Section 1.1: The Freedom to Explore

For us, the highlight of the day was the chance to “cut through campus,” wandering the paths by the tall beige and gray college buildings without adult supervision. I often wondered if our parents were aware of our little adventures. There was no way for us to communicate; as long as we returned home within an hour of school letting out, there was little concern.

Little did I know that the college students were also taking advantage of our proximity to their campus, just as we enjoyed the thrill of mingling with them. After a few days, pairs of college students began showing up at my classroom door during unusual times, asking our teacher if they could take us outside for a while.

Our teacher would then point to a child and ask, “Excuse me, (insert name here), these college students would like to take you out to play some games. Would you like to go?” I don’t recall any of us declining. At that point, we were busy with basic tasks like forming three-letter words or crafting shapes, so the prospect of leaving for games was far more appealing.

When my name was called, I eagerly said, “Yes.” I stood up and took the hand of one of the college students, who I believe was a woman, although it was hard to tell back then due to the unisex clothing styles of bell-bottoms and long hair.

As we stepped through the front door and out of the school, I initially thought we were going to the playground. However, I soon realized we were veering toward the parking lot, which made me uneasy.

Section 1.2: An Unexpected Experiment

“We’re just going to hop into this big camper!” the college student announced. At that moment, I yearned to return to my classroom and my drawings.

I like to think that if children today encountered such a van, they would sprint back to the safety of their school. However, this was a time before safety measures like “missing child” posters existed. I trusted that our teacher and the principal were aware of our outing and that nothing harmful could occur.

Fortunately, nothing dangerous happened, but the entire experience remains etched in my memory due to its odd nature and the unexpected lessons it imparted. I recall being guided into the van, illuminated by a single bright light, revealing a chair, a table, and a screen for a film projector. To a naive child of 1970s Midwest America, it all seemed just a bit strange.

The college student instructed me to look at the table, where a small plastic cup, a tiny rubber ball, and what appeared to be a coffee stirrer were placed. She informed me that she would step into another room, and a slideshow would commence, directing me to follow along with the items on the table.

As I sat there, the projector flickered to life, displaying a simple illustration of an upside-down cup with a ball balanced atop it. Suddenly, I heard a man's voice from an audio tape player instructing, “Put the ball inside the cup.”

I hesitated, puzzled by the disconnect between the image and the spoken instructions. The voice repeated, “Put the ball inside the cup,” prompting me to comply. The next image appeared, showing a right-side-up cup with a stick inside it.

“Turn the cup upside down and lay the stick on top of it,” the voice commanded. Confusion set in as I noticed the inconsistencies between the visual and verbal cues.

“Hey!” I called out.

“What?” came the voice from behind the partition.

“The slides are wrong!”

“No, they’re not.”

“Yes, they are; they don’t match!”

“It’s OK,” she insisted.

I continued to follow the audio instructions, despite the discrepancies. Eventually, the college student returned and announced it was time to head back to class, which made me realize there had been no games after all.

The college student asked me about my experience in the van. I expressed my uncertainty about whether I had followed the directions correctly, given the mismatch of words and images.

To my surprise, she revealed that the mismatched slides were intentional—it was an experiment designed to see how many kids would rely on the visuals versus the audio instructions. I felt slightly deceived and questioned why she hadn’t shared this information beforehand. She explained that revealing it would have compromised the experiment.

Reflecting on this, I now understand that the college students were likely psychology or education majors, using us as subjects for their research. It was a bit condescending, and I left feeling a tad insulted on behalf of all children.

In retrospect, I learned three important lessons from this peculiar experience:

1. I am primarily an auditory learner.
2. If informed consent would spoil an experiment, it indicates a flawed study.
3. The 1970s were a time of widespread trust among adults, allowing children to be taken off with unfamiliar adults without concern. While kids today may be safer, I can’t help but wonder if society is better off without that sense of trust. A safe society might not equate to a comfortable one, much like the disconnection between the audio and visuals I encountered in that camper.