I think once a child is old (mature) enough to stop believing in the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus, we should treat them with respect and find more honest ways to enhance their natural desire to explore and find treasures, rather than expose them to these pearl party carnival acts.
This strikes to the heart of the matter.
I grew up knowing my mother wore pearls, my grandmother wore pearls and her mother wore pearls. While I was just a boy, my curiosity and big stick led me to discover freshwater mussels in the wiles of Quetico Park, in Northwestern Ontario during a Canada (Dominion) Day celebration and family reunion. I was mesmerized a tiny, abundant creature could create the iridescent treasures of rainbows and gems.
Despite my awe, my folks outwardly explained pearls were a secret never to be divulged and only possible in a place far away. I understood what they were saying, but didn't buy it because here I was, a boy of five observing the phenomena of nacreous growth before my very eyes. It was on that sunny day in 1962, I resolved to prove them wrong, that I would topple those barriers to unlock mysteries and dispel the myths.
Growing up, I learned to hold my breath to swim underwater. My first snorkel had a ping-pong ball stopper that proved more dangerous than no snorkel at all. I felt like Aqua Man when I got my first swim fins. I would hunt for patches of mussels, watching them as their mantles displayed patterns of color and sensitivity. My entire family were pioneers of SCUBA apparatus, instructors and intrepid explorers of lost ships, salvage and discoveries. In 1979, I moved to the west coast to pursue a deep sea diving career and within just a few years navigated and surveyed much of the coastline, from Washington State to Alaska.
One evening in 1980, while dining on a plate of deep fried mussels, I cracked a bicuspid on a pearl. The next day, with half a tooth and a pearl in hand, walked into the dentist office. The dentist took an x-ray of the tooth and the pearl. He explained the tooth could not be saved, but the pearl should.
The stage was set and the point of this rambling is
all of us are gifted with the power of observation, speculation and replication. The greater parts of our education are experience, listening and seeing.
While I could go on for days about the misconceptions of natural or cultured pearling, I fail to see where oyster opening parties and education are interfaced. All too often, these so-called hosts claim opening them in the presence of children (even adults for that matter) is a pathway to higher learning. To that end, I often ask myself... learning what? How to deceive?, ruthless greed?, perpetuating myths? In reviewing these pearl party sideshows, no where have I witnessed a single tenet of truth how invertebrates are identified, arise, evolve or behave. I fail to see how severing the adductor muscle of a sickly bivalve to reveal a transplanted, previously harvested trinket has even a modicum of inference to anything ecological, anatomical or environmental.
Most party hosts are preoccupied with flaunting fabulous nails, flicking flowing locks or feigning sophistication under the guise of picking pockets. Some hosts brag revenue by posting invoices and receipts. All that tells me, they are little more than snake oil hucksters, adept at shallow manipulation and pawns in elaborate pyramid schemes.
I'm not a parent, so I cannot declare what the greater interests of child rearing are, but I've taken enough young people under my wing to know there ought to be more transparency and honesty in how we educate ourselves and steward our surroundings. I've had an adventurous life and done more things most could even imagine, but my greatest joy is to inspire a person to release fish into the sea or gaze into the depths with wonder.
