“…I
wonder that so much
Of
value came from tacky, corny props
That
helped me on whatever path I took.
The
memory of their meaning never stops
For
one who conned them like a history book.
But
more alive than even they themselves,
The
parents, scraping by, who for their son
Once
claimed these men from supermarket shelves.
Who
knew? Who’ll ever know what they have done?”
My
parents were not well educated but they seemed to assume that toys ought to
have a pedagogical purpose. Like Krisak, I remember presidential minutiae and
can recite their names in order, like a poem. Grover Cleveland’s second term always
sounds like a mistake, a typo in memory (years later I interviewed his great-
and great-great-grandsons). Because of a plastic jigsaw puzzle of the United
States, their names, shapes and capitals are inscribed in memory. The card game
Authors taught me the faces and vital stats of Longfellow and Louisa May Alcott.
My brother and I collected Civil War cards, as much for the gore (“Painful Death”) as the history.
The
long-term result is a gift for winning at Trivial Pursuits, but more
importantly the assumption that education is unending, informal and cobbled
together from unlikely scraps ("tacky, corny props"). It has little or nothing to do with accumulating
degrees or even showing up for class. Autodidacts start young.
1 comment:
I played the Authors card game as a kid. My interest in good books began at about the same time by reading Classics Illustrated Comics. I'd buy these regularly at the local drugstore with money earned from my newspaper route delivering the Detroit News each afternoon and Sunday mornings.
Scraps accumulate and can add up to an education. Kierkegaard, who wrote a 7000-page journal, titled one of his books Philosophical Scraps. Chesterton, the extraordinary writer of the ordinary, titled an essay collection Tremendous Trifles.
TJG
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