up through her tears and nodded as the Highest Authority asked the constant question: "Whatever shall we do with you child?"
Sniffling, she sobbed her reply: "Please sir, I read the book. May I do a book report instead?" This revolutionary solution was agreed upon, and a book report was presented as homework. I am not sure how this solution affected the smooth operation of the school’s curricula. Possibly, having a student who read for the pleasure of it has set back education in Sullivan County for years.
And don’t forget the permitted use of pocket computers in arithmetic. Today if a child brings home a D grade in this subject; the parent doesn’t know if the kid needs tutoring or a new battery.
Imagine, in some local schools, I am told, they expect children to be able to count up to ten ... by memory!
What are our schools coming to?
