One day, when I was in high school, my chemistry teacher began a lesson about subatomic particles.
“You know those electrons and protons you’ve been hearing about the last few years?” she asked.
“Yes,” we students dutifully replied.
“You know how all of your teachers have always said that they’re the smallest things we know of?”
“Definitely,” we answered.
“And you know how you’ve always been told that they’re the fundamental building blocks of matter — that it’s impossible to break them apart into component bits?”
“Of course!” we scoffed — although nervously, because already we could sense that perhaps we had been misled.
“Well,” said my teacher, “it turns out that protons are in fact made up of even smaller particles called ‘quarks’. And that’s what we’re going to learn about today.”
Needless to say, I was outraged. I felt like a kid hearing that Santa Claus doesn’t really exist. What were they going to tell me next? What other lies had I been swallowing in school? Was two plus two ever really four? Were sentences that ended with a preposition really that big of a problem?



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