I never asked to be put in philosophy class. I was supposed to be in gym, but the class was full. I had a choice between physics and philosophy. I chose philosophy because I suck at science.
I wish I was better at science.
I took a seat as far to the back to the class as I could get. The teacher wasn’t in yet, but some of the other students were. There was this snotty fat boy sitting right up, close to the teacher’s desk, which was right under the chalkboard at the very front of the class. There was another girl with four eyes and train tracks for teeth sitting next to him. More students flooded in. Fat and weak bodies, freckles, acne, and glasses as far as the eye could see. Every time another one came waddling in, I felt the noose tightening around my neck.
I’m going to die here. In this class, in this desk, right here. I thought.
The bell rang, still no sign of the teacher. I counted two minutes. If ten passed, the rule stated that I could leave. I waited as patiently as I could, until finally the clock read ten passed nine. I leapt up and started to leave.
“Where do you think you are going?” A man’s voice said behind me. I turned around slowly. I didn’t see right away where the voice had come from, until a small man slid out from a desk at the back of the class. He was a dwarf, a midget! The class went silent, watching him step up to me.
“I didn’t-“
“Notice? Hmmm, how typical. What is your name?”
“Beatrice Russell.” I answered, looking down on him.
“And why did you not see me, Beatrice?”
“Well...because....you weren’t at your desk.”
“Ah, and is a teacher only a teacher if they are at their desk?”
“No, they can be at the front of the class too.”
This made him laugh. He ordered me to sit back in my desk, so I did, not the least bit embarrassed.
“You see class, this is a perfect example of how what we know and what we notice are very different pieces of information. Beatrice here knew I’d be sitting at the front of the class at my desk, but did not notice that I was sitting at the back amongst all of you. If she had, she would have made a much smarter decision.”
Everyone nodded except me.
“Now, why did I sit back there in the first place? I am testing your thinking now.”
Nobody answered.
“Really, I am surprised? I suppose it is your first day of class, so I will go easy on you.” The man stood up on a step ladder to see over the neat and tidy desk. He was now scanning all of us with small eyes, “I am your teacher, but I am also your student. I mean to learn from you as much as I mean to teach you. If I intent to learn from you and teach you, I have to see what you can see. Sit in the chair you sit in. And though I do intend to be equal to you in every way, I will be sitting in my own chair as much as possible. Because, frankly, yours are terrible.”
A low rumble of nervous laughter went through the class.
“So yes, I do mean to learn from you, and to teach you. Because this is philosophy class, I shall start with a question. A question I think every teacher should ask their students. Anyone care to guess what that question might be?”
Silence fell. I couldn’t help but grin at the awkward, lumpy kids shifting in their chairs. I held my head in the palms of my hands and mumbled to myself.

“Why am I here?”
“Yes! Good Beatrice, very good. We will be discussing metaphysics very soon. But not the question we’re looking for now. No, my question is: “What is knowledge?”
The whole class (except me, again) sighed with realization. The teacher smiled and nodded, continuing his explanation.
“What does it mean to know something? What does it mean to study or even to teach? I will endeavour to teach you in this class not what the answers are, but how to find them. I think epistemology is a good place to start.”
And so it began. Everyday there seemed to be a new “mastermind of philosophy” That we had to memorize. We constantly discussed theories, critique these theories, and came up with a few of our own. I rarely participated, unless it was to input a snide comment into the discussion, which Mr. Reader (the teacher, he finally decided to tell us his name) would somehow turn into a constructive part of the conversation. This annoyed me greatly.
After about a month I started to learn everyone’s names. I found out the fat snotty kid’s name was Arthur. His father was an ethicist for the hospital (I’ve still got no idea what that means either) and his mom was a professor of philosophy at the local university. Philosophy seemed pretty much in his blood. Gretta was the glasses/braces wearing girl.
After having several conversations with her, I came to realize that I was beyond inferior to her intelligence. She was very quiet in class; she put her hand up as much as I did. But when she did part take in the conversation, she used huge words and spoke of concepts I had never even heard of. She always had a book on her desk and handed in all her homework. Even though I could feel my self esteem draining whenever I spoke to her, I could not help but spark a conversation with her whenever I got the chance. She just had all these fascinating (though trivial) facts I always enjoyed. The work Mr. Reader gave us was tedious and never-ending I had to sacrifice a few lunches to study with Arthur and Gretta. I didn’t mind, but my friends didn’t seem to understand. Whatever, Gretta and Arthur turned out to be enough. Mr. Reader was the type of teacher who was brutal, honest, but fair. He always wrote little comments on my papers telling me what was wrong with it and how I could improve. Eventually his x’s and level twos became checkmarks and level threes. He had almost no criticism’s anymore, just “good job’s” and “keep it ups” I actually go the feeling that he was starting to like me.

Time went very quickly in that semester. Soon it was exam time and he had to struggle to fit in all the rest of his criteria. He was kind of disorganized. I kind of liked that about him though. It assured me that he just went with the flow; he didn’t have an exact plan of what he wanted to do. He was mellow like that.
His last subject was the basic, linear history of philosophy. History was his least favorite, so he always saved that for last. He always said that “the history of philosophy was its greatest fault.” He finally explained why close to the end of the last class.
“Did you know that philosophy, an art that is completely surrounded around the mind and thoughts of everyone in the world, was once entirely prejudice to how people looked? It’s true. People once thought only people who looked a certain on the outside, could think the right way. Isn’t that just silly?”
Arthur put his hand up. He, Gretta, and I were all sitting in a row close to the front. Mr. Reader pointed at him.
“Sir, I don’t understand how remarkable thinkers such as these could ever make such a mistake.” Arthur said.
Mr. Reader laughed, “You’re quite right to be confused, Arthur. I don’t know what these men were thinking. We most likely never will. I believe the world lost something by not letting these people have a say. That’s not to discredit what these dead white guys thought, they came up with some amazing theories of their own. They did a very good job. But imagine if we had more thoughts on every matter. Imagine if, instead of a small population doing all the thinking, but the entire world was allowed a philosophical thought. If this is what hundreds of people can do-“He picked up the text book and flipped through the pages so we all could see “-Imagine what billions could do?”
The class went silent, much like every other thing Mr. Reader went off on a rant like this. I went into a deep thought, and emerged with a question. I put up my hand.
“Mr. Reader, do you think things are better now?”
Mr. Reader smirked, as though he was happy that I had asked.
“Let me ask you this. “ He said, still grinning, “When you first came into this class, what did you think of us?”
At first, I was embarrassed. But then I looked into his eyes and I knew he wasn’t looking to embarrass me. He was looking for the honest truth, so I gave it to him.
“I thought you were all losers. Nerds who would do nothing but bore me.”
Arthur and Gretta, who had been very good friends to me, shifted in their chairs next to me, and I felt a bit like crying. I raised my chin up high and added, “But I was wrong. They’re not boring, they’re fascinating. Nobody’s a loser in here. And as for the nerds, well, I don’t see what’s wrong with that, at least not anymore.”
I felt the smiles on my back. I felt accomplished because of it. Mr. Reader looked at me with pride.
“That’s beautiful, Miss. Russell. You are a prime example that people can change. I believe philosophy has changed with the times and the people. As for the people still with prejudices, well I believe they just haven’t had the proper opportunity to change. Like you have, Miss. Russell. When people have that opportunity, incredible things can happen, such as the evolution of philosophy.”
That was the single best day of my life. Mr. Reader bowed to me, Arthur beamed, and Gretta hugged me from the side.
The two of them became my best friends for the rest of my life. Both of would follow in their parents footsteps and get over a 90% in the class. Would get an even 80% and become a model. When Mr. Reader died everyone he ever had in his class came to the funeral. I always say that he had changed my life in a huge way. I felt ready to take on the world with his words in my pocket. There was something about him that changed me. I could never put my finger on it. I found I was more prone to idle chatter with strangers. I’d bring up articles that I had recently read in papers, and list all the problems I had with it. Sometimes they’d join in; sometimes they’d leave with an awkward smile.
Whatever it was he did it me, it felt good, like I had never really thought before. Now I have daughters of my own, and I quote Mr. Reader as often as I can.



The End