Readers of these missives already know I'm a big history buff. In college, I squeezed history classes in anywhere I could into my schedule, much to the chagrin of my academic advisors.
"So... Mr. Capuyan, your declared major is mechanical engineering?"
"Yes, sir."
"But you've signed up for "History of the Middle Ages?"
"And I'm really looking forward to it!"
"It's a 300-level class!"
"Oh, OK. Cool."
"But...you're a freshman!"
Fortunately, the department waived the underclassman restriction, because I found the class infinitely more interesting than "Differential Equations". It's not unusual for an engineering major to wind up with a minor in math. I bucked this trend and almost had enough for a minor in history. I could then be forgiven for being shocked and appalled when Andrea gleefully once exclaimed she never had to take a single history course for her degree.
I've wondered where this love for all things historical came from. It's not like we had the History Channel growing up. Apart from Mississippi or American history, I don't even remember any classes taught in elementary school.
The curriculum changed drastically when I arrived at Long Beach Junior High, landing in Mrs. Hood's 7th grade World History class. For a budding history geek, that classroom was mind blowing, and her class was responsible for a good portion of the frivolous (but interesting - at least to me) minutiae still rattling around my head.
- The discovery of the fossilized remains of Lucy, which occurred less than 10 years prior, proved the earliest hominids walked upright.
- The Code of Hammurabi is one of the earliest, most complete, and draconian (with literal eye for an eye penalties) law codes in existence.
- The Buddha's real name was Siddhartha Gautama.
Together, Mrs. Hood and our class stepped through all the major ancient civilizations surrounding the Nile, Mesopotamia, and the Indus Valley. And it wasn't all lectures. For one group assignment, Mike and I were teamed up and tasked with creating a clay sculpture of the Sphinx. Initially, we groaned at this project given neither of us had dorked around with clay since kindergarten. But we dove into the task - he worked on the body, and I had to craft the head.
I surprised myself, finding I'd produced a decent facsimile of the iconic sculpture (in my opinion), and I was very proud of my creation. However, our collaboration wasn't that great, and we failed to check in with each other on a regular basis. When Mike and I brought the two components together, laying them side by side, a glaring problem became evident.
"Wayne, man, you made that dumb head too small!" I'm, of course, thinking the opposite.
"What?! Pfft. No way, loser! That body is just waay too big." This back and forth went on like a vaudeville comedy skit as neither of us would relent. After a continued, escalating exchange, Mike summarily ended the argument.
"No! This dumb head of yours. IS. TOO. SMALL!" With that, he crushed my carefully and intricately crafted sculpture with his fist.
Fifty-year-old me would have strung together a string of ear-searing expletives, but eleven-year-old me was just shocked speechless and almost in tears. I was very proud of my Sphinx head.
It was the first time, and to my recollection, the last time Mike and I were at odds. We eventually patched things up and managed to turn in a successful joint project with properly proportioned body parts. Today, we'll occasionally ping each other with interesting historical factoids we come across.
A life-long friendship and love for all things historical were forged in a classroom with a highly contested clay sculpture, along with Buddha, Hammurabi, and of course Lucy.
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