STRANGER THAN FICTION: WHY AMERICA WON'T BE BOUGHT BY THE JAPANESE

Editor's note: While Heidi Nieland takes a writing sabbatical, the Southeast Missourian will be printing some favorite columns from the past. This column originally was printed Feb. 19, 1997.

The local science fair restored my faith in American youth.

You've heard people talk about the United States being bought up by the Japanese, right?

Sure, these people usually stand around swilling beer, wearing jeans cut off above the knee and calling my Toyota a "rice burner," but that doesn't mean their commentary on America's future shouldn't be respected. This is a free country, and if one wants to be a paranoid schizophrenic, he can be, gosh darn it!

The general idea is that we as Americans aren't as smart as the Japanese. We don't work as hard. We don't leap from windows in shame if the boss gives us a bad review.

On the flip side, we DO have "Baywatch," The Boss Burger and the World Wrestling Federation.

But I think the generation of Americans now in junior high will put us on equal footing with the Japanese educationally, too. My proof is a local science fair conducted last weekend, where eighth-grader Eric Ternon won a grand prize with his experiment: "Temperature effect on a photovoltaic cell." Fellow competitor Evan Baher scored big with "What is the effect of different levels of radiation on regeneration of Planaria?"

Wasn't Planaria a character on "Star Trek: The Next Generation"? And what the heck is a photovaltaic cell? Do I have any?

Unfortunately, my career as a scientist didn't have the promise of Eric and Evan's.

It began at Sikeston Junior High School in Mr. Lankheit's eighth-grade science class. After days of deep thought, I decided to do my required science fair project on our slimy friend, the earthworm. The idea was to find how much water it takes to get them to the surface.

Of course, every science experiment begins with a hypothesis. Mine was that two cups of "rain" a day would bring the earthworm to the surface. This rain would be created using a simple watering can.

Fortunately, it was a wet week, so it was easy to find my victims -- I mean, subjects -- in the backyard. My control-group worms went into one bucket and the test worms into another.

It became apparent after two weeks that my test worms wouldn't be coming to the surface, a fact that led to my first experience with scientific fraud. I'm sorry to admit this, Mr. Lankheit, but I dumped massive amounts of water into my worm bucket the night before my deadline. These critters couldn't get to the surface fast enough. They came up begging for life preservers.

We had to display our projects on front of homemade, decorated backdrops erected at the Sikeston Field House. I lingered within viewing range of my project and watched the passers-by. The reactions ranged from laughter to disgust. Needless to say, my project scored a big, fat "C" and absolutely nothing in the way of honorable mentions.

After that experience, I never took a science class that wasn't required. Ashamed of my scientific fraud and the results it DIDN'T bring me, I turned to a profession that required the advocacy of truth, justice, and the American Way. It was journalism.

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! Whew, that hurt.

Luckily for the United States, there's a new, better crop of kids coming along now that the Generation Xers have managed to haul their lousy butts out of the country's public school system. The new generation wants to go to college. They've been raised just saying "no." They know the difference between Planaria and a photovoltiac cell.

And they've probably never even THOUGHT about dumping water on some poor, unsuspecting earthworms.

~Heidi Nieland is former Southeast Missourian staff writer who now lives in Pensacola, Fla.