A Good, American Education

I spent the morning at the Farmers' Market yesterday, promoting the upcoming Eat Local Week supporting our Urban Roots program.

It's fun hanging out at the Farmers' Market. Most of the people are very nice (save for the occasional wild-eyed woman loudly proclaiming how flouride will kill us all as part of a large government conspiracy). I'm unsure how she thought I might help, except to be informed and possibly spread the word.

At about 10, a band started playing. They were named the "Contra Band," and they were a square dance band. And the moment they started playing, sixteen people came out of nowhere, formed four squares, and started square dancing. They hadn't even been at the market! They literally (OK, maybe metaphorically) appeared out of thin air.

What was truly stunning was how my body physically reacted to the square dance music. I went immediately back to fifth grade.

"Bow to your partner!"
"Bow to the corner!"
"Allemande left!"
"Do Si Do!"

My square dance experience from elementary school came back quickly and dramatically. I was swaying and moving and I started circling around the people at the next booth.

I remember that we spent several weeks learning the intricacies of square dance at Doss Elementary School.

Which begs the question: "Why?"

Why the hell would you incorporate square dancing into the elementary school curriculum? Until yesterday (a full 33 years later), square dancing has not been a useful skill. And it wasn't terribly useful yesterday. I remember the fifth grade experience including a LOT of hand-holding with girls, which I was not entirely thrilled about.

Upon reflection, the academic underpinnings of my childhood began to unravel.

I have never, ever, played the Recorder after about 1978.

I have never, ever, needed to climb straight up a rope.

And I have never, ever needed to direct traffic while sporting an orange sash. Come to think of it, I have been completely sash-free since Doss.

Why did we learn these things? Was it some twisted government program to train us to be...um...really strange spies?

"Mr. Bond. You have defeated me at every turn. Your square-dancing wooed Holly Blowjob and she betrayed me. Your Recorder skills allowed you to play the correct tune that opened the doors to my underground lair. Your orange sash allowed you to blend in with my henchmen. But now you will die. This chamber is filling with poisonous gas, and the only exit is this rope that goes straight up. No-one has ever escaped."

"Nooooooooooooooo!"