Thursday 28 May 2015

The day John jumped

I was in the first year of primary school and I had to illustrate the sentence that John was jumping.  To achieve this, I had to draw a picture in colored pencils and underneath write the defining sentence about John's jumping.

I believe I started off on a good track.  I drew a picture of John, who seemed not to have any ground line underneath him, and I made the requisite comment, which was either, "John jumps" or "John is jumping".  Since the exercise was time pressured, I hurried to queue behind my KG1 (Grade 1) teacher's desk, with my exercise book in hand, behind the other students.   She would either make a huge tick sign or a huge cross sign in response to one's efforts.  Some students had to do their work again.

When I reached the elderly teacher's desk, she remarked that my picture had not been sufficiently clear.  John may have been suspended in air, but it was not clear he was jumping over something.  I ought to go back to my desk and draw the requisite object that John was jumping over to receive the necessary tick.

I went back to my desk, but I had been daydreaming (a fact I still remember unto this day).  Instead of drawing a log under John to indicate his elevation, I had begun another picture, namely of John jumping over a log.  Once I had done this, I suddenly noticed that instead of one picture to answer my teacher's critique, I now had two, which oddly enough said the same thing.

My friend sitting next to me confirmed my worst thesis by looking over at me and saying,  "That is wrong".  I realized that my only recourse was to follow her example of pulling out the offending page, even though that was illegal.  Each exercise book had about 16 lined pages in it, and each missing page could be noticed.  She had earlier showed me her method of using a ruler to tear out the offending page, whilst removing the evidence of a jagged edge on one side of the book by tearing out its partner page on the opposite side.  I tore out the page that seemed to have reproduced itself during my dreamlike state, but I forgot to tear out its partner, or I did so inadequately.

Returning to my place in the queue beside the teacher's desk, I showed her my renewed depiction of "John Jumps".   I had been using all the force of my mind to make her not see the jagged edge of my book where a page had been removed, but she saw it all the same.   I told her I knew nothing about it and she accused me of foul play with the exercise book and threw my book across the room to hit the wall.  She told me to retrieve it.

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Cultural barriers to objectivity