The Fun They Had
Isaac Asimov (1920-1992)
Margie even wrote about it that night in her diary. On the page headed May 17,
2155, she wrote, Today Tommy found a real book!
It was a very old book. Margie’s grandfather once said that when he was a little
boy his grandfather told him that there was a time when all stories were printed
on paper.
They turned the pages, which were yellow and crankily, and it was awfully funny
to read words that stood still instead of moving the way they were supposed to –
on a screen, you know. And then, when they turned back to the page before, it
had the same words on it that it had had when they read it the first time.
Gee, said Tommy, what a waste. When you’re though with the book, you just
throw it away, I guess. Our television screen must have had a million books on it
and it’s good for plenty more. I wouldn’t throw it away.
Same with mine, said Margie. She was eleven and hadn’t seen as many
telebooks as Tommy had. He was thirteen.
She said, Where did you find it?
In my house. He pointed without looking, because he was busy reading. In the
attic.
What’s it about?
School.
Margie was scornful. School? What’s there to write about school? I hate school.
Margie had always hated school, but now she hated it more than ever. The
mechanical teacher had been giving her test after test in geography and she had
been doing worse and worse until her mother had shaken her head sorrowfully
and sent for the County Inspector.
He was a round little man with a red face and a whole box of tools with dials and
wires. He smiled at her and gave her an apple, then took the teacher apart.
Margie had hoped he wouldn’t know how to put it together again, but he knew
how all right and, after an hour or so, there it was again, large and black and
ugly with a big screen on which all the lessons were shown and the questions
were asked. That wasn’t so bad. The part she hated the most was the slot where
she had to put homework and test papers. She always had to write them out in a
punch code they made her learn when she was six years old, and the mechanical
teacher calculated the mark in no time.
The inspector had smiled after he was finished and patted her head. He said to
her mother, It’s not the little girl’s fault, Mrs. Jones. I think the geography sector
was geared a little too quick. Those things happen sometimes. I’ve slowed it up
to an average ten-year level. Actually, the over-all pattern of her progress is
quite satisfactory. And he patted Margie’s head again.
Margie was disappointed. She had been hoping they would take the teacher
away altogether. They had once taken Tommy’s teacher away for nearly a month
because the history sector had blanked out completely.
So she said to Tommy, Why would anyone write about school?
Tommy looked at her with very superior eyes. Because it’s not our kind of
school, stupid. This is the old kind of school that they had hundreds and
hundreds of years ago.
Margie was hurt. Well, I don’t know what kind of school they had all that time
ago. She read the book over his shoulder for a while, then said, Anyway, they
had a teacher.
Sure they had a teacher, but it wasn’t a regular teacher. It was a man.
A man. How could a man be a teacher?
Well, he just told the boys and girls things and gave them homework and asked
them questions.
A man isn’t smart enough.
Sure he is. My father knows as much as my teacher.
He can’t. A man can’t know as much as a teacher.
He knows almost as much I betcha.
Margie wasn’t prepared to dispute that. She said, I wouldn’t want a strange man
in my house to teach me.
Tommy screamed with laughter. You don’t know much, Margie. The teachers
didn’t live in the house. They had a special building and all the kids went there.
And all the kids learned the same thing?
Sure, if they were the same age.
But my mother says a teacher has to be adjusted to fit the mind of each boy and
girl it teaches and that each kid has to be taught differently.
Just the same, they didn’t do it that way then. If you don’t like it, you don’t have
to read the book.
I didn’t say I didn’t like it, Margie said quickly. She wanted to read about those
funny schools.
They weren’t nearly half finished when Margie’s mother called, Margie! School!
Margie looked up. Not yet, mamma.
Now, said Mrs. Jones. And it’s probably time for Tommy, too.
Margie said to Tommy, Can I read the book some more with you after school?
Maybe, he said, nonchalantly. He walked away whistling, the dusty old book
tucked beneath his arm.
Margie went to the schoolroom. It was right next to her bedroom, and the
mechanical teacher was on and waiting for her. It was always on at the same
time every day except for Saturday and Sunday, because her mother said little
girls learned better if they learned at regular hours.
The screen was lit up, and it said: Today’s arithmetical lesson is on the addition
of proper fractions. Please insert yesterday’s homework in the proper slot.
My Ending: Then, she looked at the mechanical teacher and inserted the card
with the homework, but it was empty. After that the teacher started talking very
loud and the screen was red like if he was angry.
Margie looked it one glass, and saw that the teacher had a switch flashing. She
pressed the button and her teacher fell down. Then , She ran to near Tommy,
quietly, and something changed: for the first time , Margie was interested in
something related to school.
Later, she sighed , so she was thinking of the fun they had.
