Before the Test

T-minus ten minutes.  Wayne stumbled in and dropped his bag on the desk across from me.

"Oh, man.  This has been the craziest week.  I've barely slept at all.  I feel like there's so much knowledge out there, and I can't make any sense of it."

Suddenly a glimmer of wit shone in his tired eyes: "I really need some scaffolding to help me understand the material."

I smiled.  "Oh, so if you had used abstract reasoning instead of contextualized reasoning, you might be better off?"

My friend James joined in then: "Well, transfer would certainly have been more flexible."

Wayne held up his hands helplessly.  "Stop, stop.  I'm so stressed out by all this banter, my amygdala is going crazy."

And it went fine.  Of course.

Consumed

I have profaned myself with coarse sins and consumed my whole life with procrastination. (Lenten Troparia of Orthros)

Yep, that's me.  I have an almost-final exam on Wednesday and a list of 85 terms to learn before I take it.  I have about 60 defined and a couple dozen learned.  And what am I doing?  Procrastinating Blogging.

But this is important!  I think I'm onto something.  Deductive reasoning moves from general to specific, right? Starting with basic rules (children are more squirrelly on Friday than any other day) and moving logically to a conclusion (I will never teach another piano lesson on a Friday.)  Inductive, meanwhile, goes from specific to general; it begins with observation (Maia is always waiting at the door when Rob pulls up) and moves to universals (cats must have very sensitive hearing.)

I have ten students in my Creative Writing class, and I think I can categorize them all as Deductive or Inductive writers.  Deductive writers enjoy a very vague prompt ("Write a story about rain") from which they begin to construct specific characters, setting and plot.  Inductive writers prefer something very specific ("Begin a story with the following quote: 'I can't believe you stole those flowers!'") around which they can build generalities of time and place.

Personally, I am firmly in the former camp.  I always found those detailed prompts trite and constraining.  But after assigning the flower prompt, I was shocked to read half a dozen fascinating and completely different accounts of stolen foliage and its subsequent denoument.

Back to work, that is, unless someone wants to further distract me with a response . . .

The Smartest Man

As expected, my professor led off a discussion of Gardner's Multiple Intelligences with the simple question: What does it mean to be intelligent?  Whom, in your opinion, exemplifies the trait?

The responses were greatly varied, but had an almost-universal common element:

• "Attention to detail: my dad can tell you the license number on the car he rented last week.  He has an incredible recall of facts."


• "An ability to solve problems: you can go to my father with any problem -- a problem with the car, a problem with a co-worker -- and he'll be able to figure out a solution.  It's amazing."


• "Open-mindedness. My dad is incredibly smart, but he always listens to everyone's point of view and lets them know he understands them.  He's very reasonable when dealing with other people."

It was touching to see a roomful of brash twentysomething professionals speak so openly about their admiration for their fathers.  And although I didn't contribute to this particular discussion (truth be known: I walked in late) there's no doubt in my mind that my father is, more so than any of theirs, the very definition of intelligence.  And a lot of other great things.

An Uncluttered Mind

In class last week, we discussed Howard Gardner and his theory of Multiple Intelligences.  (If you don't know anything about this, I encourage you to read up -- it's fascinating and relevant to just about everyone.)  Later, I watched this interview between him and the dean of the Massachusetts School of Law, in which this quote appears:

"We are all inundated by information. If you look up anything of any degree of currency on the Web, you could spend months going to the links and reading everything.  So, when I talk about the synthesizing mind, I'm pretty simplistic about it: I'm saying, what do you pay attention to you, and what do you ignore; what criteria are you using to decide what to pay attention to and what to ignore; and then, how do you put it together for yourself so it makes sense to you and so you can hold onto it; and then, how do you communicate it to other people?"

I have been accused of having a synthetic mind; people often ask for my notes after meetings or classes because they know I have a gift for articulation coupled with a respect for the kernels of the ideas.  Even if I'm just making a list on the board, I enjoy the look of relief on my students' faces after they've stammered around their thought, given up, and then seen it expressed in my words: "Yes!  That's exactly what I meant!"

Gardner then quotes John Gardner (no relation) with regard to the importance of an "uncluttered mind" -- one that can sift away the chaff and keep the wheat, so to speak.  It was this phrase that stuck out to me: though I do have a gift for synthesis, many days my mind is so cluttered I can hardly put a sentence together for myself, let alone for another.  I think this is the great danger of the modern age, both intellectually and spiritually.  With so much clutter, it's hard to think, let alone to pray.

I am thinking of the upcoming fast, and how I can use it to gain spiritual strength and insight, and it occurs to me that the best way might just be to accept a simple challenge: mental tidiness. One thing at a time.  A phone call OR grading papers OR a blog post OR a ride in the car.  We save time multitasking, sort of, but we waste so much more.

Make Me One With Everything

Which is exactly what the Buddhist said to the hot dog vendor.  But that's beside the point.

We're in The Slump now -- the third quarter of a four-quarter year.  The weather has warmed enough that snow days are out of the realm of possibility, but not enough to make time spent outside pleasant.  Midterms are over, but finals seem miserably far off.  Even spring break exists only in the distant future, on the other side of the chasm called Term Papers.

And as such, there are many days when I feel selfish, whiny and generally unsatisfied with my life.  Most times when I feel this way, it's because I feel the pressure of an existence that is crammed with many different facets.  I spend my mornings working for The Man (solely a figure of speech, as my principal is female): part of that job involves spending time with people who are not easy to get along with, for one reason or another.  I come home and work for myself: part of that job involves allowing others into my home, a situation with which I am not always completely comfortable.  I spend a lot of time preparing for and directing church services: like teaching, this is a job that is potentially limitless, ending only when I arbitrarily call it quits for the day.  In the cracks between these jobs, I'm also trying on the hats of student and housewife -- and, I suppose, writer.  So many spinning plates that I feel I never have enough time and energy to treat them all with the respect and care they deserve.

But there's another dimension to all this busy-ness: the unexpected and dynamic reactions that occur at the intersections of my various vocations.  Working for The Man means I can, on occasion, take a day off for which I am paid as if I had shown up and taught the lessons myself.  Teaching from home means I can step into the next room to make a cup of tea and come back to congratulate a student on her diligent practice by moving the star stickers from her music to her cheeks, where they accentuate her dimples in the sweetest way.  Playing at housewifery means I can spend all afternoon on a batch of chocolate babkas, just for the heck of it.  I get to learn about being a teacher from professionals who have been at it all their lives, and then I get to go to work the next morning and play the sovereign over my own class, experimenting with new methods and techniques I just picked up.  And while I'm laboring over a blog entry that seems unnecessarily heavy or heady or both, my cat will pad into the room, meow inquiringly and then look for a spot on or near my lap to curl up and offer soft rumbles of support.

I am *not* the person who orders the same thing every time she visits a restaurant she likes.  Rather, I often feel anxiety about the fact that I can only try one thing at a time. So the funny thing about my life is that if I could have created it from scratch, ordered it at a deli, I would have picked this one.  One with everything.

The Goal(s) of Education

After staring at the paper for about ten minutes and realizing the utter impossibility of such a task, I finally made some sweeping judgments: one area was of crucial importance, three of minor importance and four of little to no importance.  Here are my explanations:

50% -- Critical Thinking and Problem Solving. I know, I blew half my wad on this one area, but it's my own personal crusade: one of the things I wish I could change about the inhabitants of Earth is their inability to think -- I mean really THINK -- about the full implications of their actions and ideas. Regardless of what you learn -- oboe, quantum physics, balancing a checkbook -- that knowledge is useless if you can only apply it in one specific situation.  Can you teach yourself to sight-sing using the same scale?  Can you look at your company's budget and tell whether they're solvent?  If you can't think critically about it, you didn't really learn it in the first place.



10% -- Arts and Literature. If I had to choose between teaching a child Algebra or watercolor, I would choose watercolor.  Because beauty is truth, truth beauty.  (And don't dare try to tell me Algebra is beautiful.)



10% -- Preparation for Skilled Work. This may sound a little like the point of view I lambasted a couple of days ago, but I do think children need to learn a trade, whether it's keeping a home, building furniture or arguing in front of a jury.  They need to be able to support themselves and any future dependents. This is a very old idea, with or without the sense of entitlement that most students have today.



10% -- Social Skills and Work Ethic. This was bumped up to the second tier because of the first three words: "Good communication skills." Why, just this week, I fell headlong into a huge mess at church that was centered around a lack of communication with the correct people and a glut of communication with the wrong ones.  Avoid both extremes whenever possible.



5% -- Basic Academic Skills. The general public rated this first, at 22%.  But despite (or maybe because of!) my career in education, I firmly believe that basic academic skills are only useful insofar as they contribute to a growth of critical thinking.



5% -- Citizenship and Community Responsibility. This is important, but I don't think it's an educator's job to teach it.  Government is a necessary evil, not something to dwell on.



5% -- Physical Health. Also important; also not the job of an educator (unless the educator is also the parent.)



5% -- Emotional Health. We have more than enough emotional health in this country.  We are highly skilled at finding ourselves, treating ourselves and loving ourselves, and it is destroying our homes and families..  Thinking back, I'd actually like to give this a negative number in order to give more weight to the other categories!

An interesting observation, as we discussed this in class, was the fact that each respondent's life experience unfailingly influenced his or her choices.  A student who had been abused rated Emotional Health first; students who were active in sports rated Physical Health first. Being constantly exposed to plodding, linear thought, I focused on Critical Thinking.

One more comment: when my professor presented us with the public's answers, he had mistakenly copied them down wrong, putting Arts and Literature first instead of last.  We were all dumbfounded, and I experienced a fleeting moment of pride in my fellow citizens that was quickly dispelled when I looked it up online and discovered the mistake . . .

Objectives: Objectionable

You can hardly pass by a modern institute of education without hearing the phrase "objective-based instruction."  It's educator-speak for knowledge that is instantly applicable and useful.  Or, in the words of my students, "When are we ever gonna NEED this stuff?"

There is something seductive about that idea, that what we are learning in the classroom will be Useful In Real Life.  But in the end, is that the purpose of education -- to be useful in life?  I don't think so.  I think education is about improving your mind, body and soul -- ultimately, as all things, unto salvation.  Why did Socrates have a band of eager followers?  Why, for that matter, did Jesus?  I can't imagine His wide-eyed disciples were hoping to use Our Lord as a reference at their next interview.

So how crass, to reduce an education to the sum of its pragmatic parts: this recent piece in the Times, about law students who are up in arms about the fact that they can't land six-figure incomes on the way home from commencement, is an excellent case in point.

Last week my grad class took an interesting survey about the purpose of education.  Given eight categories, we were supposed to rank each one as a percent, so that all eight added up to a hundred.  Take a look, and if you have a minute, rate them yourself before looking to see what the public thinks:

1. Arts and Literature: Capacity to participate in and appreciate the musical, visual, and performing arts. Development of a love of literature.


2. Basic Academic Skills in Core Subjects: Reading, writing, math, knowledge of science and history.


3. Citizenship and Community Responsibility: Knowledge of how government works and of how to participate in civic activities like voting, volunteering, and becoming active in communities.


4. Critical Thinking and Problem Solving: Ability to analyze and interpret information, use computers


5. to develop knowledge, apply ideas to new situations.


6. Emotional Health: Tools to develop self-confidence, respect for others, and the ability to resist peer pressure to engage in irresponsible personal behavior.


7. Physical Health: A foundation for lifelong physical health, including good habits of exercise and nutrition.


8. Preparation for Skilled Work: Vocational, career, and technical education that will qualify youths for skilled employment that does not require a college degree.


9. Social Skills and Work Ethic: Good communication skills, personal responsibility, ability to get along well with others and work with others from different backgrounds.

I'll post my ratings in a day or two, along with an explanation.  In the meantime, discuss!

Another First Day

Last night was the first night of my newest grad class, and this one, Educational Psychology, looks more promising than almost anything else I've taken in the program.

For one thing, it's taught by a male professor -- and I know it's probably a deep-seated cultural bias, but I have always preferred them; with a few exceptions, I find them clearer and more fair.  This one actually founded the MAT program at my school and ran it for 8 years (impressive) before stepping back into a faculty role (even more impressive.)

For another, it's completely impractical -- no promises to give you Real-Life Application, which is useful but becomes tiring quickly.  I'd much rather talk about abstract ideas than actual ways to improve my life, and I say that only half in jest.

Of course, it being a first day, there were bound to be some inane comments from people who don't listen.  Midway through the syllabus, the professor explained that he had accidentally left in the dates from last summer's course, so he would be sure to change them and send us a revised copy.  Not five minutes later came the inevitable question: "Wait, it says our paper topic is due on June 13.  Won't the semester be over by then?"

(To his credit, he was much more patient than I was, that morning, when I set my students loose on the second part of their WebQuest.  I was explicitly clear about what the project entailed and how it would be graded.  Yet hand after hand pierced the calm air to wave about furiously and introduce questions like, "What exactly are we supposed to be doing?"  When I asked if they had actually read the instructions, several answered honestly, "No.")

Actually, I have to admit that my favorite part of the class was the introductions.  Usually that kind of time-killing small talk makes my skin crawl, but it seems the professor is approaching the class as a shared experience, and finding out where everyone comes from (two horse trainers, two moms, a makeup artist and a weightlifter, for instance) was fascinating, especially when each shared his or her reason for embarking on a teacher-education program: many spoke of moments of clarity in the midst of draining, heartless CPA or investment-firm jobs, and of wanting to make an impact on students' lives instead of trying to reach their maximum earning potential.

Maybe they were just trying to look good on the first day.  But it inspired me to inspire my students tomorrow.

Teaching the Teachers

Our young, forward-thinking vice-principal, in pursuit of higher test scores for the whole school, arranged for me to present some basic test-taking strategies to all of the departments in the next couple of weeks.

Thursday I had my first presentation to the English, History and Fine Arts departments.  As always, I was not a bit nervous until the moment I stood in front of everyone and said, "Okay, we're going to get started . . . " Then some butterflies for a minute or two, until I relaxed into my knowledge of the topic and was able to think and speak with clear articulation.

It was interesting, how much that roomful of teachers behaved like students.  Very few of them volunteered answers, though they must have had some idea of what to say.  Many eyed me with suspicion as I talked about strategies that seemed (and are) counter-intuitive to strategies we teach them for school.  More than one dozed off.

But there were a few who nodded encouragingly, asked insightful transition questions, and thanked me for helping them to see the test in a new light.  The next day, when one teacher stopped me in the hall to tell me how much she'd enjoyed the presentation, I told her how much her cheerful attention had meant to me.  "Well," she smiled.  "I'm a good student.  I've had some practice."

A Little Faster, A Little Better

One of the most depressing lines in the hilarious movie Office Space is when the main character admits that at his current job, every single day has been worse than the day before. "So that means that every single day that you see me, that's on the worst day of my life."

My experience has been exactly the opposite: each year I teach is a little easier than the last.  Each year I'm able to anticipate the miscommunications, fence in the problem students and keep up with the grading just a little bit better.  Each year I enjoy it more, and I think I get a little better at what I'm doing.

So when I look at the last semester through the glow of two weeks' vacation, I realize it wasn't that stressful.  There was only really one problem that kept recurring over and over: student absences.  In six years, I don't think it's ever been this bad, not even during the swine flu epidemic last fall; between field trips, parent and student illnesses and visits to the guidance office, I was losing one or two students from almost every class, almost every day.  This meant I had to decide when and how they can make up their work and how much, if any, they will be penalized for doing it late (a family emergency is an acceptable excuse; a field trip is not.)  I often had to decide these things on the spot, as the student would approach me the day she got back and want to know what the plan was.  And if there's one thing I hate, it's worrying about loose ends.

The thing is, when I'm busy being a parent and bookkeeper to my students, I lose some of the passion and enthusiasm for my subject that made me want to teach in the first place.  And when I have to penalize students for turning in late work, I feel bad; I know a one-day absence doesn't justify an assignment that's two weeks late, but I feel for the kid who was sick and just plain forgot, at the same time that I realize it isn't fair to the others to just let her hand it in late.

In trying to decide what to do about this, I was reminded of one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite method books of all time.  In Tools for Teaching, Fred Jones gives practical advice as follows:

"It is not your job to work yourself to death while the students watch.  It is your job to work the students to death while you watch."

This may sound a little off-putting, and it definitely reeks of melodrama, but I think he means exactly what I just said: teachers need to be free to teach, not bogged down in the mundane details of classroom management.

So I decided to turn around what I had been doing.  I had been filling out a form each time a student was absent, stating what she had missed, and placing it in her mailbox in hopes she would make it up in a timely manner.  From now on, I would have the student fill out a form each time she was absent.  If she wanted any kind of extension or grace for late work, she'd need to tell me when and why she was absent, what she had missed and how she planned to make it up -- and do this on the day she returned, so that we both knew what the plan was.

I cannot tell you how excited I am to try out this new system.  Partly because I adore new systems, and partly because I hope it means, once again, that this semester will be the best one so far.