3/19/2021 0 Comments First EducationMy High School Chemistry teacher Mr. Romberger, my high school chemistry teacher, was a gentleman from another age. This was in the early 1960s, which already feels like generations ago. He was always well dressed in a jacket and tie (common in those days), except when he put on his lab coat to do experiments at the front of the room. Then, he was like Bill Ney, the science guy. He made substances change colors, did strange things with dry ice, and showed us how to measure precisely. He was not harsh, but always demanding and particular. His expectations of all of us were the same – “I expect each student to earn an A. I don’t grade on a curve.” His frequent tests were difficult but fair. For example, we had to memorize the periodic table of the elements with perfect spelling of all the elements. I learned about flashcards and studied them on my daily train rides to school. Recently, I had a conversation and the word “rigor” came up. I reflected on this word and, seemingly out of nowhere, Mr. Romberger came to mind. I took internal note that what I would call my “first education”, from birth to finishing college, was sorely lacking in rigor. I found the definition of “rigor” on the web and discovered it had two meanings. The first was the one I had used throughout my first education and it meant inflexible or even dead, as in rigor mortis. Unknowingly, I had resisted a disciplined, structured and intentional approach to almost everything in my young life. I can see now how this lack of rigor, lack of structure was reflected in my posture including walking, as well as my schooling. I tended to take the easy way as often as possible, thus unknowingly, blocking myself from deeper learning. I had missed the crucial aspect of second definition – that rigor brings a worthy and necessary challenge to go more deeply into the subject matter as well as myself. During my first education, I was not expected to do chores at home. Although this was done from a place of kindness from my parents, I currently do not recommend this approach for inculcating good values in a child. Chores can be a great help towards learning responsibilities and skills, as well as participating in a greater vision of life, especially if they are presented and received in the right spirit. l grew up in an apartment in NYC and there was not much to actually do that required my participation. No chores like cutting the lawn, no pets that needed to be walked (ok, a parakeet), and being the younger of two brothers, no one else to care for. I don’t even remember having to properly make my bed on a regular basis. A taste of rigor I went to a public high school (Stuyvesant) for boys with an aptitude for math and science. In my junior year, I took my second year of chemistry with Mr. Romberger. November was the month for parent-teacher conferences, and my parents and I drove into Manhattan from Queens. I was a good “enough” student but not at the top of the class. When we visited Mr. Romberger, who was in the chemistry lab still smelling of hydrogen sulfide (rotten eggs), he politely said hello and looked at my parents and then at me. He said one line that I have remembered for my entire life “He does what he must, but what he mustn’t he doesn’t”. He went on to explain what he meant but I really didn’t get it. The next day I had a private conversation with him and asked what he meant. He told me that I duck the hard stuff, and thus have not learned to stick with it and get to the other side. I told him that I still did not really get what he was saying. A few days later, he called me to his office and gave me an application for the NYC chemistry competition, a multiple-choice test that might lead to scholarships. He said that some of the students will already have completed two years of chemistry, and I had only completed one. This would put me at a distinct disadvantage. In addition, the test would also utilize college level chemistry that none of the students would know about. “Want to give it a try - completely up to you?” He had thrown down the gauntlet to a budding, competitive adolescent. He then told me that the test was given on Saturday at the school, a one-hour train ride, and the test would take most of the day. Although this part did not sound appealing (I Iiked being “free” on the weekends), he had touched just the right nerve. I said yes. I asked him if there was anything I could do to prepare. He said that the best preparation for a test like this was to get a good night’s sleep and arrive on time. The Test The morning of the test, I got on the train. It felt different to be on the train on a Saturday, quieter with fewer people than the weekdays. I brought my chemistry book and my elements flash cards although, based on what he said, I doubted that they would be helpful. Students from all around the City were there. I was a junior and the seniors seemed MUCH older and I assumed wiser. The tests were given out and the proctors walked throughout the auditorium. I opened up the test pamphlet, and the very first question flummoxed me. It had something to do with Avogadro’s number and the number of units in one mole. I did not have a clue what this question meant. I did feel like running out of the room, but I decided to put my pencil down and simply take a few breaths and look around. A simple but clear thought then occurred to me. I should go through the test and answer all the questions that I could, and then come back to ones that were difficult. And that is what I did. The test was in timed sections so no point to get stuck on what I did not know. Somewhere around an hour into the test, something happened within me. I became actually curious about the questions, even the hard ones. It was so different for me to have this open-minded approach yet structured approach, even with the questions that I lacked some of the basic information. That I knew something or didn’t know something mattered less than the actual experience of thinking it through. I would work through my answers and, on some occasions, even on the difficult questions, the answer I arrived at would be one of the choices. Whether it was actually correct or not, I could not know. The test ended in the afternoon. To my delight I was highly energized, even exuberant as I took the train home. I told my parents that it was a great test and a great day. “It was as if my brain cells all worked together.” I suggested we all go out and celebrate by eating Chinese food. (I was 16!). They asked if I thought I might have won the contest. (Such a perfect question from loving Jewish parents!) I told them that there was no chance whatsoever, but perhaps for the first time in my life, I was thinking differently. On Monday, I found Mr. Romberger and told him my experience. He smiled and said “Ah, the experiment was a “success”. PostScript – When the results were published, I found my name in the middle of the pack. I felt a genuine pride in having done my very best, and had really learned something of value. Next blog – Second Education – Age, 21-40
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