Learning

When I was studying to be a California school teacher – an incredibly long time ago (actually in the 1950s), one of the required courses was about Learning. The only important thing I seem to have retained from those lessons was something which may seem pretty obvious – the physical comfort of the student. The first thing a new teacher learned to be aware of aware of was the climatic condition of the classroom – in particular whether the windows were open enough, or too much. One student in each class was usually assigned the role of “window monitor,” and the windows were adjustable with a special pole.

But I couldn’t help thinking back to those lessons, some years later, when I was on the faculty of a “floating University,” visiting various countries and having at least a brief glimpse into their cultures.

One stop was in Osaka, Japan, and with a fellow teacher I was invited to visit an English class in a local High School. It was in the depths of winter and, by my standards, very cold. But all the windows were open, and I could hear some of the students sucking through clenched teeth as they breathed in the frigid air. I looked forward eagerly to the lunch hour, when we would be guests of the faculty in their own special room.

And indeed, the large Faculty Room was a little warmer, because it was heated by one centrally located wood-burning stove, where we joined some of the teachers who were clustered around it. And now, my big hope was for a nice, warm, satisfying meal. The food – individual single-serve Styrofoam boxes – was brought in from outside. 

You have probably already guessed what my delightful luncheon surprise was going to be… You’re right! If there’s any kind of food I hate, it is cold, uncooked fish. Yes! It was that favorite Japanese dish – SUSHI.

I was so hungry that I had to force myself to eat some of it.

Another equally grim learning experience was even more directly connected with my own learning to be a California High School teacher. Pursuing that precious Teaching Credential In 1956, I was attending Los Angeles State College (now Los Angeles State University). One of the required courses was in “Audio-Visual Education.” This included such topics as making the best use of familiar media like bulletin boards and blackboards – but it was also concerned with more recently available devices such as slide projectors, machines called epidiascopes that can project images both of solid objects and transparencies, and most important of all, movie or film projectors.

In the final week of this course, each student was required to demonstrate his or her mastery of that machine by being sent to some other class on campus and giving them a film show. We didn’t know in advance what kind of class it would be, or what the film would be about. It turned out that my audience would be a class of student nurses. Their movie treat, I only then discovered, was to be a detailed depiction of a Caesarian Birth Delivery – in glorious technicolor. 

I was in my early twenties – but to that point had led a relatively sheltered life. I had certainly never been in an operating theater or otherwise been exposed to the gory spectacle of a living human body being cut open, and a fetus extracted. I was both fascinated and horrified at what I suddenly found myself so unexpectedly witnessing on the screen. I remember beginning to feel a little unwell. The next thing I knew, I was lying face-up on the floor and staring at the ceiling. Someone had turned off the projector beside me and switched the lights back on – and a bevy of Student Nurses was crowded around me, eagerly loosening my clothing, and fighting each other for a classroom opportunity to administer First Aid.

How embarrassing! For the first time in my life, I had fainted!

I’m glad to say that, somewhat heroically, after taking a few moments to recover I was able to resume my projectionist role, and even took a few peeks at the screen. I actually passed that Course with an “A,” instead of possibly getting an “F” for Fainting. In my entire life thus far, I only ever fainted one more time, which was while I myself was donating blood. What I learned from such episodes was, I suppose, that, depending on the circumstances, learning itself can be an overwhelming experience.