Teachers are expected to know everything. Students ask one million questions, on or off subject, and at any moment you need to be prepared to either speak with authority or own up to your ignorance. In my debate class I have a student with a disability. But not one of those, I sit there and quietly fail disabilities, one of those I'm-incredibly-smart-and-vocal-and-have-poor-social-skills disabilities. He has to express his opinion about once every thirty seconds. Things need to be just so, or I don't want to consider the consequences. Well, I gave them three topics to choose from to write semi-impromptu speeches. I would give them five minutes to prepare. I gave them history, America, and debate.
Well, the room was dead silent except for the sound of pencil and pen on paper and the oldies music I play while my students are working. Suddenly, a hand is thrust urgently into the air. I walk over and before I'm even there, my student with a disability is exclaiming, "Wait! I can't do this! I don't know who the father of history is." Uh-oh. Crisis. I was about to launch into a whispered explanation that history had began without a specific "father," when, to my surprise and delight, an easy explanation rose from the depths of my subconscious. There was an ancient historian widely regarded as "the father of history," however technically incorrect such a title might be. But the kid wanted an easy answer, so I smiled and smoothly replied, "Cicero." "Oh good," he said, "How do you spell that?"
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