As we were flying into New York City yesterday, I was looking out at the clouds. I do this a lot when I fly, looking for potential flying hazards. As I was doing my hazard assessment, I tried to remember the three different kinds of clouds, something I learned back in grade school and later taught my students. I could only remember two of the names, and couldn't remember the differences.
Today Molly tried to teach me the complexities of Roman numerals. I know the basics, which I consider adequate Roman numeral knowledge. But she felt I should know it all, followed by a quiz.
As a teacher, I really felt that there were some things my at-risk students needed to know more than other things. I felt like learning how to multiply was much more important than spending time learning to convert standard measurements to metric. I felt like learning general topics about history was more important than learning exact dates and names of obscure battles and insignificant historical events. I felt like learning to read from real sources of print like newspapers and magazines was more important than a silly reader.
But maybe I was wrong. Maybe if I had stressed the importance of learning about clouds and all the important information associated with each type, at least I'd have somebody to call when I needed some advice. But maybe we're not supposed to know everything. Maybe we're only supposed to know certain things, things that make us experts. Maybe we're only supposed to really know the things that make us special and unique and invaluable to those around us.
I should know. After all, who do you think is the resident expert in refilling the toilet tissue roll!
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