He lived a short life, but it was a good one.
One day, my third-grade teacher “adopted” two plants we were to use in a small-scale biology experiment. Prior to beginning the experiment, she asked the class what we thought the names of the plants should be (they were as close as we could get to class pets). All hands went up, but of the naming of the plants came down to between me and my friend Emily. Emily’s plant, formerly known as “Plant A,” was newly dubbed “Sandwich.” As for my plant, when the teacher asked me what I wanted to call it, I said, “Slick” (don’t ask — “Slick” used to be the name of a character on one of my old videogames). When the naming ritual ended, my teacher then explained that we would be performing a science experiment that would show us how plants grow when fed different chemicals. She told us she would give Sandwich basic water, while Slick would be given acid rain.
Okay, I thought, in my ever-so-naïve third-grade mind. Acid rain, that sounds cool! Maybe mine will grow curly or even bigger than Emily’s. The sad part is I honestly believed my plant would do a back flip because it was being fed “acid rain,” this strange new miracle potion I had never heard of. Now, death wasn’t really a concept I was particularly familiar with at the time, as I had yet to experience the death of family members or friends. However, the day I walked into the classroom to find my plant withered to a single drooping brown stem, I broke down into a crying fit. I had always been a bit over-sensitive, and sure enough I was in hysterics at the sight of my wilted plantchild. What made it worse was the fact that I could see Sandwich sitting on the windowsill right beside Slick, showing off its brilliant green leaves to all who passed by. It may have been no more than a simple sapling, but Slick was my baby, and losing him (yes, I just referred to ‘it’ as a ‘him’) was like losing a family pet.
In reality, the experiment was nothing more than a curriculum-based project our third-grade teacher was instructed to carry out as a part of her job. In fact, it may have been a total coincidence that my plant was sacrificed for the sake of scientific research, whereas Emily’s continued to bloom into a beautiful flower which was used to decorate the classroom many weeks after the experiment. More likely, however, my teacher chose Emily and me to name the plants because we were both two of her most well-behaved students. She probably did not think about the consequences of killing one of the plants, because she did not expect one of us to actually form a bond with the dumb thing. She probably only considered the idea of rewarding us both by allowing us to name the two plants.
Okay, I thought, in my ever-so-naïve third-grade mind. Acid rain, that sounds cool! Maybe mine will grow curly or even bigger than Emily’s. The sad part is I honestly believed my plant would do a back flip because it was being fed “acid rain,” this strange new miracle potion I had never heard of. Now, death wasn’t really a concept I was particularly familiar with at the time, as I had yet to experience the death of family members or friends. However, the day I walked into the classroom to find my plant withered to a single drooping brown stem, I broke down into a crying fit. I had always been a bit over-sensitive, and sure enough I was in hysterics at the sight of my wilted plantchild. What made it worse was the fact that I could see Sandwich sitting on the windowsill right beside Slick, showing off its brilliant green leaves to all who passed by. It may have been no more than a simple sapling, but Slick was my baby, and losing him (yes, I just referred to ‘it’ as a ‘him’) was like losing a family pet.
In reality, the experiment was nothing more than a curriculum-based project our third-grade teacher was instructed to carry out as a part of her job. In fact, it may have been a total coincidence that my plant was sacrificed for the sake of scientific research, whereas Emily’s continued to bloom into a beautiful flower which was used to decorate the classroom many weeks after the experiment. More likely, however, my teacher chose Emily and me to name the plants because we were both two of her most well-behaved students. She probably did not think about the consequences of killing one of the plants, because she did not expect one of us to actually form a bond with the dumb thing. She probably only considered the idea of rewarding us both by allowing us to name the two plants.
Lesson learned:
Not everyone who does seemingly cruel things has an alibi. Most of the time, they are simply unaware of the trouble they cause. Learn to brush off the ignorance of others, and don't let them stand in the way.
