Mr. Kindle went to the blackboard and wrote the words, 'Compiling Evidence About Historic Events, ' across it in large block letters. He turned to the class and asked, "Can anyone name a historic event of the last century?"
"Winning the football game," Thomas Westerland answered without raising his hand. It felt kind of good knowing an answer to a question asked by a teacher for a change.
Looking across the room at Tom, Mr. Kindle said, "I don't think that has sufficient significance to be a historic event."
"You know not what you say," Sean said looking horrified by the comment.
"It was the first win in a long time," Max said indignant at the suggestion that it wasn't significant.
"Perhaps, I should say that the event is a little too local to be of much significance," Mr. Kindle said.
"Boo!" Tom said from the back row. He glanced down at this notebook to make sure that there wasn't a wad of paper headed towards his mouth. There wasn't. He relaxed a little.
Sean leaned over to Suzie and commented, "I don't think he understands the historical significance of the events last Friday night. You would think that a historian would recognize a historical event when he sees it. Perhaps I have over-estimated his abilities as a historian."
"Maybe he is thinking of something with a little greater scope to it — like a war," Suzie suggested.
"I'm still waiting for him to tell us about his tea-time conversations with Attila the Hun," Sean said.
Overhearing Sean's comments, Mr. Kindle rubbed his forehead trying not to get a headache. He asked, "Can anyone tell me why they think it is so historically significant?"
Speaking as if the answer was obvious, Max said, "We moved from being in last place to being tied for last place."
"That's a significant change," Sean said nodding his head in agreement.
Deciding that it wasn't worth arguing about, Mr. Kindle said, "Okay. Let's assume that winning the football game is a historic event. How would a historian go about ascertaining what happened?"
"They could talk to me," Max said looking at Mr. Kindle.
"Excellent," Mr. Kindle said. He wrote on the board, 'Interview participants, ' while saying, "You can interview a participant in the event. That is a first-hand account. If the participant is deceased, you can read any letters, diary entries, or memoirs he or she might have written. Now are there any factual errors that can be introduced as a result of getting information from a first-hand account?"
"Are you saying that I would lie to you?" Max asked giving Mr. Kindle a dirty look.
"This lecture is not going well at all," Sean said leaning over to Suzie.
"I think you're right. Max would never lie about something like that," Suzie said frowning at Mr. Kindle.
Feeling a major headache coming on, Mr. Kindle answered, "Not at all, Max. I'm suggesting that your account would focus on the elements that were most important to you."
"We won," Max said.
"That's true. However, I imagine that your account of the game would be different than an account given by a member of the opposing team," Mr. Kindle said.
"Of course it would. I would be talking about winning the game and he'd be talking about losing the game," Max said wondering what the problem was with that.
"Exactly. Your account would have a bias because it would focus on your role in the game rather than the game as a whole," Mr. Kindle said.
"Maybe," Max said not sure that he liked the idea that he was biased. He leaned over to Sid and asked, "What that an insult?"
"I don't think so," Sid answered although he wasn't quite sure.
Mr. Kindle asked, "Who else could a historian talk to about the game?"
Tom answered, "Me. I was there and saw the whole thing."
"Yes, a historian could interview a witness to the event. That is also a first-hand account. Now are there any factual errors that could be introduced by interviewing a witness?" Mr. Kindle asked. He wrote, 'Interview Witnesses, ' on the board.
"Are you saying that I would not be factual?" Tom asked. He was still a little perturbed that Mr. Kindle didn't consider the game historic.
"No. I'm just saying that you might have been watching the cheerleaders rather than the game when something important happened," Mr. Kindle said.
Donna looked at Mr. Kindle and crossed her arms. In a chilly voice, she said, "He wasn't. I was there. If he was looking at any women it would have been me."
"I stand corrected. He might have been watching you," Mr. Kindle said with a forced smile. He hadn't thought this lecture was going to be so difficult. Nodding at Donna, he added, "So there might have been events that Tom missed while looking at Donna."
"While gazing with adoration at Donna," Donna corrected.
"And lusting after her hot sexy body," Tom interjected earning a smile from his girlfriend.
"He's become quite the sweet-talker, hasn't he?" Sean commented to Suzie while pointing at Tom.
Suzie nodded her head and said, "You could learn a thing or two from him."
"I know, but he has to work at it a lot more than I do. After all, she isn't as pretty as you," Sean said.
Suzie smiled and said, "You're not that bad at sweet-talking yourself."
Trying to get control over the class discussion, Mr. Kindle asked, "So we have active participants and witnesses to the event as sources of information. Did anyone film the game?"
"No," Sean answered.
"Why not?" Mr. Kindle asked in surprise. Normally parents would record any games in which their children participated.
"Considering our past game history, who would want to watch us get creamed a second time?" Tom asked as if the answer should be obvious.
"That's true. My parents stopped coming to the games," Max said shrugging his shoulders. They had been very surprised when they had learned that his team had won the game. He could have knocked them over with a feather when he had told them he had scored a touchdown.
"Why?" Tom asked. His parents would have been overjoyed if he participated in any school activities. His parents had gone to the Thanksgiving school play back when he was in second grade. Of course, his role had led to him getting called 'Tom the Turkey' for the rest of the school year. That had dampened his enthusiasm with regard to participating in school events for life.
"Friday nights are their game nights," Max answered. He wasn't quite sure what kind of games they played while he was out playing football and he didn't really want to know. He suspected that lots of leather and toys were involved. The less he thought about the subject, the better.
"They play sports too?" Tom asked shifting to look at Max. It made sense to him that the parents of a jock would be jocks.
Max shifted uncomfortably and answered, "Not really."
Curious, Tom asked, "So what are they doing?"
Max growled and answered, "They are probably having sex."
"That's gross," Donna said wrinkling her face.
Susan shuddered and said, "Old folks shouldn't be doing things like that."
Jerry said, "It isn't natural."
With his experience at having caught his father reading poetry to his mother, Sean said, "You would probably be shocked if you knew what your parents are doing when you aren't around. It is truly disturbing."
"Somebody should be supervising them," Donna said.
Mr. Kindle cleared his throat and said, "We've established that there aren't any recordings of the game. Where else can a historian get information about an event like that?"
The whole class stared at Mr. Kindle trying to come up with an answer to that question. After waiting for a minute, Mr. Kindle held up a newspaper that had been on his desk. He asked, "What about the newspaper?"
"I clipped out that article," Max said. "There weren't any details about the game in it."
Frowning, Mr. Kindle looked down at the article. He hadn't read anything beyond the headline since he had planned on reading the newspaper when he took his break in the teacher's lounge. Thinking that Max had to be exaggerating; he read the article aloud, "It appears that the Fighting Ferrets actually won a football game last Friday night. It is their first win since Coach What's-his-name retired years ago."
Faltering, Mr. Kindle said, "It is a little short of details."
"See," Max said. He would have liked it if his name had been in the article. After all, he had scored a touchdown.
"You're right. So what can we say about newspaper reports of events?" Mr. Kindle said. He went over to the board and wrote, 'Newspaper accounts, ' on it.
"They can be a little lacking in details," Max said.
"Exactly. They can also have political biases," Mr. Kindle said.
"Like what?" Tom asked.
Mr. Kindle said, "Well, let's take the example of the article that I just read to you. Does it strike you as odd that the article starts with the phrase, 'it appears?'"
"That does suggest that we might not have actually won," Max said with a frown.
"That's right," Mr. Kindle said.
"I'm going to write a letter to the editor," Max said getting angry.
Mr. Kindle said, "Now for this to be a truly historic event there has to be some consequences that extend beyond the event itself. Can anyone give such a consequence for the game?"
Suzie answered, "We now have two reporters on the school paper."
"Tom and I work on the school paper," Donna said raising her hand to get Mr. Kindle's attention. She leaned over to Tom and said, "That will teach my parents to try grounding me for a hundred years."
"How many did we have before?" Mr. Kindle asked wondering how the game could have affected the number of reporters on the school paper.
"None," Sid answered.
"None?" Mr. Kindle asked incredulous. He wondered how they managed to have a school paper without any reporters.
"It appears that last week's newspaper was written five years ago," Sean said.
Nodding her head, Suzie said, "They just changed the date."
Shaking his head, Mr. Kindle went to his desk draw and rummaged through it for a few seconds. He pulled out a copy of the student newspaper from a couple of weeks ago and looked over it. He asked, "Do you mean that we didn't send Mary Marcher to the state capitol to meet with the Governor's commission on education quality?"
Not recognizing the name, Max asked, "Who is Mary Marcher?"
Susan answered, "I think that is Kerry Marcher's older sister."
Looking around the room at his fellow students, Jerry asked, "Didn't she graduate two years ago?"
"Yeah. She works over at the Surf and Turf as a hostess," Donna answered.
"You know, I thought there was something suspicious about that article," Sean said scratching his cheek.
"I guess we learned that newspapers aren't exactly reliable sources of information," Mr. Kindle said incredulous that they would reissue an edition like that. He wondered if this wasn't worth an article in a history journal. He wondered how many small town newspapers did exactly the same thing. That would make an interesting doctorial thesis.
Nodding his head, Sean asked, "Have you read the Times lately?"
"You have a better chance of finding facts on an adult story site on the web," Sid said with a grin.
"I'm going to tell Anita that you're reading stories on an adult story site," Susan teased looking over at Sid.
"Who do you think told me about it?" Sid asked. He had read some of Anita's stories. They may not have been well written, but they sure gave him some ideas. He was pretty sure that Anita was hoping that he would try out some of those ideas with her.
Susan's mind slipped over to the topic of most interest to her and asked, "Do they have any poetry on that site?"
"I don't think so," Sid answered edging his desk and chair away from Susan. She had that feral excited look on her face.
Jerry said, "Pity."
Mr. Kindle decided that it was time to regain control over the conversation. He said, "We've established that there is at least one significant consequence to the game Friday night. Are there any others?"
"My girlfriend was quite pleased to celebrate our victory," Max said with a broad smile on his face.
"You're girlfriend has a beard," Tom said thinking it was a little strange for a woman to have a beard.
"Thomas Westerland, what did I say about making rude comments about people?" Mr. Kindle asked.
"She does have a beard," Tom said in protest.
"Of course she does. She's a Dwarf. Female Dwarves have beards," Max explained.
"They prefer the term Little People and females do not have beards," Mr. Kindle said thinking that all he needed was for word to get out that his class was talking in a derogatory manner about height challenged individuals. It was a well established fact that teaching was a very political profession today. Teachers not only had to watch out what they said, but what they allowed their students to say.
"No. She's not a Little Person. She's a Dwarf," Max said rolling his eyes.
"She is a Dwarf," Sean said supporting Max. Seeing that Mr. Kindle was about to argue he added, "He's talking species and not genetic irregularities."
"I don't think that having a girlfriend celebrating a victory with you is really a significant consequence," Mr. Kindle said wondering about what Sean meant by his suggestion that Little People belonged to a separate species. No matter what they talked about, it seemed to him that these kids kept coming back to the subject of sex.
"Speak for yourself," Dennis Walker said. He was the prototypical pimply faced kid of the school. He knew that every school had to have a pimply faced kid, but it really bothered him that he was the one at that school. He planned on having a long talk with God about that subject when he died.
Max said, "You've never celebrated a victory until you've celebrated one with a Dwarf wearing leather."
"That's too much information," Tom said holding up his hands.
"Leather?" Susan asked sitting up straighter. She asked, "Were there whips involved?"
"No," Max answered moving his desk and chair a little further from Susan.
Mr. Kindle took a step back and stared at Susan. The idea of her loose with a whip sent chills down his spine. They weren't chills of excitement. He said, "Were there any other significant consequences to the game?"
"Isn't it a little too soon to know all of the consequences?" Sean asked after thinking about it.
"That's an excellent point," Mr. Kindle said.
Nodding his head in agreement, Dennis Walker said, "We won't know for at least a month how many cheerleaders got pregnant."
"That's true," Suzie said.
"We won't know until the genetic tests come back who the fathers are. That will be at least nine months from now," Sean said. Now that he understood the math behind how the entire football team managed to date a handful of cheerleaders, he was pretty sure that paternity would become an issue.
Knowing a bit more about cheerleaders than the rest of the class, Max said, "All of the cheerleaders on are the pill."
Thinking that little piece of information was going to have a significant affect on his fantasies, Dennis Walker said, "That figures."
Mr. Kindle looked over at Dennis and shook his head wondering what was going on in the young man's mind. His headache was starting to pound. He only had a minute left to make his point about the lecture. He said, "We can speculate about the long-term consequences about an event, but to know if it is truly historic we have to wait to see what actually follows from it. That's what historians do. They assess past events in term of their long-term consequences. If a historian does his job well, then his or her assessment of past events can improve the quality of our speculations about current events. That is what makes the work of a historian important in the modern world."
"That's a good save to a pretty bad lecture," Sean said impressed.
"You're right," Suzie said.
"I was starting to worry there for a while. It looked to me like he was about to crash and burn," Sean said. He looked over at Mr. Kindle and asked, "Do you need some aspirin?"
"Yes," Mr. Kindle answered. Sean's comment hit too near the truth.
Sean rummaged around in his pockets for a few seconds before pulling out a bottle of water and a bottle of aspirins. He handed them both to Mr. Kindle. He said, "Teaching must be a very stressful occupation."
"It is," Mr. Kindle said opening the bottle and dumping out a handful of aspirin. He looked at the small pile of pill and dumped a few more into his hand. The bell ending class rang when he handed the bottle of pills back to Sean.
From history, Sean went on to English, math and social studies. In each class, with the exception of math, there was a long discussion about the football game. Other than that minor difference, Sean's day progressed like a normal day in school until his biology class.
The typical activity on Mondays in biology was to take measurements documenting the health of their projects. Reaching into the salt water habitat, Sean picked up a lobster and looked at the underside. Smiling at the lobster, he said, "Ah, Michael! How are you doing today?"
Sean put Michael down on the scale and weighed it. He frowned while recording the result under the value entered the previous week. Disturbed by what he saw, he said, "You've lost weight. Last week you weighed a half an ounce more than today."
"You're going to have to fight Michelle for food. If you don't eat, you'll disappear in a couple of months," Sean said holding the lobster so that he was looking it in the face. A claw came out and attempted to grab his nose. Shaking a finger at the lobster, Sean said, "Bad lobster."
Sean set down the lobster on the table. He got out the ruler in order to a measure the length of his lobster. He had to drag it back in front of him several times since the lobster kept trying to walk off. It took several attempts to get a decent measurement. He sat back and said, "That's odd. Michael shrank. Lobsters aren't supposed to shrink. Lobsters aren't supposed to grow without shedding their shell."
Sean reached over and grabbed the lobster before it walked off the edge of the table. Holding Michael, he went over to the habitat to get the other lobster. He picked up the other lobster and looked at the underside. Puzzled, he said, "Huh?"
He flipped over the first lobster and examined it. He used the lobster in his right hand to scratch his head just barely avoiding getting an ear clipped off in the process. He turned and stared at the habitat wondering if that had anything to do with his problem. Shaking his head, he said, "I don't think the habitat had anything to do with that."
Ms. Bird noticed Sean looking around the room rather puzzled. She asked, "Sean? What's the matter?"
"I've got a bit of a problem here," Sean said. He looked at the undersides of the two lobsters again.
"What?"
Sean said, "Michael shrank and Michelle turned into a boy lobster."
"Lobsters don't change gender," Ms. Bird said gently.
Holding up his lobsters, Sean said, "Last week I had a boy and a girl lobster. This week I have two boy lobsters."
Ms. Bird asked, "Are you sure?"
"I know enough about lobsters to tell the difference between a boy lobster and a girl lobster. Girl lobsters have a small shield between the second pair of walking legs. Last week, I had one of each gender and this week I have two boys," Sean said. He had been careful to pick out a pair of lobsters since he hoped to have them breed.
Deciding that Sean must have been mistaken, Ms. Bird said, "Well, take your measurements and put them back."
"Okay," Sean said. He put Michael back in the habitat and carried Michelle over to the table. Putting the lobster down on the scale, he weighed it. Grabbing the ruler, he measured the lobster. Looking up at his teacher, he said, "Michelle lost a half an ounce and shrank, too."
"Both of your lobsters shrank?" Ms. Bird asked puzzled. She could understand a little mistake about the gender of a lobster, but lobsters didn't shrink. She shook her head and said, "Lobsters don't shrink."
"That's right," Sean said. Troubled by what he believed happened, he put Michelle back in the habitat. He raised a finger in the air and declared, "Something stinks in Denmark and it ain't the fish!"
"They aren't fish," Ms. Bird said absently. She'd never had anything like this happen before.
"Well, you know what I mean," Sean said.