For Earth Day: A simple question in Fifth Grade Science

I (Matt) was listening to a story on the radio about an organization called Teach America. This organization recruits the highest achieving college graduates to teach in the most "in need" or lowest-performing school districts throughout the country. Think of it as a Peace Corps for the United States. The organization's success is a result of psychology. In order to recruit candidates, the requirements are extremely rigid. By making it extremely difficult to be accepted into the program, it establishes a need on behalf of Ivy League graduates:

"At Yale, no fewer than 12 percent of the graduating seniors--nearly 1 out of every 8--applied..... Altogether, over 17,000 seniors applied for 2,100 openings."

So, why do I write about this organization? I mention it because the radio piece reminded me of a funny (now it is) experience I had while in elementary school. I have no idea why it popped in my head today but it did. It was the first day of school during my fifth grade Science Class. The teacher, Mr. Doherty, sought to establish rapport with the students. After learning student names, he introduced fifth grade Science by asking questions. His first question seemed quite simple. Well, at least to me:

Can anybody tell me what the Earth is made of?

In a millisecond, my mind darted to my own 10-year old boy resume. I had much experience with the Earth. I dug it. No really, I mean I actually dug holes in the ground all the time. I dug them in the woods, next to streams, in the garden...everywhere. For whatever reason, this kid job gave me pleasure. After I dug a hole, I would always fill it back up again. Filling up a hole you just dug was just part of the kid handbook..instinctual. It's like a dog covering up a freshly made turd.

I was the first in the class to raise a hand. Not the smart kid or the smart-assed kid, but me.

Yes, Mr. Rogers, what is the Earth made of?

I felt elated with my hand up. It was a sign of victory. The benevolent gesture of a fatherly dictator or the risen hand on a statue of a venerated military General from long ago.

Mr. Rogers, what is the Earth made of????

I almost yelled out the answer:

DIRT! IT'S MADE of DIRT!

During the next few moments, time slowed down. The class roared with deafening laughter. It was like a movie where they play human voices in slow motion which lowers them ten octaves and each utterance is exponentially longer. I was puzzled by this. Even through the laughter I could not understand how or why this would seem like a dumb answer. I knew dirt. I knew the Earth.

Mr. Doherty obviously saw the confusion in my face and made an attempt to relieve me by saying that yes, dirt is part of what makes the earth, in addition to elements or magma or some other ridiculousness. Though stunned, some part of me refused to concede. I think this was the last time I was ever the first kid in class to raise a hand.

As I now look at the world through the eyes of an adult, things are much more simple. This is so because the majority of what people say is bulls**t. It's like a different language where most words mean nothing. Since there is so much of this, a truthful response is rare. I don't say this with cynicism or bitterness or frustration. In fact, I am now pleased with my fifth grade self. Why? Because the Earth is made of glorious DIRT.