All I Know My Kids Learned In Kindergarten

by John Christmann

I have a big problem with elementary school education today. I can’t keep up. Since I am no longer in grade school, you wouldn’t think this would be a problem. But you see, as a parent I always envisioned myself patiently guiding my children through their homework, filling them with wonder that I could know so much about so many things. Instead I find myself frantically searching the Internet or running to the security of my calculator in order to help them. And this is just to decipher their assignments.

I am astounded by what is being taught to our children at such young ages. My children come home using words that frighten me; words like “fractions”, “physical sciences”, “social studies” and—this is really scary—“language arts”. What’s next? Humanities?

The other day my second-grade son came home from school and asked, “Dad, do you know what a Googolplex is?” I had absolutely no idea.
“Sure, I do,” I lied unconvincingly, “it’s a really big movie theater.”
“No Dad,” he corrected me, “It’s the largest number in the whole world! There is this number called a Googol which is a 1 with a hundred zeros after it, and a Googolplex is a 1 with a Googol zeros after it!”
“Wow!” I said. “That’s a lot of movies.”

Then I received another lesson from his sister.
“Daddy, do you know what a cinnamim is?”
“Of course, it’s that spicy stuff I mix with sugar and put on your toast.”
“No Dad. Not cinnamon, cinnamim.”
“You mean a synonym?” I asked.
“Yes, a synonym. Do you know what that is?”
“Sure,” I faltered, “It’s a . . . word . . . it sounds like another . . . no, it’s . . . uhm . . . well, in fact it is one of a large family of Nym words.”

At this point, it was pretty clear even to my kids that I had no idea what I was talking about. But that didn’t stop me from buying a little time to turn over my brain cells and uncover that which I certainly knew, but had temporarily misplaced, as if it were a set of car keys.

“Nym words,” I continued authoritatively, “are words that describe other words because sometimes we can’t describe the words using the words themselves so we have Nym words to do it for us. There are antonyms and synonyms and geraniums, just to name a few. In fact there are probably a Googol Nym words. That’s why you have to go to school for the rest of your life—just to learn the Nym words.”

My kids looked up at me in disbelief, but I was on a role.
“A synonym,” I went on, “is a very popular Nym word. In fact it can be used with Googol. A Synogoogolplex is actually a super large movie theater, like I told you earlier. You can break it down into the root words. Syn is short for cinema, which means 'movie' in Greek. Googol is a very large number. And plex is short for 'complex', which is kind of complex, but in non-complex terms means a big place with lots of parking. Breaking down words like this is called. . uhm . . wordomology. It’s one of the many Ology subjects—like biology, or astrology, or gastroenterology; and yet another reason why you have to go to school for the rest of your life.”

My daughter interrupted me here.
“Daddy, a synonym is a word that means the same as another word. Like when something is ‘easy’ we can say it is ‘simple’. We learned it in Language Arts today!”

“You’re right, sweetie.” I said dropping my head. “It’s simple.”

After being so thoroughly humiliated by my young kids, I decided to take inventory of what I remember learning in school when I was their age. Here it is: the pledge of allegiance, how many fingers to hold up when going to the bathroom, the complete version of 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall, and how to find the Principal’s office. Here is what I can no longer remember learning: everything else. I can’t even remember what I’ve forgotten.

But the one thing I do remember is how my folks guided me through my schooling, especially in my early years. I looked up to them in wonder that they could know so much about so many things. My Dad helped me with math and science; he could add numbers in his head and tell me why the sky was blue. My Mom helped me with English; she could spell and write long, perfectly formed sentences that easily filled up a homework page. When I had questions, they had answers. When I became confused, they patiently helped to clear the log jam in my young brain.

Their teaching styles were vastly different. My Dad would sit down and explain things in a warm, reassuring way that a kid could understand. My Mom would sit down in a warm, reassuring way and tell me to “look it up”. And for years I did, because when I was old enough to start asking really difficult questions, my parents ordered the Encyclopedia Britannica from a salesman who promised to make Nobel Prize winners of me and my sister. This was a huge investment, something my parents did not treat lightly, but in the end they rightfully decided there was nothing more worthwhile than our education.

The Encyclopedia Britannica was delivered in thirteen boxes, hand-delivered by valedictorians from the Jack LaLanne Academy. We had to build a special bookcase just to hold all the volumes; it covered an entire wall. The books had a rough texture, but were richly trimmed in gold, and they stood off regally by themselves in our den. I was afraid to open them. I thought my head might explode with all that information.

I was pretty excited when the massive volumes arrived.
“What is a Britannica?” I asked.
“Go look it up,” said my Mom.
From then on it was my job to keep the books in alphabetical order, which was hard because each volume was something like Nyq to Pht.

Over time, of course, the encyclopedia began to replace my parents as my primary source of knowledge outside of school. I started to use the encyclopedia to do reports and quickly learned that the words “paraphrase” and “plagiarize” are not synonyms. Before long I had moved on to the library and the huge collection of arcane books which sadly put the outdated Encyclopedia Britannica to shame. And then one day a big entertainment center took over the space once occupied by our stately reference books and the only help I asked my parents for in school was money.

These days, of course, we have little need for the Encyclopedia Britannica. We can look things up over the Internet. The information that has left our memory cells is just a mouse click away should we need to retrieve it, as is the answer to just about any question we can think to ask. Gone are the imposing, space-hogging volumes of books. Now we have imposing, space-hogging computer monitors where we can instantly look up things like, Encyclopedia Britannica, synonym, and even what is playing at the local Googolplex.

And this is a godsend for parents like me who still want to prove to their young children that they actually know something. For although I may not know what a Googol is, I certainly know what Google is. And in my quest to be an inspiring source of knowledge and wisdom to my children, I can always “look it up” surreptitiously over the Internet.

“That’s a good question!” I say, stroking my chin and glancing upward as if I am pondering the universe. “Let me think about that a minute. . .” Then I make a quick dash to my computer where I do a Google search and find the answer to everything.

“An autonym”, I say pumping up my chest, “means using your own name”. Using etymology, we can break the word into its parts. Auto is from the Greek, meaning self and nym is Greek for name. Hence ‘self name’. The opposite of autonym is pseudonym, which . .”
At this point my older son interrupts impatiently.
“No Dad, not autonym, Ottoman. Who were the Ottomans? It’s for my humanities class.”

Humanities?

“Hey guys,” I say to my kids who are looking up to me in wonder that I can know so little about so many things, “Do you know how to sing 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall?”