Tag Archives: philosophy of education

Giving Up Teaching…

No, I am not announcing retirement. That is what we call an “attention-getting headline.”  Before you charge me with misrepresentation, understand that I’ve actually been “giving up teaching” for quite a few years now.

Ho Hum, we’re being taught.

When I substitute teach I introduce “Rule #2” into my classroom: “We will enjoy learning.” I convinced myself to follow this course because I do love to learn and, hope to instill that love in my young students. I believe learning should be as much fun as possible. When it’s not fun it should at least be rewarding. That’s no less true for adults.

A recent article in Harvard Review, Twilight of the Lecture, by Eric Mazur was very affirming. Mazur says he is “more interested in learning than teaching” and demonstrates with research that moving the focus away from the lectern to the “physical and imaginative activity of each student” is the key to improved learning. In practical terms,

The active-learning approach challenges lecturers to re-evaluate what they can accomplish during class that offers the greatest value for students. Mazur cites a quip to the effect that lectures are a way of transferring the instructor’s lecture notes to students’ notebooks without passing through the brains of either.

For anyone who teaches, this article is a “must-read.” I’ve witnessed this first hand when working with second graders through adult learners. Many second grade readers will stumble over a word and look at me with inquisitive eyes. My instincts are often to give them the answer, but I know that’s not very engaging. So we might “sound it out,” break it down, or consider the context. Sometimes we find a dictionary and look it up. They don’t always like it because it means work. But I think it also means learning and engagement.

Can’t you just tell me the answer?

Adults like this even less. Real estate pre-licensing courses require testing and passing grades. I introduce every course with this observation, requiring students to write it down at the beginning of their notebook:

If you study to remember you will forget. If you study to understand you will remember.

That sort of process doesn’t usually work very well when I’m lecturing–students are writing down and hoping they can remember what I say. The harsh reality is that I’m doing all the work and hoping they are “with me.” It seems a bit odd that we are both hoping it will work. Hope is a wonderful thing, but effort tends to get more results.

Interactive learning is more work for the teacher and the student. It’s also not traditional, especially with adults. Teachers/lecturers like maintaining control of their classrooms. What we need to understand is that interactive learning does not translate to giving up control of the classroom–it simply requires a different set of skills and a higher level of engagement on the part of all involved. The ultimate classroom management takes place when we engage the learners’ mind as well as their pencils. Mazur says, “Active learners take new information and apply it, rather than just making note of it.”

No, I’m not retiring… and I’m actually not really giving up teaching. But I’m constantly doing it differently because I think teaching is really about learning.

From my side of the desk…

I’m always hesitant to call myself a teacher… for a lot of reasons, I suppose. One is that I do spend a lot of time at the local elementary school as a volunteer and I do not want any role confusion. (I had a young fellow at school ask me if he could something the other day. I replied that he needed to ask his teacher. His reply secretly made my day. “But you teach me stuff–like how to read!” Okay, but you still need to ask your official teacher.)

I do teach. I guess  I can consider myself officially a teacher of adults. And the role of the teacher and student is an interesting one… I’m often surprised–or at least disappointed– that a number of my adult students expect it to be somewhat adversarial. One of my colleagues reported a student announcing that since she was “the customer” and paying for the course she “would do whatever she wanted in class.” Fortunately, my colleague had the presence of mind to reply, “Yes, you are the customer and you can do whatever you like. I am the instructor and can do whatever I like–including giving you a failing grade for the course.”

I’m convinced that we’ve got this wrong in a very fundamental way. I think it stems from a too-often adversarial relationship between parents and teachers. It is not my intent to contribute to the hostility by defending teachers–certainly we are not a perfect profession at any age or grade level. I also do not want to over-simplify the topic.

But I do want to suggest that we get rid of the desk. I don’t want to sit behind it and I don’t want my students or their parents sitting in front of it. (Okay, I’ve never had an adult learner’s parent intercede on the students’ behalf, but I have been contacted by spouses.)

Let’s sit next to each other and talk about what it is that we are trying to achieve. Your homework assignment is to read this article before we meet:

“What teachers want to tell parents.”

The assignment applies even if you aren’t a parent of school-aged children, because our class discussion will be about how we view education and development… and how easy it is to forget what we’re trying to accomplish with it.

“I’m sorry I’m not better at this…”

During a recent visit to a third grade art class a budding young artist finished her assigned work before the class was over. Since project work is often finished at different paces, students who complete their assignment with the teacher’s approval are then allowed to “play” individually with other projects of their chosing. This young lady requested that I sit across from her “So I can draw a picture of you.”

This process involved a number of different colored crayons and certainly included some artistic license. I am wearing glasses in the result, but my clothing was adapted to include a turtleneck shirt. “I’m not really very good at drawing necks,” was the explanation. I chuckled at the thought of the mall artists who will do sketches will you wait. They usually work in silence with a small audience behind them and you get to watch the audience’s reactions as the image forms.

In this cause the artist’s reactions were apparent because she kept a running commentary going. Much of it was actually a series of apologies over the parts she had trouble with or the goofs she made.  “I’m sorry but I can’t draw hands very good.” (My hands are raised as if I’m being held up, but I think I’m actually supposed to be waving.) I would have to say that I look much more muscular than I realized and have very square shoulders. Of course I countered her continued self-deprecation with gentle compliments and made sure she knew I was approving of her efforts. She was, after all, being quite professional–studying me with a trained eye, then attempting to record what she saw with blunted crayons.

I admired her courage. 

But I also felt a deep sadness because she keep repeating her sense that her work wasn’t good. Or at least not good enough. I suppose that makes her an achiever, but at what point will she give up and decide she isn’t an artist? I know I learned long ago that I’m not “artistic.” I’m sure I would not be able to draw a very good picture of her–at least that’s true  if “good” means “accurate.”

As a student of education and learning, I long ago became an opponent of the popular “self esteem” movement that suggests education is all about making kids feel good about themselves. It’s not that I’m against kids developing self-worth. But as my experience with this artist demonstrates, when we try to hand it to them, we actually are taking it away. They want to earn it.

I don’t think we should deprive them of that opportunity. Somewhere between giving all positive messages and constant criticism there’s a balance. That it’s hard to find doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try–any more than the fact that my little friend “can’t draw hands” means she shouldn’t try. We can learn a lot from her. If I’d tried to convince her she’d drawn great hands, she’d have known I was not being honest.

Can we agree with her that my hands “don’t look right” without making her feel like she’s a failure?

Perhaps more to the point, can we face our own errors without considering ourselves a failure? I usually find one student in my adult classes that I refer to affectionately as “my little over-achiever.” Math anxiety and test anxiety have their roots in the fact that we are not taught how to fail. Somewhere along the way we forget there’s process.

Let’s not be afraid to value process and effort. They are as much a part of our self-worth as are our accomplishments.

One of the things I’ve had to learn about working with kids is that it’s best not to read too much into what they say and do. It’s tempting, but I really think she just wanted to draw me–that was her goal and the desired result. She gave the drawing to me when it was finished. I approved it, but I’m not even sure my approval was important to her.

But that drawing is very important to me. And it’s hanging where I have to pass it every day because I want to be reminded of these many things. I’m not ready to start drawing portraits, but if she can try things, so can I. Getting results is great, but enjoying the process is pretty awesome too.

Oh, I also kinda like that the final touch to her masterpiece is the angel she drew sitting on my shoulder.

When I Was Their Age…

I was going to start this by wondering if you could stand another post about dictionaries… and then I realized, it really isn’t! The background is that I recently wrote an article for The Dictionary Project Newsletter and have had several nice comments on it. It was some of the comments that made me realize I didn’t just write about dictionaries–I wrote about the relationship between schools, volunteers, teachers, students, parents–that wonderful conglomeration of people who make up the community.

And in a strange irony, I had a short but wonderful conversation today with a third grader who recognized how a quilt is like a community… you find lots of different things and put them all together to form a pattern that is both many things and one thing.  It also ends up being quite colorful and pleasing to the eye.

So in a larger sense, I wrote about communities and expectations and communication and working together. To see if you agree, check out “When I Was There Their Age…”


Okay… now how bad is that? They’re are differences between there, their and they’re! And I really do know what they are!  Technology got me on this one… because I made the mistake, saw the mistake… but the automatic send happened before I could edit out the mistake! So there’s another advantage of subscribing to this… the odds of seeing my mistakes are higher! (For those who didn’t get the emailed version, I made the mistake in the title too.)

Grab Some Tissues…

And watch this video. Please.

http://www.flickspire.com/m/HPP/MakeADifference

All the way to the end. I’m not going to do a spoiler, but I will tell you that part-way through I found myself thinking how hard I wished people could realize that it doesn’t take much to make a huge difference in a child’s life. But in the end, that wasn’t the point.