This past Saturday was Rutgers Day, and for anyone who doesn’t know, this is an annual event where New Jersey residents flock to their closest Rutgers campus for performances, food, arts and crafts, a petting zoo, giveaways and more free scarlet paraphernalia than one could ever fathom what to do with. Scattered across three campuses with a table for almost every department and organization, the endless meandering provided me much-needed distraction from studying right before AP exam season come May.
In past years, I would happily wander around, enjoying funnel cake and collecting R-shaped magnets with my friends and family, inevitably getting lost and resorting to asking one of the Rutgers students volunteering at the tables — in their iconic purple Rutgers Day shirts — to point out where to go.
This weekend, I was the one wearing a purple shirt, and have to admit, Rutgers Day is a completely different experience standing on the other side of the table.
The sheer amount of coordination and logistical planning that it takes to organize an event of this monstrosity is beyond belief, but the activities each organization plans for their table’s activities and offerings independently. When I signed up to volunteer at the STEM Ambassadors table, little did I know that this involved blowing up balloons with yeast and sugar, to demonstrate how anaerobic respiration works. Having taken more biology classes than I can count on one hand, this wouldn’t have been a problem, if my audience wasn’t comprised primarily of children still in elementary school.
Even worse, when I woke up in the morning and checked the sign-up sheet, I realized that for about an hour that day, I would be manning the table, alone, tasked with the responsibility of inspiring kids to like science and pay attention to yeast, while within eyeshot of a petting zoo and more cute puppies than one could know what to do with. Honestly quite daunted by the prospect of kids being apathetic to science, or even worse, scared off by the jargon, I arrived at the table uncharacteristically nervous. Public speaking is one thing, but teaching advanced concepts to children, the toughest possible crowd, and trying to foster in them a love of science, is completely another.
As I approached the table, I was surprised to see a crowd of little kids, some barely able to see over the edge, all peering at a sole person, the current President of STEM Ambassadors, towering over them. I stood awkwardly on the side, watching her pour a little bit of dried yeast into each child’s hands, and enthusiastically explain why only one of the balloons on the table had inflated. Her zeal was almost calming, and soon, when it was my turn after her shift ended, I tried to channel that same energy.
I put on a fake smile and started trying to explain, eventually perfecting a strategy and feeling my smile become more and more genuine. I started off with each kid by asking what grade they were in and if they liked bread. Then, I’d pour some of the dry yeast into their hands, point excitedly, and explain that they were living organisms and, more importantly, the reason why bread is tasty. I even made jokes about yeast being “fun guys” (fungi), which the younger kids appreciated but the older ones not as much. After explaining that yeast needs sugar the way we need food and that they breathe out carbon dioxide just like us, and throwing in concepts like aerobic vs. anaerobic respiration. Pointing out why only the balloon stretched over a bottle containing yeast, sugar, and water, and not the other combinations, was mildly interesting, but I could see that the kids wanted to actually do it themselves, not just watch balloons.
After hunting down the free water bottle cart and “borrowing” quite a few of them, I was equipped to let the kids try it out themselves, handing them their own bottle full of yeast and sugar, with the promise that yes, eventually, it would indeed inflate. I can only hope they believed me, and if anything, enjoyed being able to run their own “experiment” by themselves. Over the course of the hour, I met a vast variety of children, some in fifth grade and well-aware of what yeast do, some barely even able to speak.
Going into this experience, I really just aimed to teach a few children a little about yeast releasing carbon dioxide, but by the end of the hour, I’d learned a bit myself. When I asked each of them what their favorite classes were, I was surprised by the overwhelmingly positive responses about math and science, a refreshing sign for the future of STEM. This was especially inspiring, when mothers who were alumni of DRC and former STEM Ambassadors brought their own children, initially steering them towards the table and taking pamphlets on other at-home science experiments they could perform. I met a lot of little girls who already loved science, and could only hope this persisted through the years. I also met a few girls who heard “science experiment” and immediately scowled, and for them, I could only hope that one day they’d change their minds.
Perhaps, years from now I’ll bring my own children to the STEM Ambassadors table on Rutgers Day, pry them away from the cute puppies and tell them to go learn just a little bit about yeast. Maybe, just maybe, the person on the other side of the table, can learn something too.