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Nerds
can be pretty cool people, too
People change. Okay, so that’s a fact of life, right? But I don’t know that I have changed all that much since I was a kid. Well, I’ve obviously changed physically, and I may have gotten a little smarter, and my life views and beliefs may have changed, but I am still the same nerd I was when I was 5 years old. Just call me Screech. Seriously. I’m being completely honest. I am a nerd, but I am completely happy with that title. Let me preface this column by saying I mean nothing derogatory by the word “nerd.” I have no idea what the actual definition of “nerd” is, but I am securely confident that if you looked it up in the dictionary, old man Webster would tell you to come talk to me. Allow me to explain where this comes from. This past weekend I went on a road trip with six classmates and three advisers to sunny Corpus Christi for a journalism conference. Nine hours in a van leaves you with only a few options of things to do while trying to kill time: you can sleep, do homework, stare out into the vast nothingness of I-37, or talk about life with your fellow travelers. Most of us slept on the way there, but coming home was a different story. The Wichitan’s sports editor told a story about how he knew he would be a sports fanatic when he was older. He was six, and his Sunday school teacher asked him which road Jesus took when he was crucified. He answered proudly, “The Road to the Final Four,” only he couldn’t pronounce his r’s so it actually came out, “The Woad to the Final Fo.” See, that could be nerdy, but he was six, so it’s actually a cute story. When it came time for me to tell a story, all I could think of were weird things I did in high school. I was president or at least an officer of every organization the school had to offer, including the Earth Club, the Science Club and the I-Need-a-Fifteenth-Club-to-Add-to-My-Resume Club. The way my date asked me to prom was by putting a note in my microscope so I would find it during lab. That was a place he knew I would surely find it. Yes, that’s pretty nerdy. To top it all off my senior year, the class decided to pay homage to “Revenge of the Nerds” so we were to dress up as nerds and jocks. I came as a nerd, and, let me tell you, it was the cheapest costume ever because I simply came as myself. So have I changed at all in college? Not so much. I laugh at my own jokes, which aren’t always particularly funny to anyone else but always merit pity laughs. I sing out loud and I can’t carry a tune, so I have the innate ability to clear a room in an instant. I do go to bed at nine, though, so that either just adds to the list of my nerdy qualifications, or it makes me an old lady at 21. I don’t answer my phone until my answering machine warns the person I won’t pick up unless I hear a cheery voice on the other end (this gets rid of the computer-generated voices and mean telemarketers). And last but not least, I am addicted to e-mail. I check it at least 20 times a day, but I am always, well almost always, one to return e-mails by the turn of a dime. I do think being a nerd is cool, though. Professors tend to think I’m smart and not just because I carry a protractor in my back pocket. Classmates find me funny, even when I answer questions with words I make up like incredulousness and wooptidoo. But most importantly, I actually can admit my faults and my strengths. I have the ability to laugh at my weirdness and get over it. I’m okay with who I am. Seriously, though, I’m a pretty cool nerd. Rich, a senior mass communication major, hails from Laredo, Texas.
Memory
mixes mystery with history
It was like a wonderland to me, that place behind grand-mamma’s house. As a child I could not help but wonder about that mysterious piece of land. It was vast and wide and held many facinations for me. Almost everyone holds childhood memories which are dear. For me, it is the memories of my wonderland. You see, this land was home to a history that had been left untouched for years. There were a few times when the watchful eyes of grand-mamma were no longer on me, when I was able to sneak away to get a pick at that unknown stretch of land. I noticed in the center loomed a huge, rusty piece of iron. I wondered many times how this grotesque, misshapen thing had found its resting place in the center of the marshland behind grand-mamma’s house. Every time I asked about it, my question was brushed aside by the elders as insignificant. I was an inquisitive child, always asking questions and always, always observing things I could not quite understand. As children, many of us have what I call these “little mysteries of childhood.” Many like me have this special place that was dear to them and no one else. The marshland behind grand-mamma’s house was my special place. The sad thing is that I was never allowed to visit this place. I always had to observe it from afar. I wished many times that my special place was only in my mind, then I could visit and revisit it whenever I felt that pang. I learned years later that the huge, ugly piece of iron that disfigured my wonderland was the remnants of a sugar mill. Yes, a sugar mill. There was a time in the past when my wonderland was the place slaves toiled hard to make the masters sugar. One would think that the land lost its wonder for me as I grew older. I will tell you now you are wrong. Wrong because I grew more interested in that place as I gained more knowledge about it. In high school, history was most students’ worst subject but my favorite. It was these history classes that further piqued my interest in the land behind grand-mamma’s house. I learned from my country’s history book that the town where I live was once a thriving sugar and lumber processing area. The “Indian River” that runs through my town was used to transport lumber and cargoes of sugarcane. Most importantly, right there behind grand-mamma’s house, a thriving sugar plantation once existed. I found myself often sitting and wondering how many feet had trod upon this land so sacred to me. I often wondered how many tears were shed on that land because the burden was so hard to bear. Then I am forced back to reality. I realize I cannot conjure up random memories. I think I know what happened on the land out there, but I will never know everything about that land. I’ll only know the little I was told. The piece of iron has disappeared and no one can tell me where it went. From what I heard, some workers came and hauled it away. I do not know how because the land is swampland. My mother told me once that she and her many brothers and sisters once played ball there when the land would dry up. They also had fun hunting coneys from the land. My mother said she was never the one to put her hand in the coney’s hole but her brothers were happy to do it. But the land never dries up anymore. It never dried up enough for me to explore what is out there. It will forever be my wonderland. Roberts, a junior mass communication major, hails from Dominica.
Ethics for All Why care about ethics? Society doesn’t. Universities don’t either. While core courses are compulsory, ethics classes are not. No one is saying core courses are irrelevant because they are not. But ethics classes are just as important. In fact, each major should have a compulsory ethics class. Have the values of respect, honesty and trust gone out the window? How can something as essential as ethics be left out of the curriculum? Ethics programs are needed to address how people deal with problems that arise on the job. The Ethics Today Newsletter defines ethics as a set of formal and informal standards of conduct people use to guide their behavior at work. Universities are institutes put in place to prepare students for the workplace. What better way to prepare people than to educate them on expected and accepted behavior? Dealing with the concept of ethics is no easy undertaking. Ethics can be a very difficult and confusing concept to grasp. Take the idea of “whistle blowing” for instance. There is a mixed message about this in society. Businesses create elaborate systems to encourage employees to do the very thing they are punished for doing. Doing the right thing confuses many. It starts in childhood for most. Children get two clear, but contradictory messages. On one hand, parents tell children not to tattle on a sibling. On the other hand, parents encourage children to report things. Such terms as “rat” and “snitch” are reserved for tattletales. Interestingly, however, no bad names exist for people who remain silent about actions of others that are questionable. How is this for an ethical dilemma? James is accused of stealing company money. Marianne, James’ secretary, has come forward to report that James has made inappropriate withdrawals from the company’s petty cash. Her coworkers, most of who like James, ostracize Marianne. Marianne, not James, is the one who suffers at her workplace. What does someone do in such a case? Society leaves it up to individuals to have the courage and commitment to go against a taboo ingrained into the system. Ethics courses could teach students to raise issues and concerns and report misconduct. These courses could send the message that we all have a responsibility to do what is right and encourage others to do so as well. A university stops doing its job when the necessary steps are not taken to thoroughly prepare students for the workplace. By leaving out an ethics program a university is falling short of the mark. Findings from the National Business Ethics Survey show that employees who had formal ethics training displayed a more positive attitude in the workplace. One has to wonder why so little emphasis has been placed on something so important. Universities need to make ethics compulsory. One can never have too much honesty, trust and ideals. Perhaps someday, all the snitches and rats will be given more positive names, and bad names will go to those who shy from their obligations. Editorial byEleanor Roberts.
Thank you for your interest in the Midwestern State University History Department curriculum. I am delighted to learn that you recently discovered how thirsty our students are for knowledge. This is a fact that has been apparent to me for years, and, along with my colleagues, I have made vigorous efforts to quench that thirst. I must admit, however, that delighted as I am with your interest, I am at the same time puzzled by some of your remarks. It is true that sometimes in teaching the survey courses we do not reach the chronological termination of the period under discussion, but this has nothing to do with “poor planning,” as you allege. It happens because we do not merely recite outlines of “dry facts” in our lectures. We attempt to provide our students with descriptions and analyses of important past events that impinge directly upon the present. This is one of the most important reasons for teaching American History and it takes time. We believe it is more important to encourage our students to think, analyze, and make connections than to rush superficially through a long list of disconnected facts. On the other hand, we would certainly like to cover all of American History in our survey classes. Therefore, I will propose to the Academic Council immediately that we add a third semester to the required survey sequence. I feel confident that with a nine-hour sequence we can do justice to the subject matter in terms of both chronological coverage and depth of analysis. I am certain that because of their thirst for knowledge this move will be heartily welcomed by our students. Oh, one other thing. You are misinformed about requirements. Although it is true that MSU requires the two-semester U.S. History sequence in the core curriculum, the state does not. The state requirement is for any six hours of American History. Kenneth
Hendrickson
Letters
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