It couldn't have been a better day for a 4th grade field trip to the historic 17th century Seneca community of Ganondagan. The fall foliage was magnificent. The children only asked, "Are we there yet?" approximately a thousand times during the hour or so drive. And even though my Twinkie was smushed beyond recognition, it was still edible. After having been immersed studying an in-depth unit focusing on the Iroquois Confederacy, the 4th grade was going to be able to tour a full-size replica of a longhouse. We'd studied the Great Law of Peace, memorized the six tribes that made up the Confederacy, and could discuss, in length, the biography of Dekanawida and his influence upon the nations. But as the bus pulled up to the site, I realized that I hadn't stressed the importance of one particular lesson. "Look!" an excited 4th grader squealed, pointing at a large car decal, "The Indian wampum belt!" I cringed and did a quick three-minute informational talk about political correctness and respect. "I will NOT hear the word "Indian" used during this trip," I threatened, "You will use the correct terminology to reflect your proper up-bringing, good manners, and intelligence." With that, we stepped off the bus and stepped back into time.
Things were going so well! We listened attentively. We asked thought-provoking questions. We were inquisitive and interested. And then it happened. Our tour guide, whom I am sure meant well, challenged the kids to brainstorm different types of corn. "Oh no," I moaned, turning away from the slow-motion car wreck occurring before my very eyes down the alleyway of that 17th century longhouse.
"Sweet corn...,"
"No! No. no. no, no, no, no," I begged, hugging the imitation Elm bark molding as I stood in the threshold of the Seneca lodgment.
"...cow corn...,"
"Oh...here it comes..." I agonized, searching my mind for an alternative name for the festively-colored corn that decorates the doorways of countless homes throughout the country.
".............................................," the uncertain pause lasted for what felt like an eternity as forty 4th graders were also wildly searching for a synonym. Harvest corn? Decorative corn? Native American corn? There was nothing we could do...the die was cast. We moved on from that horrific moment as bigger and better people. We valiantly attempted to rise above and even though we sunk like sad little stones, we went down fighting. I was so proud that they conscientiously tried to demonstrate cultural respect even under challenging circumstances. As the bus returned to the school, one of my 4th grade boys sidled up to me and with a knowing grin said, "What a great day! We didn't have to learn a thing!" I gave him a playful nudge and smiled back, knowing that he had actually learned a lot more today on our field trip than he would have in the classroom. It was a great day.
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