My father held up the blue block to a toddler and declared with feigned ignorance, "It's green, right Thomas?" "No, dad, it's blue. What color is that other one over there?" From that earliest experience, I felt self-assured in my own knowledge and wanted to learn more; after all, the block really was blue, no matter what my father said.
Recently, I had to read Hunger of Memory by Richard Rodriguez for my class in Contemporary Social and Political Issues. In his book, Rodriguez describes the 'scholarship boy,' with whom I shared many qualities. Because my personal experience is so remarkably similar to the experience Rodriguez describes, I felt at times that I was reading my own autobiography. He made conscious what I had always known in my subconscious. In particular, his description of the scholarship boy's intellectual curiosity transforming from a mere collector of facts to a freethinking mind was a thought I had never consciously considered before.
I still remember my first day of school: the pristine white walls, the blue carpet, and my smiling pre-kindergarten teacher. Some of my classmates (almost all of them) were crying, their arms reaching for their departing parents. I looked on in bewilderment; I did not understand why they were crying. The pretty room, surrounded in toys, seemed comfortable, even exciting. I wanted to explore the new world that was so different from the bright yellow walls of my room at home. When my parents finally came to pick me up several hours later, I began to cry. "When will I come back, dad?" I asked painfully of my father. He told me I would return tomorrow; I couldn't wait.
When I was still very young, I discovered the easiest way of studying. Of course, I did not know that I was studying, I just always wanted to talk about school at the dinner table. An intense concentration gave me the ability to repeat a teacher's forty minute math lesson, verbatim. As I explained at the dinner table what I had learned, I reinforced the knowledge the teacher had imparted. I would frequently prod my brother, wanting him to express what he had learned as well, but he didn't want to talk about school like I did.
After receiving a chalkboard one Christmas, I began to teach an imaginary class the facts and numbers memorized in my head. I wanted to act like my teachers, and I wanted to be educated like them. I memorized and memorized: times tables, vocabulary, examples that my teachers had used in class. I wanted to know more than what my teachers were prepared to teach. I frequently asked questions of my teachers outside the classroom, wanting to garner another fact, another figure from them. My third grade teacher limited me to three questions a day or else she would never be able to teach anything to the class because she would spend all day answering my questions. I would frequently receive post-it notes on my notebooks that had a teacher's researched answer to one of my questions.
My seventh grade teacher, in response to one of my detailed fact questions, simply answered in an exasperated tone, "Thomas, what's the answer? I don't know." I questioned my parents at night and on weekends; I looked over the shoulder of my older brother to attempt to learn his lessons. With each fact, I wanted to learn the next one; with each academic step, I wanted to take three more.
It was not until American history in eighth grade that I began to do more than just memorize facts. Although I loved the historical details, I began to do more than just memorize them; I began to put them together. I understood historical connections and pointed them out to my teachers. In eighth grade, I expressed to my teacher that I thought the American Civil War was simply a kind of second revolutionary war except, in this case, the industrial nation defeated the agricultural nation. My teacher was surprised and asked where I had heard that. I replied that I had thought it up myself, one of my first free thoughts.
I always wanted to be educated, but I no longer sought fulfillment in the strict memorization of facts; I yearned to understand. Why did we balance chemical equations? What is the theological significance that Mary is a virgin? Why did America join World War I when we had no moral, idealistic reasoning? When I had exhausted the knowledge of my parents and my teachers, I turned to books. I would spend an entire day simply reading at my desk or in my bed, scorning chores, sports, physical labor, even friends and family in my pursuit.
I was struck with another intellectual epiphany when I reached Regis High School. With other students comparing their academic success to mine, I was extremely self-assured and self-confidant in grammar school. When I reached Regis, I met students who made my knowledge seem almost insignificant. I was no longer an unattainable academic standard. I felt as though I had started too late, that I had spent too many years wasting my time with games instead of reading. So, I read more and more, feeling as if I had to catch up.
As a senior, my intellectual curiosity still yearns to be sated. Although I no longer regurgitate my teachers' opinions or take their word as truth, I still hold them in immense respect and reverence and freely engage them in discussions, my transformation from a gatherer of facts to a freethinker now complete.