Journey of knowledge starts with 'aardvark'

I know a lot of about aardvarks even though I've never seen one and don't expect to.

Explanation: Early in my school life, when the Loughboro rural school could afford it, I had access to a particular 20-volume set of encyclopedias. They were beautifully bound and had many illustrations. There was an artistic border around each page, reminiscent of the wonderful books put together by the Roycrofters. When I picked the first volume from the limited school library, I vowed I'd read every book in the set.

I started with the introduction. The author said, "Suppose a boy (this introduction was written in 1911, before the demand for female recognition was a red-hot issue) was to spend 15 minutes a day in reading these pages, omitting directions for doing and making things, he would probably be able to finish the volumes in two or three years."

Well, 77 years later I haven't finished reading them. The last copyright date for them is 1918, which is the date of my set. I have used the old books, not only for pleasure but also for reference, so I may be further along with the complete reading than I think.

Suppose that, for some reason, I needed to re-acquaint myself with the poem, "Wynken, Blyken and Nod." I know of no other place in my home library where I could find it. No Internet here.

The first subject that I embarked on with 10-year-old enthusiasm was "aardvark."

There was a picture of an aardvark accompanying the text. I studied it first. Being familiar with the sleek, handsome appearance of rabbits, squirrels, foxes, raccoons, I thought the aardvark was the ugliest mammal I had ever seen. It had an exceptionally long snout, like a pig on steroids. The name aardvark means "earth pig." It spends its daylight time in the ground.

The thing that is so ludicrously comical are the ears, which are longer than those of a jack rabbit's. Front legs that are only an inch or two longer sport vicious claws. It can go underground quickly, so the knowledge book says. Hind legs, which are longer, give it a humped appearance.

As part of my self-imposed study, one day at school during a free period I attempted to draw a picture of an aardvark, the encyclopedia before me. The teacher, passing by my desk, asked, "What is this? A pig? A jack rabbit?"

"It's an anteater," I replied, knowing of the second name and not being sure of my pronunciation of aardvark.

"Have you seen any of them around here?"

"No, they are in South America." I was growing a bit proud of my knowledge.

"Would you like to go the blackboard and draw a picture of one for others to see?"

I did not, but this was the way the teacher worded a command.

I stumbled to the blackboard, took a long time choosing the right length of chalk for such a picture. I dusted two erasers together as if to announce they'd more than likely be needed.

I started with the long ears, erasing them several times so as to be perfect in length, breadth and depth. Next came the long snout and eyes. I added a tongue, sticking out as long as the snout.

Classmates began to snicker. I went on with the humped body, long and short legs.

I put the chalk and eraser down and turned to face my audience. There were smirks and mocking looks on every face.

A barrage of jeering questions ensued. "You seen any up around your place?" "Do pigs and rabbits cross-breed?" And then one clear sounding question, "Where's its tail?"

I began to squirm. The encyclopedia had not shown a tail. If there was one, it was behind the hind legs and invisible. Should I draw a stand-up, curly pig tail?

Recovering, almost, I said, "It's back here somewhere behind the hind legs." I thought that would prove that I had some knowledge about perspective.

The teacher, mercifully, ended it with the announcement that it was dismissal time.

As we poured out of the schoolhouse and started our various ways home, someone yelled at my back, "Watch out! The ordforks might get you!"

Next day there was a spelling match at school. I went to the head of the class by spelling A-A-R-D-V-A-R-K.

REJOICE!

Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.