We're All Connected...
In
my junior and senior high school years, I took Electricity I and II. Mr. Schraer was our teacher. Mr. Schraer was a football coach. He had fine blond hair, and was in his late
twenties, and stood over six foot tall, and weighing about 240lbs. Just a big young man.
The
classes were filled with some nerdy, smart, yet quiet boys. Unlike the boys in my three years of
Wood-working Class. The boys in
Electricity class were super science guys.
They appeared painfully shy.
Being the only girl, that increased my shyness ever moreso.
I
loved understanding mechanics, engines, and the workings of electricity. My Dad did not want me to take the
classes. For he felt becoming an
Electrician was a dangerous job, let alone for a girl. He truly did not appreciate my taking such
male dominated classes. And he never
seemed to understand my interest in such a class.
My
plan however, was to gain knowledge about electricity so that in the real world
I might be able to hold down a very part-time job with a skill most women at
that time didn’t have. I figured if I
could assist an electrician, it might help me pay my way through college after
the Marines. And my goal was to get a
Police Science degree and become a NJ State Trooper. I also knew some police officers had another
skill. I’d been around enough police
officers since just before my fourteenth birthday.
I
was intimidated in the class at first, because these boys who took electricity,
were more science minded, I tried but hadn’t found my niche. I knew my short-comings and figured if I
rubbed elbows with these boys I’d gain needed knowledge. So during the first three of our four marking
periods in Electricity I, Mr. Schraer treated me with such equality like my
Wood-working teacher, Mr. Domerski had.
So much, that I felt like I belonged.
It
took me a marking period to speak up in class, and ask the boys for help.
Without making them think I wanted a date.
I too was nerdy in my own way, enough to not want to draw attention to
myself or seem like I couldn’t grasp the concept(s). These boys had already tinkered in
electricity. I had no background, just a
dream. I really wanted to know how a
television worked. It was my #1
priority. That was what made me take the
class in the first place.
I
wanted to know ‘how can a voice and a picture show up in your living room. What
makes this happen?’ I struggled in
class. I got a C+, B-; then received a B
in my third marking period. One day I
went in for extra help during my free time.
I met with Mr. Schraer. I believe
it was the report and lecture I was to do on the way the picture on the
television arrives. Mr. Schraer was
reviewing those items with me. It was
the first time he’d ever been one on one with me.
As
I showed him the direction I was going in on the project, he stopped me for a
moment and looked me straight on. He said, “You know I have to tell you
Jody. I did not know what to expect
having you, a girl, in my class among those boys. However, you really fit in. The boys like you, and your presence
encourages them to really learn in my class.
I didn’t know if you were here for the right reasons. But I now know you are. You keep improving.” I responded, “I just have to understand how a
television works. Because it’s really
neat. Like the picture and everything
just shows up.”
For
my report, we also had to speak in front of all the Electricity Class Students
in the lecture hall and give visual aide as well. I was petrified. At the end of the year I received an A in
Electricity I, fourth marking period.
That
year, Mr. Schraer and the boys in my Electricity Class, Reached God’s Perfection,
without initially understanding why a girl desired to take an all male
dominated class. The boys looked at me
in such a way to welcome my questions. They would stop what they were doing,
and speak kindly to me. They, so rich
with knowledge, and I had no clue. And
they welcomed me as if I was one of them. It was as if they let me know that
the knowledge they had, I had too. They
showed me how to tap into science on another level.
Comments
Post a Comment