WHY I TEACH-Part 10: A Fish and a Tree

I saw the red flashing light blinking at the end of the dark hallway. I switched on the light, whispered a “Thank You” to Atticus.

My printer’s output tray overflowed onto the floor and the add paper light flashed. I gathered up the pages of random math worksheets, found the printer queue with 38 pending jobs, and deleted them all.

I filled the paper tray with a precious ream of paper and it immediately began printing again. I pulled the tray and checked the queue. Seven new print jobs had appeared. I deleted them. Four more popped up. I unhooked my printer from the network and carried it over to my desk.

I grabbed the papers and headed to the math hall. Only one classroom had light. I popped my head in. “Excuse me, are you printing something?”

A woman poked her head out from around her monitor. “Yes, but it isn’t working.”

“You’re printing to my printer, not yours,” I said as I handed her the stack of papers.

“Oh, I just assumed the first printer listed was mine,” she said as she took the papers and continued working on her computer.

“Thank you?” I asked sarcastically when she didn’t offer one.

“You’re welcome,” she replied.

Back in my classroom, I stared at my empty walls. I pulled up my favorite Einstein quote about everyone being a genius and not judging yourself by standards that don’t apply to you.

I blew up the quote so one word filled each page. I hooked my printer up to just my laptop, not the network, and hit print. I put each page in its own plastic sleeve, used my electric hole punch to punch holes in the bottom of each sheet, grabbed a handful of paper clips, and went over to the cinderblock wall.

I had to put a stool on top of the desk to reach the ceiling and Stuart would probably not have been happy with me standing precariously on a stool, hooking paperclips to the drop ceiling—but he would never know.

I linked the pages and strung them up. The seven by four grid displayed the quote:

Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid. -Albert Einstein

“What does it mean?” a voice behind me said.

“Ah!” I yelled and jumped forward, crashing into the wall. “Holy crap, Terrance, you scared the pee out of me.”

“I hope not literally,” Terrance replied. He extended his arm and helped me jump off the desk. “So what does it mean?”

“Well, can a fish climb a tree?”

“No,” Terrance replied.

“Does that make the fish stupid or dumb?”

“No, but a fish isn’t expected to climb a tree.” Terrance reread the quote.

“So you wouldn’t hold it against the fish that he couldn’t do something he wasn’t expected to do?”

“But I’m not a genius,” Terrance said.

“By whose standards? The world? Society? The smartest person in your class? The star football player? If you just think of all that you can do, just you, then you are a genius!”

Terrance laughed and scratched the back of his head. “If you say so.”

“I say so and believe so,” I replied.

“So what exactly will we do in this class?” Terrance changed the subject.

I pointed to the boxes on the hall shelf next to the wall of computer monitors. “We are going to take all that junk and build computers.”

“Sounds fun,” Terrance said.

“It should be interesting,” I replied, knowing full well I had no idea how to repair a computer. I didn’t know a motherboard from RAM.

“There’s this guy on YouTube that has some pretty good computer repair videos,” Terrance said. “I think his name is Carey somebody.”

My ears perked up. Mental note: computer repair YouTube videos, Carey somebody. “Thanks! I’ll have to check it out! Are you ready for the rules test?”

Terrance pulled a pencil out of his back pocket, “Yup.”

“See, genius,” I replied.

I stood by my desk and greeted my students as they entered. I handed each a blank piece of paper and directed more than one to the stash of pencils on the shelf. Each time I looked at Terrance as if to say, “See, genius.”

“Alright,” I began, “Let’s begin with rule number one. Now, I don’t want you to just write down one word. Like I don’t want you to write, ‘Bathroom’. I want you to write down what it means, something like, ‘You don’t have to ask to go to the bathroom, just take the pass and go.’” I paused.

Terrance laughed and started writing. Kids looked around confused. “Dude, she just gave you the answer, write it down.”

“See, genius,” I said with a smile.