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The More Things Change . . .

02/19/03

The lure of ancient civilizations and the ebb and flow of empires has fascinated me since early childhood. History will always be my passion. Indeed, I expend a decent slice of my waking hours writing about it.

For most middle schoolers, however, the subject is about as enjoyable as a trip to the dentist. You can understand, then, why I was a bit leery when Mrs. Caubin, a history and drama instructor at Golden Hills School, invited me to discuss the causes of World War II and the horrors of the Holocaust. In addition to her history class, the drama department is preparing for "Kilroy Was Here" (a WWII-related production), and Mrs. Connell's 7th grade English class was reading The Diary of Anne Frank.

Don't get me wrong. I was honored. But I felt like a piece of chum about to be tossed out of a bucket into a pack of sharks. Lecturing about dead people to a room full of bored students could get a little hairy. "Come on, Savas," I told myself. "You've delivered lectures to adults all over the country. How hard can it be to talk to a few students?" From what I hear, plenty hard. The rap on the young of today is that they don't care, can't read, can't think, and have little or no respect for academics in general, and teachers (read "guess lecturers") in particular.

The "Day" arrived all too soon. At 2:10 p.m., I tripped my way into the multi-purpose room. To my dismay, it was overflowing with dozens of kids, teachers, parents--and Brant Choate, the school's principal. I'm not much for scripture, but the story about Daniel entering the lion's den flashed across my mind.

While Mr. Choate was introducing me, an image of John King edged Daniel aside. King was my 9th grade history teacher. He never lectured. Instead, he questioned, probed, pushed us to the limits of our abilities--and then a step or two beyond. Remember the movie "Dead Poet's Society"? He could have starred in it. King delivered George Washington's Farewell Address standing on top of his desk. That aspect of emulation might have been too much of a shock for Mr. Choate, so I decided to keep both feet firmly on the floor--and my prepared script in my pocket.

King-like, I opened with a question. Ten hands shot into the air. Discussion. Another question. Another crop of young arms. Delight washed over me. Not only were these students ready to listen, they were eager to participate. A few tough guys assumed a look of studied apathy, but the vast majority were all smiles and ears.

The breadth and depth of their knowledge also surprised me. After naming the treaty that ended WWI, Thane S. explained how it set the stage for WWII. How many adults can do that? Sam B., Elyse H., and "Frosty" took part in discussions relating to the Holocaust, Hitler's early years, and the importance of waging and winning WWII.

As many told me later, the most interesting portion of the discourse was when we related history to current events--with the Persian Gulf and European appeasement leading the way. "Understanding history and human nature," I explained, "makes it much easier to predict the future." Several students proved my thesis by analogizing the rise of 1930s German fascism with Saddam; French (and early British) appeasement then, with French (and ironically, German) appeasement now, and Hitler's early moves with Hussein's invasion of Kuwait and his brutal treatment of his own people.

More surprises followed. That evening, student Brooke M. called to thank me for taking the time to speak. The call was her own idea--which speaks volumes for her character and the job her parents are doing raising her. A few days ago, a "thank you" card arrived, inscribed by students and faculty alike. I tucked it away in my "that's-a-keeper" folder.

Three thousand years ago, an Egyptian Pharaoh worried about leaving his country in the hands of the disinterested and ill-behaved young. Six decades ago, parents and politicians did not think the youth of the 1930s were up to the challenges of defending global freedom abroad.

Don't let the studied apathy fool you.


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