Becoming a Biology Teacher: Dolphins, Water Bears, Sea Hares, and Crayfish

Field Trip I

Ms. Moss, my 7^th grade science teacher, was committed to giving us a memorable educational experience. She must have realized the value of experiential learning long before it became a popular term. She went the extra mile (actually 200 miles) when she arranged a caravan of cars driven by parents to take our class to the Carolina coast one sunny day. After several weeks of science lessons on what we were to see at the beach, we could not conceal our excitement during the long drive. The cars had barely stopped when a couple of dozen rambunctious explorers erupted. We raced right past those dunes that Ms. Moss had emphasized in class not long ago. We were eager to see water and waves.

God blessed our outing with a dead dolphin that had washed ashore. If everything happens for a reason, surely this animal’s life had ended just in time for it to be served up for our scientific edification there in surf. Even a dead dolphin couldn’t keep our attention for long. We searched the jagged tide line where shells and plastic were purged from the ocean. The lingering smell of decomposing dolphin did nothing to suppress my appetite when we were summoned to lunch. In my excitement, I wolfed down several hot dogs, each one gritty from the beach sand swirling in the breeze. Slowed only slightly by a bloated belly fully of salt and preservatives and a couple of cans of warm Mountain Dew, I listened to Ms. Moss remind us how sea oats trap the blowing sand and were responsible for building and stabilizing the dunes. These dunes created a boundary between the water and the dry land, which, which according to my religious training, had been separated by God early during that first week of Genesis.

There were several more lessons on ecology. All too soon we wind-whipped sweaty sandy sun-singed 7^th graders were told it was time to leave, so we reluctantly trudged back to the chaperones’ cars. I ended up by the window in the back seat of Ms. Moss’s car.

It was a glorious day! Thank you, Ms. Moss.

Choices I

We hadn’t gone far when our caravan stopped at a convenience store for a potty break and snacks. I fished out the precious dollar my parents had given me and fondled it as I considered my beverage options, unfettered by adult supervision. Indeed, today was a special day and I should commemorate it accordingly, not with some routine Pepsi or RC Cola or Fresca, or even Cheerwine. We rarely had chocolate milk at home, so I splurged and bought a quart, which I gulped down in a few huge swigs.

Then it was back to the cars and to my privileged seat by the window. A few miles down the road, the consequences of my choices created a hurricane in my stomach that I suppressed as long as I could. When I realized landfall was inevitable, I feebly informed Ms. Moss, “You might better pull off. I think I’m going to be sick.” Ms. Moss glanced back at me and sensed my desperation. She swerved off the road. I flung the door open even before the car had stopped. About a quart of chocolate milk and several chunks of hot dogs gushed out of my mouth and nostrils. Nostril vomiting was something new to me. It was not pleasant for me or my classmates who were repulsed by the sight, sound, and smell. I’m sure they and the other onlookers found it both disgusting and fascinating, like that dead dolphin back on the beach.

I had plenty of room to myself in the back seat for the rest of the drive home. Nobody wanted to sit near a nose-vomiter.

I don’t know if I was the only kid in that class to become a biologist. I’d like to believe that Ms. Moss would be proud of me, but I doubt she even remembers me. Perhaps all she recalls is that beach trip where some kid nearly soiled the interior of her car with chocolate milk and hot dogs.

New Course I

Newly-hired Dr. Robertson was an excellent genetics professor in the small biology department of the liberal arts college where I was a major. Back then, biology majors were required to take an invertebrate zoology course, but there was no one to teach it, so Dr. Robertson humbled himself and went down to UNC-Wilmington. He took an invertebrate biology course during summer school so he could teach that course to us in the Fall semester. Invertebrate zoology seemed to be something entirely new and fascinating to him. He put all he had into making that an excellent course. Dr. Robertson’s enthusiasm was contagious. He roamed the county collecting specimens and bringing them in for us to examine during lab. Following the example of his UNC-W teacher, he had us creating our own dichotomous taxonomic keys for the groups of animals we studied.

Lab Prep I

Dr. Robertson collared me one day as I was passing by the lab where he was peering through a microscope at some moist dirt he scooped from underneath his garbage can. He practically shoved my head to the eyepieces so I could see the nearly transparent eight-legged creature he’d found. It was a Tardigrade, also known as a Water Bear. He had learned about it while prepping to teach lab that week. I thought it was rather unusual, but I didn’t get why he was so worked up about this microscopic critter. But that’s Dr. Robertson, and he tended to get overly excited about Genetics and Invertebrate Zoology. Later, I learned that these water bears poop inside their own “skin” which they shed periodically, and thus no longer have to sit in a sack of their own solid waste. Seventh graders and college sophomores of a certain mindset find this both disgusting and fascinating.

Field Trip II

Toward the end of the semester, Dr. Robertson had planned a field trip to Carolina Beach, specifically to Fort Fisher, which has the only tidal rocky outcrop along the coast for hundreds of miles. There we might see the barnacles, crabs, tunicates, sea whips and all manner of sea creatures that we had been reading about and dichotomizing for many weeks. The ultimate goal, according to Dr. Robertson, was to find an Aplysia. These soft-bodied mollusks are about the size of a baseball. They have a small internal shell and two fleshy flaps that project upward and outward from their squishy body. Those ear-shaped appendages account for its common name: the Sea Hare. A Sea Hares glides along submerged rock surfaces, scraping algae with its raspy tongue. Dr. Robertson had read about Sea Hares and wanted desperately to see one for himself.

We took the battered noisy old college van to the coast on the appointed day. Coolers, buckets, nets, and jars filled with preservatives rattled in the back. I sat up front as Dr. Robertson drove. The two of us talked as my classmates snoozed for a couple of hours.

Dr. Robertson, who had confessed to me that he was almost an Atheist, had arranged with God for it to be low tide and sunny when we arrived. The rocky pools were just right for searching for invertebrates. Armed with buckets and dip nets and tattered tennis shoes, Dr. Robertson led the charge into the chilly shallow water. Very soon we were seeing the colorful life forms that heretofore existed only as line drawings in our invertebrate zoology text. We’d splash over to Dr. Robinson with whatever we discovered. He would energetically congratulate us on the find and give a short sermon on what we should notice about this particular animal. Could we imagine where it would fit on our dichotomous taxonomic keys? Then, he sent us forth with a reminder to search for our Holy Grail, the coveted Sea Hare.

I was the first to find a Sea Hare. When I reached into the water to pull the snotty blob off the rock it had been scraping, it squirted out a blue-black ink as a way of obscuring itself from a potential predator. Dr. Robertson and the textbook were telling the truth about this animal. I dropped it into my bucket and waded over to Dr. Robertson, anticipating the triumphant reception that would surely follow. And so it came to pass. Dr. Robertson gleefully showed the Sea Hare to the gathered classmates and expounded upon its virtues. His genuine happiness was something to behold.

Sympathy I

After everyone had venerated the Sea Hare, we dispersed to continue our collecting, but with a little less energy now that our primary objective had been achieved. After seeing that first one, my classmates and I got pretty good at spotting Sea Hares and bringing them over to Dr. Robertson. With each new find, his enthusiasm waned. He was the only kid at the Easter Egg hunt who wasn’t finding eggs on his own. I could sense his disappointment and I felt sorry for this man who I admired so much. So, I didn’t let on when I found the next Sea Hare and slid it into my bucket. I slowly meandered over to where Dr. Robertson was searching crevices in the rocks, with fading hopes of finding a Sea Hare on his own. I calculated his trajectory and covertly released my Sea Hare into a spot where I knew he’d soon be looking. I slipped away and waited and watched, hoping to witness the joy he’d feel when he saw it.

Dr. Robertson eventually found that planted Sea Hare. He probably felt the same sort of satisfaction as a marathoner who completes the race but finishes last.

Choices II

It was a glorious day. I sat up front with Dr. Robertson for the long drive home. When we stopped for a potty break and snacks, I did not get chocolate milk.

New Course II

I accepted a tenure-track faculty position in the Biology Department at Wofford College in 1993 where my main responsibilities would be to teach human physiology and neuroscience. My predecessor had retired and there was no one to teach histology. When the chair of the department asked if I could teach histology, I tried to imagine what such a course might entail. I’d never had a histology course. I knew that “ology” means “the study of,” but I couldn’t figure out what the “hist” represented. It turns out that histology is anatomy at a microscopic level. It was a new course to me in 1994 when I taught it for the first time, using the advice, notes, and format of my predecessor. I’ve been teaching it ever since and it has become one of my favorite courses. Dr. Robertson, you subliminally inspired me to agree to take on that new challenge. Thank you for your example.

Field Trip III

I’ve taught Invertebrate Zoology several times over the years. I try to bring the same excitement and enthusiasm to my course that Dr. Robertson did so long ago. Back then, creating my own dichotomous keys was a tedious challenging chore. It forced me to think carefully about the characteristics that distinguish different kinds of animals from each other. It wasn’t easy, but it was an effective way to learn. That is why I had my students create their own dichotomous taxonomic keys. And I took them on field trips to the coast. On one of those learning adventures, we had the good fortune to examine a dead dolphin that had washed ashore. Was this coincidence or providence?

Sympathy II

I was back in the classroom two weeks after my radical robotic prostatectomy, but I was struggling. My recovery was not progressing as expected. My urologist/surgeon had re-installed the catheter, which restricted my mobility. My students watched me as I gingerly descended the stairs to reach my place in the teaching amphitheater at the start of each class. For one class meeting I had brought a cart full of equipment so I could demonstrate what we’d be doing in lab later that week. Several students saw my predicament. The lab cart full of lab stuff was on the upper level. It would have been multiple trips for me to bring all of it down by myself. They hopped out of their seats and ferried those items down to my table at the front of the room. How thoughtful of them!

Lab Prep II

I had been a professor of biology for several years when I was trying out a new lab for a neuroscience course. I had read about how one could attach electrodes to the sensory nerves of an anesthetized crayfish and listen to bursts of electrical activity produced when one wiggles their tail. I set up all the amplifiers and audio monitor. With great anticipation, I nudged the tail. There was a sizzle of nerve activity that correlated very nicely with the magnitude of each movement I imposed. Amazing! It works!

I rushed to the door of the lab and snagged the first student who happened to be walking by. I gave him a brief explanation of the set-up and then had him twiddle the crayfish tail. He heard the patterns through the speaker. He was mildly amused. I let him go about his business while I collapsed into my lab chair with great satisfaction. I realized that I had just imposed my scientific excitement on a student, replicating what Dr. Robertson had done with me many years ago when he introduced me to that Water Bear.

It was a glorious day. Dr. Robertson, I hope you are proud of me.

Replication with Modification

All life is the result of replication. Replication with modification generates biodiversity. Replication with modification is also how effective teaching passes from one generation of teachers to the next. That field trip with Ms. Moss was the first of many for me. I’ve taken multiple biology field trips to Africa and South America with college students. Ms. Moss, thank you for getting me started with experiential learning. Dr. Robertson, thank you for showing me how to see the world with wonder and enthusiasm. I learned from your examples. I try to replicate the things you two did so well. The way I teach is a part of your legacies.

Experiential learning is important for every generation. I learned not to overindulge in hot dogs and chocolate milk. Some of my students make poor (adult) beverage choices with similar outcomes.

Onward,
GR Davis Jr
12 April 2021

Ms. Moss and Dr. Robertson are two of the many teachers that have profoundly influenced me over the years.

If this essay caused you to think fondly of your most influential teachers, please share those stories. I bet your teachers would appreciate that.