The History Teacher

I still remember the fateful day in my colorful and clustered fifth-grade classroom when we finally learned about the American Revolution. I had heard rumors, of course, and I knew the general gist of it, but I never could figure out the juicy details. We started with a simulation: We could have a great big party she said, we could do whatever we wanted. So we wracked our brains for the most glamorous, hot-ticket, party items we could think of. And soon, the whiteboard swam with the unfettered words of eleven year-olds, giddy with prospective enjoyment. But you can't have that, she said. This was how the colonists felt, she said. Their freedom was ripped away from them, she said. Do you understand now, she meant.
From an early age we were taught that the colonists were completely, one hundred percent right in breaking away from Britain. And only once the essential ideas of American patriotism were cemented into our impressionable minds were we allowed to view glimpses of the other side. History was twisted into its simplest form so that we would believe what they wanted us to believe.
In "The History Teacher," the teacher replaces historical tragedies with whimsical, fantastical tales to protect the innocence of his students. But when does protection become lying? Surely it breeds ignorance, from Santa Claus to the uncomfortable sex talks, what you don't know can hurt you.
But more a matter of integrity. Since history is so subjective it can be easily twisted to fit the needs of the people remembering it. Who can confirm that the textbooks are accurate? After all, they are based on the biased accounts of the people who came before us. History is so subjective that often times the lines between truth and fiction are blurred. Whether its telling kids that the colonists were martyrs or that the Ice Age was the "Chilly Age" (Collins)  history teachers are faced with the difficult choice of discerning how far is too far.
But everyone is guilty of telling a little white lie. The problem is that when we try to protect the innocence of children we risk breeding our own ignorance. After all, no amount of protection can prevent the swearing on the back of the bus or the bullying in the corners of the playground. We tell lies so we can go back to that ignorant state. We want to believe that the world is good, whole, and pure, and we associate that feeling with childhood. But the world, like history, is a matter of perception. If we ignore the truth, we start believing the lies. How many times does something need to be said before you believe it?