Biological Karma

I took biology in high school like everyone else, but I got lucky. The only thing I had to dissect was a worm. My biology teacher took a leave of absence somewhere around the first quarter and we had a sub ‘til the end. I don’t really remember much of the class, but I do remember my escape from carving, prodding and poking pickled organisms. I feel elated every time I tell someone I never had to cut open a frog and check out his parts. Granted, I don’t get to tell people that too often. But still. It was lucky.

I’m sure you’ve heard about karma biting you in the butt, kicking you in the pants, or whatever it is that happens when your luck runs out. Well, karma found me this year. I’m in high school biology with non-native speakers of English. So far we’ve pulled apart grasshoppers, frogs, and most recently, an enormous rat with a strong resemblance to Ratatouille. Now, I’m neither sappy nor sentimental. Call me cold, but I have no pity for these dead little buggers. I don’t even mind stepping in once and awhile with the forceps and identifying a pancreas here or a kidney there when my students need me to. The worst thing about biology is explaining the parts. The girl and boy parts. The English words are meaningless, as evidenced by the blank stares I get when I use them. Even if I find the Chinese words in my online dictionary, I come up empty because let’s face it—how many teenagers know the scientific words for genitals in any language? So I’m left with my favorite strategy for communicating through a language barrier—gestures. Yeah, gestures are great when you’re trying to explain things like big, small, and medium-sized, but scrotum, testes, and teats? Eh. Not so much. Horribly and excruciatingly embarassing would be putting it mildly. I humiliate myself on a daily basis. The native speakers in the class are getting a big kick out of it, though. They love to watch me try to discreetly gesture what teats are and where they’re located while my face turns twenty shades of red. I’m sure it’s hilarious for them, but I wish I’d sliced open a damn frog in my high school biology class, ‘cause I'm convinced that this is some crazy sort of karma.