Listening

I wish we could tell the truth about teaching, that it's really the simplest, most natural thing in the world.

I've had these large pieces of non-slip material you put under rugs to hold them in place

for quite some time. I was saving it mostly because I had a lot of it, which is one of

my primary criteria for saving anything. I've had a vague idea of using it at the art table,

but figured, as I often do, to see if the kids had any better ideas of how to use it. 

I wish our profession wasn't in a fight for its life against deep pocket foes with a political or economic agenda, because this simplicity is really its beauty and joy.

Our main idea on the first day was to play under it together, making a kind of tent into which

to crowd ourselves.

We've learned to protect ourselves with an armor of jargon like every other profession as a way to sell ourselves in this sell-or-be-sold world.

Cooperating enough to fit all of our bodies under there isn't easy when 

you're two.

But teaching is not every other profession. I'm not even sure it is a profession as much as a calling. Because when we strip all that "professionalism" away, we see that the core of teaching is to love the children: every one of us knows that. And when you love, you listen. That's what teachers do.

It's especially hard when one of those bodies is that of a grown man, taking

up far too much of the space, but we managed.

It's when we listen with our ears and eyes and hearts that we can access not only their genius, but our own.

Teaching greatness is not a rare thing, I don't think, but it's hard for others to see because it takes place in intimate moments when we're down on our knees, face to face with the children, ears, eyes, and heart wide open. And then to try to talk about it after the fact, to try to satisfy the demands to make learning "transparent," we wind up wraping the moments of genius in words that detail techniques and strategies that describe only the surface manifestation of what happened because to say, "We connected," sounds too hippy dippy and namby pamby.

Teaching is not a complicated thing, but it does take practice, lots of it, every day with lots of different kids, and even after ten or twenty years there's still a new thing to learn every day, its profundity often lost in its simplicity.

When we play with children, we engage them as they engage with their passions and curiosities, and when we listen with our whole selves, we notice instantly when that moment comes around, and then it's just a simple matter of making a statement of fact, or asking just the right question, or sitting quietly in the knowledge that that is what this child needs right now. How much better that is than to assume they are all ready for this particular knowledge at this particular time delivered in this particular manner by virtue of being more or less the same age -- what Ken Robinson calls their "manufacture date" -- then bang heads against the wall in frustration that many of them just don't get it.

To be a "gifted" teacher is really just possessing the knowledge that children are people and then proceeding to treat them like people, loving them, and listening.

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An Art Exploration

If you're not planning on sending the kids home with something cute that they made themselves and you aren't working down a list of specific things that a legislative committee somewhere has decided that children this age ought to know, then this might be an art project for you too!

The first thing, of course, is to stop calling it an art project, I think, because words matter and the word "project" connotes ideas that get people focused on results or destinations. I suggested to the adults responsible for managing the art station to think of it as an art exploration.

It starts with these 2'x2' lucite squares: smooth, flat, non-porous surfaces. Paint just slides across them, never diminishing, flowing. You can use tools to swoop and swoosh it. If you use your hands, they glide through and across the paint.

And then there are these egg carton parts: rough, pointy, absorbent surfaces. When you apply paint to these it gets sucked right up, some of it always staying behind when you try to move it, leaving a permanent trace of pigment wherever it's been. It's more challenging to get paint in every nook and cranny so you have to adjust your brush to different angles and use different techniques like dabbing or twisting or wiggling.

Finally we explored using lots of tools, including brushes.

And like with any good exploration, we made some discoveries along the way about color . . .

. . . about texture . . .

. . . about print-making . . .

. . . about cleaning up and starting over . . .

. . . about exploring alone . . .

. . . and exploring together.

We took it where it needed to go, this exploration of smooth and rough, non-porous and absorbent, flat and pointy.

It was messy, sure, but it didn't have to be. That was up to how you wanted to explore.

And if you did, along the way, produce a masterpiece . . .

. . . and some of us did . . .

. . . then you can save it as a print.

There's no test that will ever tell us what the children learned from their exploration, and I know that for some that makes it suspect.

It's just play after all: how does anyone know what they know about paint and process and smooth and pointy? How can anyone express that to others other than to show them? I suspect, in fact, that these testers, these "accountability" thugs, aren't interested at all in learning, just in measuring. And this is all too hard to measure -- impossible to measure. So, they stick to math and reading comprehension, judging the whole of education by the narrow calculation of what can be calculated, casting the rest aside as mere play, a remainder that for the rest of us is everything.

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I Thought They Were Just Playing

As hard as it might be to believe if you've been a reader of this blog for any length of time, but up until about 2 years ago, I'd never taken a photo in class. In fact, I rarely took photos in the rest of my life either: most of the photos I have of my daughter growing up came from grandparents.

"I don't want to experience life's peak moments through a viewfinder," is how I usually put it, whether standing in the shadow of Notre Dame or witnessing my girl's first swimming lesson. That had the virtue at least of being true, but it wasn't the whole truth. I also really disliked having to pack the camera around with me, a challenge that disappeared when I purchased my first iPhone and its quite satisfactory camera. I was going to be carrying my phone anyway, so that objection was handled. 

Other teachers pushed me a bit on the topic, insisting that they would never teach without a camera at their side, selling it to me as an important tool for promoting reflection, not to mention its ability to document what was happening during the day.

As anyone can see, I've come around now. I've forgotten my phone occasionally and spend my day feeling half dressed, repeatedly dipping into pocket and coming up empty. I take a lot more pictures than I use here on the blog, of course, and one of the most important parts of my day comes when I set down to transfer the day's collection onto my computer, taking me through a slideshow of the day just completed, giving me a moment to think through what I did (both right and wrong), what we learned, and where we seem to be heading.

One of the best things I did was download a camera app for the phone that permits me to take photos by simply tapping anywhere on the screen. This gives me the chance to snap away, even if I'm not viewing life through a viewfinder. Sometimes I know what I'm shooting, but often I'm sort of absently recording moments while talking, observing, or otherwise handling teacher duties. I'm often amazed by what I find when I get home.

A case in point are the girls in the two photos illustrating this post. They're not particularly good photos because I was just tapping the screen while they played with magnets, but I was sort of stunned when I saw them. I've been told by people who should know what they're talking about that all of math, no matter how far you go, is just learning increasingly complex ways to sort and create patterns. Well, here you have it.

They found all the magnetic gowns and arranged them in a row, then demonstrated an interesting bit of cultural literacy by finding "word" magnets to arrange under each one like headlines in a graphic layout. They might not be able to read them, but they know they're words and know where they go. Down the left side, you'll notice a tidy row of circular boxes. And there on the floor I accidently photographed yet another girl who had gathered all the magnets of a certain type, then collected them in a box she had built from Magna Tiles. I thought they were just playing . . .

Just a couple the little things I would have missed without my camera.

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#reasonswhyIhateschool

Yesterday #reasonswhyIhateschool was a trending hashtag on Twitter. I know, me too: just a few months ago I barely knew what Twitter was and now I'm not just talking hashtags, but I clicked on one. It looked like it was mostly high schoolers and college students, lining up to get off their one-liner about what they hate about school, a global gripefest that goes back as far, I suppose, as there have been schools.

One of the first things I noticed, however, wasn't the specific complaints, but rather that almost every one of them had left the "bio" portion of their Twitter profile blank, which I find touching, frankly. Every adult person with whom I interact on Twitter has filled-in that bio section, a pithy sentence or two that we hope says it all, but these kids . . . Either not yet or too much to jam into that tiny space. Good on them for not feeling the need to be pigeon-holed.

What I found when I read the tweets was mostly the litany we would expect, and by far the number one complaint, easily outstripping all others, was some version of this:

I hate waking up early.

Of course, no one likes waking up early (aside from, perhaps, yours truly) but it's a fact of life for most high schoolers. Before jumping on them as a pack of whiners, please understand that sleep studies show that teenagers, in fact, are hormonally designed to stay up later and sleep in longer than the rest of us. That so many of them are crawling out of bed a 6 a.m. in order to make it to school on time is a kind of societal cruelty and one that takes an unnecessary mental and physical toll, proper sleep being at the heart of good health.

These studies showing the sleep needs of teenagers are by now decades old. If we had an educational system that was really up on the latest research, we would have long ago pushed back the start times of our high schools, but if anything the trend today is toward even earlier start times in the interest of more "instructional hours," creating an adversarial relationship where their need not be one.

Because I have to wake up early out of my comfortable bed just to go learn about things I won't need in life.

This tweet covers in less than 140 characters what I discovered through my decidedly unscientific research to be the two top reasons for high schoolers to hate school: getting up early and the irrelevancy of the subject matter.

Some of the stuff the teachers teach us is pointless. Like when are we ever gonna use this: 4xy+5x+-2b = b²-√5x?

because I have to take classes that don't teach me anything I'll ever have to know outside of it.

when you graduate all you get is another piece of paper

it's pointless, I've learned more from Google.

we won't use half of the things they teach us in real life.

I'm forced to learn sh*t I'll never even use & never remember in the future.

We r basically in there for 7 hours learning stuff we will NEVER need in life...

it teaches a lot of nothing.

We won't need half the stuff we learn when we leave school!

most of the work is pointless.

learning things that I will never need in my life.

pretty much everything you get taught, you'll never need to know in life

I thought the same thing when I was in high school and from where I sit now as a 50-year-old man I can honestly say I was right. These kids are right. Too much of what happens in school is an attempt to jam kids' brains full of trivia hoping they retain it long enough to "prove it" on a test. As one kid wrote:

it was a game in accurate vomiting ... it didn't matter if you understood or not, as long as you could reproduce it!

And I'm not surprised that someone feels she's learned more from Google -- it's because she was following her own interests, tracking down answers to her own questions, which is what education really ought to be. There were a lot of joke tweets like this one:

We're not learning about beyonce

. . . or Justin Bieber or the cast of Jersey Shore. People often argue against the "irrelevancy" charge by insisting that it isn't the specific information that's important, of course they'll forget it over time, but rather the habit or practice of filling their heads that matters.

If that's the case, why can't the topic be Beyonce? They're going to be learning this stuff anyway, really learning it -- I'm still master of details about The Who that I picked up in 6th grade -- because they're passionate about it. Instead of judging subject matter, wouldn't it be something if we could set teachers free to help the kids really pursue the things that motivate them, to ignite a flame in the Socratic tradition rather than simply fill an empty vessel? I know the kids would appreciate it and they'd be better educated for it. And when there comes a day when they need to know the exact date of the Battle of the Bulge, there will always be the search engine of their choice coupled with the habit or practice of filling their heads with what matters.

Is there any of what I've dismissively called "trivia" that we need every high schooler to know? I suppose so, especially when it comes to how our democracy works. And there are some fundamental scientific, historical, mathematical and other facts we should all share if we're ever going to get on the same page about anything, but wouldn't it be nice to figure out a way to do it without:

Long, boring classes

As one tweeter pointed out:

it wasn't like grease, hair spray, high school musical GLEE. it was all a lie. it was filed with boring CLASSES and TEXTBOOKS 

Of course, life is not a TV program, but the point is well taken. Maybe we should be a bit more creative in how we go about it.

There are a lot of complaints about teachers, both specific and general, under this hashtag (far too many complaining about "coffee breath" for my comfort), most of which focused on the obvious:

teachers talk way too much! It's like give us the worksheet, sit down, & stfu

it's 7 hours of hunger and boredom.

Teachers go on and on about the same topic

teachers that think they know everything. Like you're a teacher not God.

the teachers are ignorant

The teachers think they know every single thing. When they don't. 

I'm sometimes forced to sit in one spot for more than an hour

I suppose there may be some kids who thrive on the top down lecture model of education, with a teacher playing the role of "God" spreading neatly packaged wisdom to the masses, but it's hardly a one-size-fits-all way to teach and deeeeeeply boring to many. That's as far away from igniting a flame as you can get. At the preschool level, we're certainly more likely to acknowledge that education is a two-way street, or rather a network of two-way streets with lots of different ways to get to the same place. There's no reason other than inertia and "efficiency" for that to be any different because the students are older. 

I love this one:

For some reason they kept telling me I wasn't the teacher and to sit down! WTF's up with that?

This sounds like a girl who knew what she wanted out of her education. Stand up, sister!

I've written before about Peter Gray, a research professor of psychology at Boston College and specialist in developmental and evolutionary psychology, who writes quite simply: "Children don't like school because they love freedom."

My school feels like a prison 

they named the hallways and have street signs for them.

even if you're 5 seconds late they don't care. They still expect you to get a late slip

they treat us like we're in jail. 

it's basically like prison. you have no rights, terrible food, and you can't fight.

directionators.

we have a dress code.

they throw a fit over self expression

They're too strict! So I can't wear a hat, but there are rebels walking around with their Rooster hair!?

it doesn't prepare you for life after high school they censor everything

Its Like Jail. Teacher=Police, Principles=Judge, Bus=Prison Bus, Students= Prisoners

I can't use the bathroom as often as I would like, but only when them stuck up teachers wanna let us.

because they won't let you be grown...

teachers alwayz staring at u and the gurl u kissing

talking to your friends is a crime at school

Becuz I can't get a drink or go to the bathroom at will and sometimes the teachers decide to not let you

that one annoying security guard that treats us like were actually in prison.

As a parent of a teenager, I'll just say that any moment now she'll be driving a car, voting, making all her own decisions. I want her to have plenty of experience with being treated as an adult, with having adult responsibilities and freedoms, before she's out there on her own. 

And finally I wanted to share a few "special" tweets that, I think, show that these kids are critical thinkers who understand much more than they're given credit for:

The American Education system is a broken sham designed to enforce submissiveness and complacency

they never taught us meditation

I've to wake up early on weekdays, and I've to fret about it over my weekends.

same scenery every day of my life

bc I don't have enough time to live!

pressure to do well and meet expectations that others put onto you.

It perpetuates a no longer sustainable American ideal while secretly funding an already bloated credit market.

No Recess.

wake up early, go to bed late and do a bunch of work in the middle

8 hours being tortured in an isolated building. Then when it's over, another 6 hours of torturous work at home.

I am being prepared to be a factory worker, instead of the next innovator.

God I have so much work to do this weekend

I am being turned into a clone, instead of a creative, critical thinker.

It doesn't exist. Where I live, we just send our children in the wilderness to capture fire-breathing monsters. 

I'm not pretending that any of these complaints are new. We had the same ones when I was a boy: too early, irrelevant, and boring. I also know that I'm looking under a hashtag called #reasonswhyIhateschool, a self-selected place to gripe. And in fairness, there was a companion hashtag running yesterday #reasonswhyIloveschool, under which kids expressed gratitude for their teachers, and the opportunities that education opens for them, but it was never trending and, honestly, most of the "reasons" were about the other kids:

School day is the only time I can be with you, see you and talk to you.

Righteous. 

I'll finish with something I've written before:

Children don't like school because they love freedom. We are biologically driven to learn, but we are not biologically driven to learn on command. We are not biologically driven to stuff our brains with things about which we have no curiosity. Yet that's what school is for many children: going to a place in which they have few if any choices, where everything is done according to rules and schedules in which they have no say, and then being judged by a system of grades and tests that have no connection to the rest of their lives

It's easy to just dismiss all of this as a bunch of whiney kids. I think we ought to listen.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

The Story Of Education

We've been trying a grand experiment this year involving long stick-like objects and 2-year-olds. I've mentioned many times before how it appears that the evolutionarily and developmentally proper thing to do with any object over about 8-inches long, especially if it's also a bit pointy at one end, is to pick it up, hold it at eye level and walk around swinging it. This appears to be particularly true when said object is discovered in a crowded space.

Our old outdoor classroom was the sort of place into which we needed to import things like sticks and rocks if we were going to play with them. When we moved into the new outdoor classroom this summer, Orlando, when asked by his mother what he thought of the new place, replied approvingly, "It has longer and sharper sticks."

We were horsing around with our collection of magnetic things last week and one of the activities we set up was the classic fishing hole. I cut out some fish shapes from tag board (okay, honestly, I just reused tag board fish that a teacher prior to me cut out over a decade ago and saved, one middle class bag lady inheriting from another), to which we attached paper clips. I then, via that same intergenerational bag lady hand-me-down underground, produced fishing poles made from lengths of dowel and string with magnet wands tied to the end. I turned one of our wooden boxes on end and dropped the fish inside.

In other words, not only were we handing long stick-like things to preschoolers indoors, but they were sticks from which heavy objects swung. These are kids who by now have a minimum of 4 month's experience with handling sticks around others in the outdoor classroom, including the real drum sticks we use with our scavenged drum set, so I was expecting that a combination of wisdom and adult vigilance would make this a safe, fun project.

I realize that we could have managed this project more strictly, doling out the fishing poles one at a time, creating a "safety zone" of some sort. Being a cooperative, we have the adult "man-power" to have made that work, and I was prepared to convert to that kind of system should the play became hazardous, but I never want to start from a place of expecting less from the kids. I always try to start from the assumption that the children are fully capable and they usually live up to it, even if it does involve sticks.

The stance of "vigilance" versus "control" is an important one in our classroom. The instruction I gave the parent-teachers responsible for the fishing hole play was simply, "I want you to keep an eye on things. I don't want anyone getting poked in the eye."

The fishing part was easy. The challenge, as is true of many things in life, is going about your business alongside other people going about theirs. For one thing, not only were our magnet wands attracted to the paperclips on the fish, but they were also attracted to the other magnet wands hanging down into the the old fishing hole, meaning that you were just as likely to catch one another as you were a fish. This was a frustration for some children and a delight for others. It took a cooperative effort to separate the fishing poles, especially when the lines got tangled as part of the bargain. 

I was glad we left it up to the kids to more-or-less self manage. A nice ebb and flow developed, those who wanted to concentrate on catching fish, those who wanted to experiment with how magnetism works, discovering that those paperclips are the important target, waiting for opportunities when other children moved away, while those interested in the pure experiment of cooperative play had plenty of opportunity to tussle and tug, work together, laugh together, and make peace together. No one got poked in the eye as far as I know, nor whacked in the head.

When it was their turn, the older kids in our 3-5's class got over the whole fishing game fairly quickly, being already much more familiar, and thus less fascinated, with the magic of magnets. Several of them decided, in fact, that the tag board fish were much more interesting as elements in their dramatic play, first catching them, then absconding with many of them to use as food in their "house" at the top of the loft. As the level of interest didn't call for it, our parent-teacher put her efforts into other things, working with kids building with Magna Tiles and whatnot.

It was while everyone's backs were turned that the fishing pole sticks found their way through the classroom and to the top of the loft as well. I'll admit to being a little alarmed when I spotted them up there being dangled over sides, threatening the unsuspecting heads of their friends down below, being swung around in close quarters, and generally being used in ways that caused my inner 60's mom to say, "It won't be so funny when somebody's eye gets put out." As I arrived on the scene, probably jumping in too quickly with admonishments and warnings, the kids were thankfully far too engrossed in their play to heed me.

The focus was on the gap between the loft and the wall. Several of the tag board fish had "accidentally" fallen into the gap and the kids were busy trying to use their sticks with magnets to fish them out. They'd apparently learned what they needed to learn about these tools at my artificial fishing hole and were now attempting to use these skills to make a difference in the real world: the story of education.

I still don't know why stick-like things must be swung around at eye level in crowded places, but I do know that a childhood without them is impoverished. Sticks (along with rocks) are the stuff from which all other tools have evolved. As I've written before: "As humans we have being alone, we have talking face-to-face; for everything else we use tools." And so, yet again, there goes your proof.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!