Rob S. Friedman
December 2022
Stem Resistant
I think my uncle wanted a boy to share his awe of wondrous science. Birthdays brought biographies of Galileo and Pasteur, chemistry sets with the potential to amaze. His eagerness unanswered, my pilot light, unlit.
Junior high introduced us to Vocational Technology. Woodshop yielded boxy lamps and bruised fingers. Boys with talent or a parent’s consent moved on to Automotive, while the rest returned to the safety of Spanish 2.
We came back from the Summer of Love to a world where engineers were cool. They answered Kennedy’s call and even taught a mechanical flag to ripple irregularly in the stolid silence of the moon.
In Mr. Walsh’s summer school math class he failed to inspire as Euclid would: ‘There is no royal road to geometry.’ His chalk arcing over our dopey heads, exploding against cinderblock and getting our attention.
Rob S. Friedman 