"Will you read to us?"
Chloe was looking at me expectantly from across the room. Somehow, her pointed question had shoved its way through the rumbling chatter and turned my head. We were supposed to be having 15 minutes of SSR - silent, sustained reading - but the class was boiling over with conversation anyway. I kept trying to get them to quiet down, to shove a lid on the bubbling pots, but to no avail. And then Chloe (name has been changed) asked me to read to them.
I tilted my head, suspicious that I was being had. "You really want me to read to you?" I'd read aloud to all my classes yesterday, and had the distinct impression they found it ridiculous. That's why I'd decided to let them read on their own.
"Yeah," Chloe said. "I just can't focus right now. I can't read it by myself, I won't understand anything. Will you read to us?" A couple of other kids chimed in their agreement.
"Raise your hand if you'd honestly rather have me read to you than read it yourselves," I called over the rumble. Nearly half of the class had their hands in the air.
Well then!
"Alright!" I shouted. "Everyone who doesn't want to read silently, go out in the hall!"
They were surprised. Once they realized I was serious, they grabbed their books and shuffled out into the hallway. I leaned into the office, where the substitute teacher was sitting around looking bored. (I'll discuss the ineffectiveness of hiring substitutes for a cooperating teacher another day.) He looked up when I came in. "Can you come sit with these students? They're supposed to be reading silently, I just want you to watch them."
He blinked, then stood up. "Sure."
One of my students had already grabbed my director's chair and taken it into the hallway. I grabbed my own copy of the book - Fahrenheit 451 - and headed out there.
They were sitting on the tile floor, their backs against the lockers. The hallway was mostly empty, with just a teacher or two wandering by, looking amused when they passed. I ignored them. "What page are you guys on?" I asked the group. They broke out into an argument, so I decided to just start at the beginning. There were a couple of chuckles as I started, but they died down quickly, and soon all of these rambunctious teenagers were sitting quietly, listening to Ray Bradbury's famous novel.
"'It was a pleasure to burn . . . .'"
The air in the hallway seemed to change as I read. A strange calm came over the group - though they were by no means hypnotized by my performance. I saw them nudge each other and whisper a couple of times, but compared to their behavior earlier this was miraculous. Two of the girls were so delighted by our little reading session that they pulled out their phones and took pictures of it. I just kept reading, the words taking possession of the hallway, no doubt threading their way into the neighboring classrooms.
"'I sometimes think drivers don't know what grass is, or flowers, because they never see them slowly. . . . If you showed a driver a green blur, Oh yes! he'd say, that's grass! A pink blur! that's a rose garden! White blurs are houses. Brown blurs are cows. My uncle drove slowly on a highway once. He drove forty mile an hour and they jailed him for two days. Isn't that funny, and sad, too?'"
When time was up, I slapped my book closed and hopped off my stool. "Back to class," I said.
The students shook themselves back to reality. Standing slowly, they shuffled back into the classroom. Many of them said, "Thank you," as they walked past me. And I think they meant it, too.
Our students all need different things. Those who stayed in the classroom were able to get a lot of reading done, with most of the noise out of the room. The ones who followed me got to feel like their own needs were being addressed, they got to be indulged for a little while. (When "indulging" my students involves reading the required text, I'll support it every time.) I made a lot of friends today - and when you teach high school English, you need all the friends you can get!
Today was a good day.
Parents, read to your kids. Even the teenagers.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Monday, November 18, 2013
The Goal
I am trying to become something.
In the end, that is the purpose of my education - the purpose of all education, I would hope! I haven't been lugging a 40 lb backpack around campus for my health. I haven't squirmed through lectures - both mind-numbing and mind-blowing - for the fun of it. I haven't worked, laughed, cried, screamed, failed, slept, sprinted, stretched, succeeded just to get the applause of a few aged professors.
I have done it because I wanted to learn how to be who I wanted to be.
Because I wanted to be a teacher.
But let me tell you something: becoming a teacher is hard. And in some ways, that's a terrific thing. It is the result of anxious parents and mindful citizens, who push for legislation like No Child Left Behind as an attempt to do right by our country's youth, to require high standards for their educators. But in other ways, it's a frustratingly bureaucratic thing: a system of legal hoops and tricks that serve only to create the appearance of excellence, without any thought to the actual needs of the students.
Regardless, teacher education is a drawn-out and complicated process. Not enough people appreciate the time, energy, research, and innovation that go into creating lesson plans and assessments. Similarly, not enough people recognize the difficulty of learning these skills, of training your brain to think from behind the teacher's desk for once.
Straddling the chasm that separates the worlds of "student" and "teacher" is extremely uncomfortable. Student teachers are being put on the spot, testing their new skills in front of a huge and highly critical audience. They are under the scrutiny of professors, colleagues, students, parents, administrators, and legislators. And they aren't getting paid for it.
So why are they doing it? Why am I doing it?
Because I want to be a teacher.
And I understand that there is a huge difference between passing the requirements for certification and actually being a great teacher. The first is more annoying, but the second is much more difficult. It takes time. It takes effort. And it takes failing over and over again until I get it right.
That's why I've created this blog. Sure, it will be interesting to document my experiences, to give all of you an insight into exactly what it takes to become a teacher; and I hope you learn from that. But more importantly, I want to learn from this. I want to take the opportunity to develop my philosophies on pedagogical theory; I want to explore real-life stories, to see what makes a teacher great or awful; and I want to reflect on my own teaching experiences - as they come - so that I can get into the habit of facing my failures head-on and setting them straight.
I'm not going to wait until I get my first teaching job. I'm not going to wait until I begin my student teaching. The time is now. I'm going to figure out exactly what it takes to teach a teenager.
In the end, that is the purpose of my education - the purpose of all education, I would hope! I haven't been lugging a 40 lb backpack around campus for my health. I haven't squirmed through lectures - both mind-numbing and mind-blowing - for the fun of it. I haven't worked, laughed, cried, screamed, failed, slept, sprinted, stretched, succeeded just to get the applause of a few aged professors.
I have done it because I wanted to learn how to be who I wanted to be.
Because I wanted to be a teacher.
But let me tell you something: becoming a teacher is hard. And in some ways, that's a terrific thing. It is the result of anxious parents and mindful citizens, who push for legislation like No Child Left Behind as an attempt to do right by our country's youth, to require high standards for their educators. But in other ways, it's a frustratingly bureaucratic thing: a system of legal hoops and tricks that serve only to create the appearance of excellence, without any thought to the actual needs of the students.
Regardless, teacher education is a drawn-out and complicated process. Not enough people appreciate the time, energy, research, and innovation that go into creating lesson plans and assessments. Similarly, not enough people recognize the difficulty of learning these skills, of training your brain to think from behind the teacher's desk for once.
Straddling the chasm that separates the worlds of "student" and "teacher" is extremely uncomfortable. Student teachers are being put on the spot, testing their new skills in front of a huge and highly critical audience. They are under the scrutiny of professors, colleagues, students, parents, administrators, and legislators. And they aren't getting paid for it.
So why are they doing it? Why am I doing it?
Because I want to be a teacher.
And I understand that there is a huge difference between passing the requirements for certification and actually being a great teacher. The first is more annoying, but the second is much more difficult. It takes time. It takes effort. And it takes failing over and over again until I get it right.
That's why I've created this blog. Sure, it will be interesting to document my experiences, to give all of you an insight into exactly what it takes to become a teacher; and I hope you learn from that. But more importantly, I want to learn from this. I want to take the opportunity to develop my philosophies on pedagogical theory; I want to explore real-life stories, to see what makes a teacher great or awful; and I want to reflect on my own teaching experiences - as they come - so that I can get into the habit of facing my failures head-on and setting them straight.
I'm not going to wait until I get my first teaching job. I'm not going to wait until I begin my student teaching. The time is now. I'm going to figure out exactly what it takes to teach a teenager.
A Tale of Two Approaches
There are two prevailing metaphors that we, as teachers, use to approach our practice:
#1 - The teacher is a fountain of knowledge. Students enter the classroom as empty pitchers (perhaps of varying sizes). The teacher's job is to entice the students to the fountain, pour knowledge into the students' pitchers, and then ensure that there is no leakage.
#2 - The teacher is a expert in architecture. Students enter the classroom as prospective engineers, bringing with them whatever training or natural ability they possess. The teacher's job is to fill in whatever gaps exist in their training, give them with the necessary tools and schematics, and then provide them opportunities to build knowledge themselves.
The first metaphor describes what is known as the Transmission approach, because it focuses so much on the idea of knowledge as an constant, an object which the teacher holds and must transmit to the students. The second metaphor describes what is known as the Constructivist approach, because it sees knowledge as inconstant, as something which is formed uniquely in every human mind.
Teachers who believe in the Transmission approach often utilize lecture in their classrooms; they teach students that there is a clear right/wrong answer; and they usually use "objective" assessments (such as multiple-choice tests).
Constructivists generally prefer group discussion to lecture; they let their students know that "there is no 'right' answer;" and thus they allow for a lot more freedom in their assessments (perhaps using multimedia projects).
Both approaches have their strengths and their weaknesses, but which is more helpful to students? Which is more practical for teachers? Which is best for the school system as a whole? Which is best for society?
Which do you believe in?
#1 - The teacher is a fountain of knowledge. Students enter the classroom as empty pitchers (perhaps of varying sizes). The teacher's job is to entice the students to the fountain, pour knowledge into the students' pitchers, and then ensure that there is no leakage.
#2 - The teacher is a expert in architecture. Students enter the classroom as prospective engineers, bringing with them whatever training or natural ability they possess. The teacher's job is to fill in whatever gaps exist in their training, give them with the necessary tools and schematics, and then provide them opportunities to build knowledge themselves.
The first metaphor describes what is known as the Transmission approach, because it focuses so much on the idea of knowledge as an constant, an object which the teacher holds and must transmit to the students. The second metaphor describes what is known as the Constructivist approach, because it sees knowledge as inconstant, as something which is formed uniquely in every human mind.
Teachers who believe in the Transmission approach often utilize lecture in their classrooms; they teach students that there is a clear right/wrong answer; and they usually use "objective" assessments (such as multiple-choice tests).
Constructivists generally prefer group discussion to lecture; they let their students know that "there is no 'right' answer;" and thus they allow for a lot more freedom in their assessments (perhaps using multimedia projects).
Both approaches have their strengths and their weaknesses, but which is more helpful to students? Which is more practical for teachers? Which is best for the school system as a whole? Which is best for society?
Which do you believe in?
The Teacher, or the Entertainer?
Calvin's juvenile hilarity aside, the question he raises is a good one: Is it the teacher's responsibility to make class "enthralling"? Now, before you start arguing about personal accountability, consider the following:
- How many times has a terrible teacher "ruined" a subject that you might otherwise have enjoyed?
- How effective is it to assume that high school students will take complete responsibility for their own learning?
- Is it possible for a great teacher to make any lesson enjoyable, no matter the required content?
- Is there danger in ignoring our students' interests and desires?
That's a lot of power. And - as an avid Spider-Man fan - I firmly believe that with great power comes great responsibility. If you have the choice (and I'm suggesting you do) shouldn't you be actively seeking to make learning enjoyable, rather than miserable, in your class?
Hopefully, this is where you can draw upon your teacher education for inspiration. At BYU, I've had the opportunity to take full-semester classes on Multicultural Education, Adolescent Development, and Technology in Teaching, along with the regular courses in Teaching Reading, Teaching Grammar, and Teaching Composition. I've been exposed to a wide range of philosophies, theories, and practices that I can refer to when planning my own lessons. That way, I don't have to do exactly what my own high school teachers did; I have the tools and the resources to differentiate instruction according to the needs of my students.
And according to the desires of my students. Because I understand (as a college student) that it's easier to become engaged in classes that discuss things I'm interested in, I intend to make the effort to incorporate my students' interests whenever possible. If I need a quote that shows argumentative structure, why can't I pull a quote from Psych instead of taking one from Moby Dick? It's not that much work for me, and it pays excellent dividends: not only will my students' be more engaged, but they have the opportunity to act from a place of expertise, rather than constantly feeling unqualified. (In education, we call this utilizing our students' Funds of Knowledge.)
No one need assume that I'm suggesting teachers should sacrifice good learning for "enthrallment." A lesson designed solely for entertainment is often meaningless, and students will pick up on that. We cannot be so concerned with trying to seem cool or with becoming our students' favorite that we forget to actually teach them. That doesn't serve anyone - you only end up cheating students out of the education this country is supposed to guarantee them.
The key in this - as in many other teaching dilemmas - is in how you approach it. Don't try to teach "fun" lessons; try to teach important lessons in a fun way. If you start with the educational goal in mind, and then incorporate students' interests and desires, you'll be able to create school experiences that are both enjoyable and meaningful. These are the kinds of lessons that stick with kids forever. Even kids like Calvin.
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