December 11th
After a restless night of only four hours of sleep and a pit in my stomach, it was time: the field trip. I had been shamelessly singing the praises of my university’s Classics program, how beautiful our new lounge was, and how I would find a way to bring my students there to learn. Of course, through the help of my wonderful professors, we made it happen.
The bus ride there was surprisingly quiet. After nudging a student and asking what was up, he replied to me that he was trying to come up with as many questions to ask as possible. He’d get to talk to real archaeologists! And, of course, he wanted to make the absolute most of the time he had.
When they entered, they were some of the quietest kids I’d ever encountered in my life.
They were in awe and stunned by the few cases we had of replica artifacts, wide-eyed at the books that spanned all the walls of the room. And, with their “passports” I’d made for them, already taking feverish notes during the very introduction to the space.
With them split off in separate groups, they were to answer questions in their passport log books about their experience. Partly, I was nervous they’d get so caught up about being on a field trip that they’d forget to learn. The other part of me wanted them to have a space to show off just how much they’d learned already. I had positioned myself at our replica kleroterion to explain to them how the court systems would have been chosen. While I was excited that they were hanging on my words, participating in my demonstrations, I got the feeling that they were far more excited about a different group.
When I took a peek into the hallway at the display case where one of my professors was holding his group, I found a veritable centurion staring back at me. After they’d finished getting the run-down on Roman culture, they’d be allowed to try on the armor, hold the rudis, and try to hold up a shield not quite sized for 3rd graders. I think that the smiles speak for themselves, but to their credit, they wrote about Roman military tactics extensively in their reflections about the day as well.
They feverishly wrote in their notebooks, jotting down thoughts and facts about everything they’d come across. Then, when the lights turned off and the presentation regarding the Antikythera mechanism popped onto the screen, they were in hushed awe. They couldn’t help but ask questions as soon as they popped into their minds, amazed and impressed by the scientific knowledge of those from the past. One student leaned over to me and said he was going to ask his parents to help him look up more facts about it at home. They marveled at the replica mechanism, leaning in close to try to read the inscriptions on the plexiglass. A few jotted down what letters they could make out.
Then it came time for my surprise, the one that I had been trying desperately to keep secret: they would get to put their eyes on some actual artifacts. Thanks to the archaeology lab and my wonderful professors, they eagerly soaked up the images of Roman coins and amphora handles, happy to blurt out that they knew who Caesar was and didn’t need anyone to explain it! Even the parents, chaperones to the trip, lined up behind them to get a good look at the greenish-blue coins.
And with that, I thought the field trip was done. Proud of myself for not passing out from my nerves, I took a seat with a few of my students as they ate their snacks in the lounge. But these kids would never take the easy way out, even now. They asked if they could see some of our books, chattering with one of my professors about Clytemnestra and Agamemnon. My professor turned to me with a knowing look, expecting that I had taught them the story as I’m a shameless fan of the House of Atreus. Instead, I was dumbfounded.
“How do you know all this stuff?” I asked, unable to hide my incredulous tone.
“Well, we heard the names on Roblox and then asked our Alexa. Then we just kept having more and more questions! And the story is so cool!” One of the girls replied.
“Because she killed her no-good husband!” The other finished.
With that, they were given a copy of the Oresteia to look at, in the original Greek. They pointed out the names that they could recognize, happy to show off their knowledge of the Greek alphabet. Other students scurried back over to the blocks at another table, trying to replicate the image of the Colosseum in front of them.
The lesson of this day is not about how amazing my school and Classics program are, though they certainly are amazing. Instead, I’d like to use my own experience in this story to highlight how important public outreach is. Whether that be from a college nearby, the local museum, or the library, giving students a place to explore what they’re learning in a new space with exciting new people is what gives them the lasting memories to remember all of the content from class.
Certainly, academic fields benefit from this sort of outreach program, too. In bringing local children to my campus, we were able to foster the first step toward a lasting connection between higher education and elementary schoolers. They were able to see that archaeologists exist, that they can be spoken to, be silly, and be excited to learn even as an adult.
My students, even to this day as I’m writing, as if I can convince their principal to take them back to campus and let them talk to my professors again. They certainly have more questions that they need addressed!
