The Shallowness of Me

When I finished school I knew a lot more about rugby than philosophy. I knew about parade drill and military discipline but little of anthropology or sociology, disciplines that could have been useful in my future career. There was no geology, palaeontology or biology; no health science, no art appreciation, no music knowledge of consequence.
At one time I had thought of being a race caller or radio announcer, but my diction was poor. My mother sent me to private elocution classes, bless her heart, but I was a very ordinary pupil. So, perhaps by default, I became a teacher – handicapped by dyslexia, my narrow Christian upbringing, and the limitation of being literate in only one language. I prided myself that I was better than I was. And now, aged 78, and writing a memoir, I am still struggling with lack of depth in my knowledge of existentialism, teleology, and the physics of the universe.
Does life require me to do better? That is what I have to ask. And maybe the answer is ‘no’. Yet I wonder whether I shouldn’t answer ‘yes’ in some things. My brain has limitations, but it also has capacities which I probably underestimate. Learning is still possible and will happen if the need arises and the desire is there. I know I should never lose my sense of wonder and the University of the Third Age is always  calling.

About rpsimson1936

Retired geography and outdoor education teacher who loves orienteering and writes novels.
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