On Forming Questions
When I was in the third grade my mother and/or the school
system decided I was “Talented and Gifted.” This meant that a special teacher would come to my school
and sit with me in a very small room—what looked like a converted broom
closet—and have me fill out mimeographed worksheets. The worksheets asked me to make lists and to draw pictures
based on instructions. I found
some of these sheets in my mother’s garage recently, and the tasks I was asked
to perform seem meaningless and potentially baffling for an eight year
old. “List foods you would cook on
the stove. List foods you would
cook in the oven. Which foods
would you keep in the refrigerator?”
Perhaps there had been a mix-up.
Maybe they thought I was a cooking savant. I wasn’t. My
mother was a graduate student. We
ate a lot of spaghetti, as far as I can remember. The special teacher once asked me to draw a picture of
anything. Anything! I drew a cow that had a town of small
people living in its stomach. She
told me that I should have drawn something that made sense, something that
could really exist. I told her I
felt a little sick, like I was going to throw up. She wrinkled her nose at me and told me that it wasn’t
polite to use the word “throw up.”
What word was I supposed to use, I asked. She seemed exasperated by my question. (I wasn’t used to this. My mother was good at answering
questions.) “Oh, I don’t know!”
the special teacher said.
“Vomit. Upchuck.” That made me want to throw up even
more.
Does this answer the question?
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