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Marta Hepler Drahos

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November 15, 2010

Marta Hepler Drahos: Re-learning history

By MARTA HEPLER DRAHOS mdrahos@record-eagle.com

We're in Philadelphia's Historic District on our first visit to the nation's birthplace.

After a stop for free tickets at the visitors center, we wait in line with a group of German exchange students to tour Independence Hall.

The students, all wearing hooded sweatshirts with American logos, fidget as a national park interpreter gives his introduction. But we're glued to our seats, awed by this place where George Washington was glued to his — a tall armchair carved with a half-sun now just yards away — as Congress adopted the Declaration of Independence and debated, drafted and signed the Constitution.

At the Liberty Bell, we take pictures of people taking pictures of each other standing next to the one-ton bronze landmark and its familiar gap — a symbol of liberty, it would seem, for everyone from elderly Japanese tourists to boys in glittery yarmulkes.

Then it's on to Congress Hall, where Congress met when Philadelphia was the capital from 1790-1800.

As we're ushered into the House chamber, another park interpreter barks at us to take our seats. This one looks grim, like my fifth-grade teacher.

"This is the chamber where the House of Representatives met. What is the House of Representatives, young lady?" he demands, pointing a finger at an unsuspecting elementary student.

I smile indulgently as she shrinks in her seat, then nod sagely when another girl — the smart one — raises her hand and gets the answer right.

"Name one of the rights contained in the Declaration of Independence," the interpreter fires at a student on the opposite side of the room. "Along with Constitutional Rights come what?"

As the grilling continues, I begin to squirm. My heart starts to pound, my hands to sweat. Suddenly I'm back in math class, where I'm afraid of being called on.

It's not that I can't solve the problem, exactly. It's that I can't see it on the chalkboard — a pre-requisite for solving it. Only I don't know that I can't see it because early school vision-screening programs have yet to be implemented. I only know that I don't understand the white scribbles, while everyone around me does.

Back in Independence Hall, the panic is mounting. I flush and try to make myself look smaller as everything I know about government and its legislative branch slips away. When the interpreter demands to know the name of the current Speaker of the House, I'm struck dumb and feel as if I might faint.

"Who's the Speaker of the House?" I hiss at my husband out of the side of my mouth while facing forward, lest I get caught cheating.

Eventually, mercifully, the interpreter declares this session of the House over and releases us to ask questions. Afraid of being assigned extra homework, few do.

As we file out, we roll our eyes and exchange "What was THAT?" looks. Some things about school never change.

Reach Staff Writer Marta Hepler Drahos at mdrahos@record-eagle.com.

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