My elementary school teachers took us on field trips.
In 4th grade, we went to Lollipop Farm. The “farm” had animals you could pet and even
hand feed. For us suburban kids, it was
the first time we came face-to-face with a cow.
In 5th grade, we went to the Saddle Rock Grist
Mill, perhaps the oldest tidal grist mill in the country. This was not the first time I had been to the
mill. The stables there had been converted
into housing, and my parents were thinking of living in the stables, but we
wound up in a suburban split-level house instead, much to my disappointment.
In 6th grade, we went to the Museum of Natural
History in New York City . The focus of
the trip was the fish exhibits. After
looking at models of fish, displays of fish, photographs of fish, and dioramas
of fish, the class went to the museum cafeteria to eat the lunches that our
mothers had packed. I opened my lunch
bag and found a tuna fish sandwich inside.
It was impossible to eat a fish after looking at fish.
I saw the other side of field trips when I became a teacher
in Nigeria at a girls’ boarding school.
We did a nice daytime field trip to a historic house. The house was built around 1720, and had
artifacts from everyday life. I liked
seeing the students light up when they recognized an object their grandmother
had.
But I cut back on field trips after we went to a play at
nighttime.
Nigerians are big fans of Shakespeare; a popular hobby is
translating his plays into a local Nigerian language. However, our field trip was not to a
Shakespearian play; I took a busload of students to A Man for All Seasons.
Shakespeare’s plays are filled with activity and interesting characters
and awkward situations. A Man for All Seasons is a cerebral
play. The actors spent most of the time
standing still on stage and talking.
The Nigerian audience made a valiant effort to follow Sir
Thomas More’s agonizing about his private conscience while doing battle with his
public duties. Most of the audience gave
up and drifted into the dark recesses of the theater. My students drifted there as well.
Uh oh. I was supposed
to be chaperoning these girls. I had no
idea what was happening in all that darkness, and I grew exceedingly uncomfortable. I could no longer follow Henry VIII’s
agonizing about the burdens of being a king.
Then I got an idea.
When lights came on at intermission, I chased the girls out
of the recesses of the theater. The
girls were easy to spot because they were wearing their school uniforms. I told them that the play was over. It was time to get on the bus and go back to
the dormitories. Some girls tried to
correct me and point out that the play was only half over, but I was adamant.
When the bus dropped them off back at the school, I heaved a
sigh of relief.
I was so frazzled from the evening that all I could think
was, “I need a drink.” This was not just
some trite line from a black-and-white movie --- I really did need a drink. I headed for a bar.
I wonder if my 4th grade teacher had headed for a bar
on the day we went on a field trip to Lollipop Farm to hand feed the cow.
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2-minute YouTube home movie of Lollipop Farm, Syosset NY, complete with sound of 8mm projector:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kbxkYKbVV0
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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath. Price = $11. You can purchase a copy at http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com
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