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Kurt Reynolds

College Comp II

Exploratory Essay

Searching for What Isn't Lost

Life for a child is an adventure of epic proportions; life for an adult all too often is a rou-

tine of monotonous survival. When I pick my daughter up at daycare, I’m bombarded by kids.

If they aren’t tackling my legs and tugging on my arms, they are busy coloring, throwing balls at

each other, hiding beneath tables, or playing with neon colored plastic dinosaurs. The adults

look exhausted from just watching. As soon as Kenzie and I walk in the door and I get her mit-

tens, coat, and bomber hat off, she is off on any number of adventures. Kenzie gets more joy out

of a few moments shaking a bottle of Advil or climbing behind the couch and hiding behind the

curtains than most adults derive in any given day.

Whatever happened to my wonder? Somewhere along the way I went and lost it. Or had

it stolen. Our culture, I believe, works to abolish that which separates us from the animals: our

imaginations. Creativity is an endangered specie. Stay focused and determined. No time to day

dream or ponder. Earn those A’s. Score high on the ACT or SAT. Build that resume. Amongst

jobs, lists, classes, routines, bills, errands, cars, computers, televisions, that sense of awe I had as

a kid was lost. Or stolen. Every adult day seemed to become a new exercise in disappointment.

It seem to me that the loss of wonder and imagination begins in later elementary school.

By middle school there is an all out assault on wonder and imagination. By the time high school

arrives, it is almost as if the damn creativity gestapo are on patrol, pummeling any originality and

imagination out of every skull we find and replacing it with standards and information to be re-

gurgitated on standardized tests. As Sir Ken Robinson notes in his podcast entitled “Do Schools

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Kill Creativity?” “Our education system has mined our minds the way we strip-mine the earth:

for a particular commodity” (Ted Talks). That commodity most certainly has not been imagina-

tion.

Even now when I assigned this exploratory essay to my College Comp class - comprised

of some of the best and brightest in our school - there were still looks of utter dismay. What am I

supposed to write about? What do you mean ‘explore’ a topic? Just give me something to write

about? Just tell me what to think? The looks seemed to say.

“Just pick a topic you are interested in. Or pick a topic you have always wanted to know

more about,” I advised. “Then explore what you think. Explore what you learn.”

Still more looks of dismay. But I don’t know what I’m interested in, they seemed to say.

You can almost see the layers of imagination and curiosity stip-mined from their brains thanks to

state standards that elevate science, math, and literacy above liberal arts.

Robinson states that every single education system on earth was designed the same way:

“to meet the needs of industrialism” (“Do Schools Kill Creativity?”). The only problem with this

generation of students, though, is that the majority of them will not be working in factories or in-

dustries. The structure of the workplace and economy has changed. Congressman George

Miller told the National Press Club that “innovation and discovery are the only sustainable

sources of economic growth” (“25 Years Later: A Democracy at Risk - Education Podcast with

John Merrow #106.”). Innovation and discovery? What damned standardized, fill in the bubble

test measures that? In fact, what classes even teach that?

It’s no wonder by the time adults start having kids, we are shocked at the wide-eyed fas-

cination and interest they show in the world around them. After all, we have forgotten all about

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it! Now the fascination and interest blur together with everything else into one great indistin-

guishable event: life.

After my parents died, my sister and I began packing up their things in our old house. I

was amazed at all of my old elementary school projects Mom had saved. There were paintings

and stories and sculptures and projects stored in boxes in the basement. I smiled at all of them.

School used to be fun, I thought . . . before I even realized it. I felt ashamed at the thought. I’m a

teacher! What am I doing to foster creativity and original thinking? Or am I guilty of crimes

against humanity and ready for my trial as part of the creativity gestapo?

Upstairs in a closet I found stacks of my old tablets from high school and college. No

projects here, though. Sure there were the few exceptions of essays or stories I had written in

Advanced Composition and Creative Writing. Mostly the tablets were crammed full of dutiful

notes I transcribed as I sat obediently in class and listened to my teachers or professors drone.

Now this was more like school, I thought . . . but, sadly, I realized this all too well.

In my old desk upstairs, though, I found treasure though. There in the bottom drawer

were several drafts of novels that I had tried writing. Beneath them were dozens of songs I had

attempted to craft. Beneath those was the best discovery of all: a line of Transformers that I de-

signed and sketched in an old tablet. The drawings not only depicted the robot but they also con-

tained a graph charting their powers and abilities and contained a quote for each robot that

summed up its personalities and allegiance. It’s just too damned bad the only time I got to really

be creative was outside of school, I thought . . . recalling how I thought the exact same thing

when I was a student.

Why is it that the only sanctuary for the imagination is so often far from school property?

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I remember going with my mom and grandmother to Grand Forks when I was around six. My

mom took me across the street to a large building. It was some thing called a department store.

All I remember, or cared about, was that it had the most incredible thing I had ever seen in my

six years on this planet: an escalator. I rode up and down those shiny, folding metal stairs all

day. I remember trying to storm them in an attempt to beat them to the top and walking back-

ward trying to work my way against the flow. I remember thinking how dreadful it would be to

get an errant shoelace caught in the stairs as they collapsed and folded back under and came out

the bottom again. A security guard came up to my mother. I remember her saying, "you never

could guess that we come from a small town?" When we finally had to go, I begged and begged,

tugging with my small arms and planting my tiny feet firmly, for one more ride, just one more as

if my entire life depended on one more ride.

A few summers ago I went to the Mall of America. There were escalators there. I know

we rode on them. But I can't recall riding on a single one. Too many places to visit. Too many

things to buy. Too many things too see. So much for the wonder of the escalator.

Throughout grade school, I spent winter afternoons sliding down the hill behind our

house with my friends. My mom bundled me up in my snowsuit, moon boots, and a damn sissy

scarf and sent me out into the cold. Once down the hill I promptly took off the scarf and stashed

it in the knot of a tree. Then and only then I hopped on my red plastic sled and roared down the

hill for 10 seconds of genuine bliss. Then I grabbed the white rope my dad tied to it and lugged

it back up the hill. After what seemed like 10 minutes, I hopped back in my sled and raced down

the hill again.

Now I rarely venture outside in the winter. It just feels too cold to my 36-year-old skin.

But when I was eight, the worst thing that mom could do to me was quarantine me to the house.

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I even sacrificed watching afternoon cartoons to go sledding. The last time I went sledding? Fif-

teen years ago. I lasted about six trips down before my friends and I decided to head to the bar to

watch football.

When I was ten, every bus ride home was an adventure. I sat in a different seat every

time delighting in the many perspectives. Every day something new leaped out at me: the huge

tree outside a house with weathered planks nailed to the trunk leading up to a tree house, some-

one's dog chained to their porch, the flag hoisted high and flapping in our school yard with the

cord dinging against the pole, the Yoda back pack an older kid had, the songs "Physical," "Billy

Jean," and "Jessie's Girl" which the bus driver turned up to drown us out, a pile of orange,

brown, yellow, and red leaves in someone else's yard, the painstakingly trimmed shrubs border-

ing the court house lawn, the elaborate couches and lamps and dressers in the window of Wilcox

Furniture Store, the different cars parked along main street.

Now I am so wrapped up in planning supper, what I'm going to do for the evening, lesson

plans, when I have to send in my bills, or what I'm going to do on the weekend, that I hardly

even notice traffic on the way home. It's a miracle I don't get into an accident. I never once

wondered what ever happened to the excitement that used to be inherent in the ride home.

Because children still have their imaginations intact, before teachers or televisions can

suck it out, they attempt the impossible . . . or as Robinson states, “Kids will take a chance. If

they don’t know, they will have a go [at it] . . . They aren’t frightened of being wrong” (“Do

Schools Kill Creativity?”). Again, I can’t help but think about all the hesitation, reluctance, and

awkwardness when I assigned this essay. The whole point of this exercise is for students to take

a chance, to have a go, to - gulp - to even be wrong. The thrill is in the exploration, in the chance

that you take.

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When I was nine my parents left me alone for the weekend with my brother. He left me

watching Wild Kingdom while he went to his room to lift weights, crank up Deep Purple, and

probably smoke a couple of joints. I was enthralled in the show, especially when they showed

the flying squirrels. It was at that moment that I decided I was going to fly. So after a quick trip

up to my room, I paraded out into our backyard. With my Empire Strikes Back bed sheet tightly

secured to my ankles and wrists, I scaled the gigantic oak tree at the very back of the yard. Once

I reached a limb of adequate height, about 15 feet off the ground, I did my best flying squirrel

imitation. It was at that moment that I decided I was unable to fly. Luckily, the sheet snagged

another branch on my maiden flight and kept me from breaking anything. Eventually my grand-

mother stopped by to check on us and found me hanging there and set me free. I was sore and a

little embarrassed, but for that split second before I tumbled through the branches and leaves, I

felt a thrill. A thrill I’ll never forget.

Now everything seems impossible. I talk myself out of half a dozen things a day. When

I finished my undergraduate degree, I wanted more than anything to go to grad school. But I told

myself it was impossible. It took all of the courage I could muster over four years to eventually

apply for grad school. Even then I never thought I would make it. I never stopped to wonder

about all the things I was missing out on.

Even with this essay, so many students struggle. Why does picking a topic you are inter-

ested in or want to know more about seem so impossible? The answer is simple: students are not

given enough freedom to explore, create, and invent. When I taught journalism I gave the class a

choice: write a feature story on anything they were interested in for the upcoming newspaper or

stuff envelopes with coupons for the upcoming yearbook. It wasn’t even close. The entire class

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chose to stuff envelopes. And they attacked it and worked hard. Robinson was right. Our edu-

cation system has turned out obedient factory workers. That’s a shame.

Now every time I see a glimpse of wonder or creativity in my students, I revel in it.

When a student emails me their paper because they want feedback, I smile. When a new piece of

art is displayed by the art room, I stop and admire. If possible, I buy it for my classroom. These

are important reminders: creation, imagination, and wonder can survive.

Now every time I get a chance to create, I savor it. Last Wednesday I spent the day

teaching the staff here how to create and use podcasts for their classes. This allowed required

that I create podcasts. I loved every second of it; I was absorbed, challenged, and engaged. Un-

fortunately, how many teachers can say that on a regular basis? If we aren’t creative and en-

gaged, how can we expect our students to be?

When my sister and I left my parents’ house, I loaded all those old projects into my trunk.

I left the old tablets full of notes to rot. I also had all of my old toys boxed up too. Maybe I’ll

bring them to school. Maybe I’ll even buy some new Legos . . .

Works Cited

Robinson, Ken. “Do Schools Kill Creativity?” TED Talks. 26 Jun. 2006. TED: Ideas Worth

Sharing. 3 Feb. 2010. Podcast.

Miller, George. “25 Years Later: A Democracy at Risk - Education Podcast with John Merrow

#106.” Education Podcasts with John Merrow. 13 May 2008. PBS. 5 Feb. 2010.

Podcast.