Curriculum
Derek Jenkins

We called our sixth grade science teacher Skeletor. Her face was a rigid landscape of bone and burst capillaries, intersected by white lips and a nose like a fin. Her desk, lined with mysterious pill bottles and empty water glasses, was jumbled and chaotic, save a small empty space where she would sometimes place her forehead while we took quizzes or did exercises. We had gotten used to her running to the bathroom in the middle of class.

Her experiments were carried out with matches and Pringles cans and tennis balls, vinegar and baking soda an Play-Doh volcanoes, potatoes and wires and light bulbs. She donned safety glasses and flitted about the room like some fidgety alien. We popped bra straps and threw spit wads and pulled hair. We had our own experiments to conduct.

Middle school students need to see an immediate relationship between science education and everyday life. Experiments should be designed to help motivate students to learn about themselves and their world.

Dennis, John, J.D. and I were in Skeletor's class together. Eating lunch, Dennis said something that got our wheels turning.

"I think it's a wig."

Skeletor had short hair, parted on the side like a boy's. Short, bristly, and a bit too shiny. It definitely wasn't normal; it was strange.

"Yeah man! It's a fuckin' wig!" John said, squeezing his orange slice over his mashed potatoes and gravy; squeezing it dry then flinging it across the cafeteria and hitting Jimmy the Jew square in the head. "She fuckin' wears a fuckin' boy's wig!"

I took my sandwich apart and ate it piece by piece by piece.

"I bet she looks like a goddamn buzzard without that thing," I said.

Dennis smiled, took the gum out of his mouth, and stuck it in J.D.'s hair. We dispensed our various cruelties without prejudice. It was anyone's game.

Science is an enterprise that relies on insight, reasoning, skill, and ingenuity. Science would be an inactive discipline, were it not for humans continually seeking to understand and explain their role in the natural world.

We continued our discussion on the playground. It was late fall. John and J.D. piled dead leaves on top of the fire hydrant while Dennis and I supervised.

"We should knock it off," Dennis said. "In front of the whole class."

"How?" I asked, only mildly interested, pointing out to John and J.D. spots where the red hydrant poked through the leaves.

"You could sneak up behind her when she's writing on the board," he said. "Use the yardstick."

"Me?"

"Hell yeah, you. It was your idea."

"I could get into real trouble," I said, pleading.

"Done!" John exclaimed, wiping his nose and beaming.

We walked across the playground, past swing sets, merry-go-rounds, jungle-gyms, and kickball games. John and J.D. were looking for a sucker to jump into their pile of leaves. Dennis had other plans, and he kept looking at me.

"Don't be a pussy," he said.

It is important for students to ascertain that the universal laws of science are often long-standing ideas that still apply today. Conventional laboratory experiments offer opportunities to display how science is invariable, historic, probabilistic, and replicable.

"Don't be a pussy," Dennis whispered.

We were sitting in class. The students were still rustling and breathing heavy and shedding sweaters and jackets. Skeletor was writing on the board. I traced my hesitation on the desk and squeezed my eyes shut.

"Hurry!" Dennis said.

I looked around the classroom and spotted the yardstick leaning against the wall in the back corner under a poster that read "Science is Funtastic!"

Scientific investigations usually involve collections of relevant evidence, the use of logical reasoning, and the application of creativity to devise hypotheses and explanations to make sense of empirical data, although there is no invariable scientific method. The ultimate goal for a scientifically literate person is being able to use appropriate scientific principles and processes in making personal decisions.

I stood behind Skeletor for what seemed an eternity, the yardstick stretched forward and waving with apprehension, inches from her skull. The class had grown silent, the only sound in the room the sharp clack of chalk against the board. In one quick move I rested the yardstick on her neck, then scooped the wig off her head and raised it into the air. Skeletor turned and looked at me and then the yardstick and then the wig that was perched on the end. Her head was bald save the occasional strand of wiry black hair.

The laughter of the students was cautious until she started lunging for the wig, which I kept well out of reach. She finally ripped the yardstick out of my hand and ran out of the room, tears pouring from her eyes. She didn't look like a buzzard. She looked like death. I was suspended for a week.

© Derek Jenkins