I took a mother personality test many years ago, just to see how far off the charts I was in terms of weirdness. Turns out there are others kind of like me, the learning types who look for any sort of educational opportunity they can as mothers. We’re the family with the huge map on the dining room wall. We spew the newspapers across the kitchen table and my heart sings when Mitchell reports on the latest world conflicts and Andrew tells me how the stocks are doing. I’ve tried similar tactics with our church paraphernalia but with limited results. When we’re on a road trip, nothing catches my attention more than those brown Point of Interest signs, which would obviously steer us in an educational direction. I like museums. Zoos are my favorite. I loved exploring the Midway in Hawaii—Pearl Harbor and the beach tied in my book. There’s not much better than the air conditioned library on a carefree summer morning and Barnes and Noble on a cold, snowy evening with the kids all enraptured in their selections. These moments and experiences warm my core, this is true mothering to me: a question on our drive that leads to a teaching moment (or pep talk, as Avery calls them), an informal discussion about a conference we all attended, the low-down on a business venture Mitchell’s interested in, trying out a new recipe in the kitchen together, pointing out a new place on the map—knowing they will want to know how far it is from Montana and teaching them how to figure it out. Giving Callum the go-ahead to research volcanoes and wolves on the computer for as long as he wants, sending Andrew off to Washington DC with the other eighth graders, letting Avery explore the castles of Scotland as a 12 year-old, signing Mitchell up for a two-week engineering camp on a college campus a couple hours away, saying ABSOLUTELY! to Andrew being a page, encouraging school, church, and scout participation, letting them play with fire and knives, basking in the fun Andrew and his buddies have camping and fishing and hiking alone in the mountains, letting Mitchell make explosions with his friends, bringing home electronics for Callum to take apart. These are the kinds of things that make my heart sing. I love learning, we’re just a curious bunch. I love to read and love to read to the kids, and I love that our kids love to read. We’re just that kind of house and family.
But I feel like a fraud, a fake, a counterfeit. Because I know so little, I’m so ignorant. I barely know enough to skirt by. I’m not being falsely modest. I’m not faking this. I’m about the least educated educated person I know. For how long I went to school myself and with Todd, for how old I am, for how much I’ve read, for how long I’ve been a member of my church, I just feel like I should know more by this point.
Where exactly I’ve been while all my contemporaries were learning their stuff, I don’t know. I can tell you that I know close to nothing about history. Except the parts I’ve read books about, the stuff that resonated with me, the stories I cling to. I have a working knowledge of a few wars and leaders, but mostly I like to know what everyday life was like for families in, during, and after the Civil War. I like to read how the newly emancipated slaves created lives for themselves. I’m drawn to life on the ranches of early Montana, what the gold-mining towns were like. I like the books that help me imagine the Salem witch trials or what The Greatest Generation was really like. I like to read about immigrants then and now. But that’s not much to go on. I even bought Don’t Know Much About History. I’ve listened to his audio books. But if I don’t learn it in a way that connects with me, it’s just a bunch of facts and people that are too muddled and many to keep track of.
I haven’t had a geography class since 9th grade. 1987. I just remember coloring rivers and pastel countries. That have now changed names on me. I can’t tell you how lame I feel. I even sit right across from our map in the dining room during every meal. We reference it every single day. I’m fascinated by the one that stares at me in the little blood donation room. I feel like I’m cramming for an exam every time I’m in there, trying to nonchalantly act like it’s all just review, as if I’ve seen it all before. When in my mind I’m scrambling to make connections, to glue down the name of just one more sea or newly-named country that I can quickly recall when mentioned in casual conversation. I don’t know how the kids know more than I do.
I can compute ok. But not in front of an audience. Like when I’m doing concessions at a crowded basketball game. Yikes, nothing throws me more off-guard than making change for a cute dad or large group of teens even though when I’m waiting in line as a patron I’m pretty quick. I’m ok with mental math, what with recipe alterations, shopping for large groups, that kind of thing. I actually kind of liked algebra and chemistry and even physics simply for their nice clean concrete answer formats. Equations and number riddles. I didn’t ever get imaginary numbers, and it took me a long time to reconcile that a vector was also imaginary—just a make- believe line in the sky. But math homework was my favorite because I could close the book when the assignment was complete. I’d learned what I needed to for the day. Because I’d come to the end of the worksheet. But I don’t get many chances to show off my algebraic solutions as an adult, it just doesn’t come up that often.
It doesn’t happen all the time, but enough. Somehow we get off safe small-talk topics and move quickly to the rapids. Which I’m good with and even welcome. I love it when we can move away from the doldrums of weather and house projects. But inevitably this is where I start to feel dumb, ignorant, wondering where I’ve been my whole life. How do they remember or know political figures from our childhood? And their deeds and controversies? How do they know so much about all these medical conditions? How do they keep track of all the senators from the various states and years? I can understand my ignorance about sports. I’m ok with that; everyone who knows me knows I couldn’t care less. But I really should know which countries are at war (aren’t most of them?), who’s holding hostages, and whose economies are teetering. I should listen to both sides (and the moderates) on all sorts of issues even though I think I know what I think. How do my friends know so much about bible history and the Greek and Hebrew translations and what Isaiah was talking about? When have they had time to learn about warfare through the ages and ancient cultures and where all the ruins are? And the pros and cons of various types of energy?
I want to know everything they know. I want to feel smart and be well-read and to have opinions based on peer-reviewed research.
But I can’t even remember the stuff I learned in college. I’m hard-pressed to remember what the various hormones in our bodies do even though I took physiology and majored in health. I don’t know if I could write a grant, even though I took an entire class on it. I don’t remember what books I read for English and if I liked them. I suppose I was present like most of you, but I’m sorry to say not much has stuck.
Except if you ask me about the classes I loved like environmental biology, history of dance, public relations, tennis, ballroom, sociology, work and relationships in the home. I have a few areas I feel ok talking about but people think I’m nuttier than they already suspect when I mention the social issues I’m passionate about and read about. They get the glossy look or the wandering look. I don’t even finish. I just back-pedal and ask a nice safe, So, what-other-plans-do-you-have-for-the-summer kind of question.
So how do people my age and younger (and of course older—although I give them the benefit of additional years) know and retain and regurgitate so much? I surmise they must submerge themselves in the media, that they read the paper everyday like my son and grandpa, or they listen to NPR on the half-hour commute back and forth to work everyday like Todd. Maybe they listen to news radio like so many people I know. Some friends get magazines like Time and US News and World Report. I remember having to subscribe to The Wall Street Journal for my public relations class; that would be helpful to do again I guess. I think the people I admire must read a lot of books. And not just fluff. I think they read faster than me or sleep less or just have better brains. Maybe they paid better attention in high school or got better grades in college. Maybe they joined clubs where they learned this kind of stuff first-hand. Maybe it was their AP classes. I suspect they are just naturally smarter.
And how does a girl like me of average intelligence who has missed all the boats that have come so far manage to jump aboard? Where do I start? I’d love to know if anyone feels like I do. And if they’ve managed to turn things around.
It’s just ironic that I value education and intellect and learning so much and yet I’m the furthest thing from a poster child when it comes to this kind of thing. And it’s bothered me for so long. I think it’s on my mind because the other night we were hanging out with some couples and it hit me how much they know, one friend in particular. He just seems to know everything. Not a know-it-all. Not at all. Just simply oozing with facts, ideas, years of experience and learning. He’s fascinating and amazing and easy to listen to. He says he’s a slow reader. But I know he’s crazy busy, so it’s not like he’s sitting around all day reading. It seems to me he chooses carefully. He likes documentaries, and he gravitates to non-fiction. Which is why we can relate. But his recall is better. And he’s more passionate about the topics we focused on than I am.
I do recognize one glitch, a minor obstacle. My heart breaks when I read the paper. I have a hard time detaching myself from what I read. My stomach churns and my innards tie themselves in knots when we talk about controversial topics and seemingly non-solvable problems of the world. I feel like the world is out of my control. It’s so hard for me to really engage and to learn the truths of what’s going on. I’m fine with the spider articles in our National Geographics, but to turn the page and see the tiny boys leaving at 4 in the morning on fishing boats cracks my heart to bits and I’m paralyzed for a large part of the day, it’s consuming. It’s hard for me to find joy in simple parts of my life because I feel guilty for the pleasures and comforts I’m blessed with, maybe and most likely because of people like these boys and others in sweatshops and diamond mines. And so sometimes I see myself choosing to step aside. To not be educated for a minute. And yet I feel like I can’t escape for long. The headlines are jarring, the news is bleak. I wonder what purpose being “educated” serves if I just bemoan the state of our world with others. So I straddle. I want to be learned, on top of world happenings and its histories. I want to be aware of others struggles and new discoveries. I want to know what goes on behind-the-scenes and what life is like for a diverse world population. But at the same I know what it all does to me. Because I feel helpless. I hate knowing about something and not having a take-home message that I can work on. I like to learn so I can do. So it can change me and help me change the world. But so much of what the media teaches us leaves me dangling, wondering what I’m to do with what I now know.
And so, that’s part of the dilemma. There are other hurdles. I have such a slight and weak foundation in so many subjects that I’d have to go back to the basics and I’m not sure how to do that. I’m more than embarrassed. I need a Life for Dummies book. Everything you should’ve learned by now but haven’t. In fact, now that I think about it, I did order a book like that. I loved it. But I loaned it out before I even read it all. That’s telling.
I imagine you’re thinking this girl is weirder than I even imagined. I’m just glad I don’t live in her world. But maybe someone out there hears me. Maybe you’re inquisitive, like so many of my friends, who know so much about so many areas of life. Maybe you retain what you hear like my sons and husband. Maybe you read voraciously like a few women I know. Maybe you have strong opinions like another friend who has researched and reviewed the issues. Maybe you’re just naturally smart like so many people I’ve known throughout my life. But maybe you know what I’m talking about. All I’m saying is I’ve been a little lax. I should’ve been doing better all along. I’ve missed some opportunities and been a little lazy. I regret it. And I want to do better.
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