smart baby and school

2020-10-17

I had this tiny baby and I was holding it and cooing over it and I was telling it what such great things its future would hold. In this world, apparently all stations of power are related to becoming as big and strong and mighty a tree as possible. So I was telling it that it would be a great, strong trunk. And then maybe a strong branch. And then a stronger branch that would support many other branches. And then one day! Maybe even a world tree.

It is important for children to be exposed to language and reading as soon as possible, so I was being careful to speak in full sentences to the baby, and then I decided to read with it.

I pulled out a book and pointed to each word as I read. Then it started reading along and making baby noises which very quickly started to sound like the English words. Then it really was reading along, and we traded off, me reading a sentence and it reading a sentence.

I felt pretty proud at first. “Well, look at that! I totally just taught that baby to read! It is going to be a great tree!” But then it started reading and speaking fluent Spanish and then I was upset that it knew something I hadn’t taught it and that I didn’t know. “Wait, is this baby smarter than me?” I felt jealous and slighted. If I didn’t have anything left to teach, then I didn’t feel important anymore.

Later I was in The School, which is a recurring dreamscape for me, a cavernous campus in which it is easy to become lost, and it is always difficult to ascend to the upper floors and find your classroom. Its layout and architecture are very similar to the high school I went to.

The main feature is the main hall, present on at least three stories, in which most of the classrooms are located. But to access them, you must leave the main hall and go all the way to the end of one of two adjacent wings, which is where the only stairwells are. This is where the misdirection happens: by the time you reach the stairwell, you usually forget where the classroom is you’re trying to find. And even if you do remember, it is very difficult to ascend the staircase and end up where you wanted to go.

So I had been rushing around the first level trying to figure out where my history class is, and I had just given up and was sitting dejectedly in one of the flat uncomfortable orange couches in the main hall, when I heard my history teacher bellow out his classroom door on the second floor, “History of Giants! Now starting! I’m about to close the door!”

I leaped up and yelled back to him, “That’s my class! I’m supposed to be there! Don’t start yet, I’m coming! I want to learn! I want to be taught!”

He laughed, and lingered in his doorway, swinging the door back and forth, miming shutting it. I tried to commit the location to memory, continuing to look at it over my shoulder while sprinting away to what I hoped was the nearest wing, hoping I would be able to remember its coordinates.