I’m enjoying my College Comp class like no other. They have really jelled as a class and have a personality all their own. From all our discussions and their writing, I have gotten to know them very well. This is useful when it comes to getting them fired up for discussions and to motivate them.
Actually, the class has split itself into three sections. On the left are the athletes. In the middle are the girls. On the right are the drama/math league kids. All are great and valuable. Part of me would like to see them mix better, but so far it works. I’m not so sure that instituting a group work project or seating chart would make things better.
Yesterday, we discussed their experience here as students. I prepped them for this by assigning an article and then listening to a podcast from itunesU (I think I blogged about this already). Then I had them write about how they would personally go about improving their school experience. Are they too focused on grades? Do they slack off too much? Are they not being challenged? Do they get too much busy work? How can classes be made more meaningful and enjoyable?
What responses rolled in!
They singled one thing out as the bane of their existence: boring lectures on ‘dead’ information.
So we discussed this. And I mean that.
We actually had an intelligent discussion where for the first time in a looooooong time, I felt like I wasn’t really the teacher. I was just up at the white board moderating and facilitating things.
“How can teacher make lecture more enjoyable?” I asked. I truly wanted to know.
“Inject humor.”
“Yeah, tell us some stories that go along with the information.”
“Don’t speak in a monotone voice!”
“Be passionate about what you’re talking about.”
“Then why don’t kids ever speak up?” I asked. “I sat through lecture upon lecture in college and never said a word. I just scrolled furiously. Then I took the notes home and studied them a few days before the test, remembered the facts, like ‘The four key elements in Napoleon’s rise to power were . . .’ and then I promptly forgot them after the test. How can teachers get that same type of information across to you, but in a more user friendly way.”
I was hoping to get them ready to make the leap from discussing what a teacher can do to make things better to what things a student can do to make things better for themselves (applying those abstract concepts to their personal lives so they become engaged in the learning).
But we were headed in a different direction that I didn’t expect.
“That’s right,” a student said almost slamming his fist on his desk. “Why do we have to learn such boring stuff? Why study history at all? Why do we need to know that stuff?”
Why do we need to know that stuff? Great. I wrote that up on the board.
Before I could say a word, though, other students jumped into the discussion to defend history.
“You need to know what’s happened in the past. It’s who we are and where we’ve been.”
“Yeah.”
“Sometimes you just have to learn boring stuff.”
“Maybe it’s just you who think it’s boring and worthless. What about those who like history.”
“You have to know your history!”
“I was just saying . . .," the student said, backtracking quickly.
“No,” I jumped in. “I agree with him.” Then 50 pairs of eyes peered at me. “Why do we need to know some of this ‘stuffy’ information? I could go on all day about the invasion of 1066 or adverb clauses, but how does that impact your lives right now or in the future?”
“There are just some things that are good to know,” others responded.
“Okay. We all agree, then, that there are some things we have to learn that might not be ‘fun’ – but – we just have to learn them – kind of like when our parents made us eat all of our vegetables as kids. It is just good for us, right?”
Universal agreement came in the form of nods.
“Then how can I, as a teacher, make the boring stuff more interesting?”
“Make it entertaining,” one student from the drama side called out.
“Yeah, don’t just go on and on and on,” one of the jocks said.
Then students added the names of various teachers they found particularly boring. I’m not sure the conversation was getting anywhere, but mentally I took note about what NOT to do anymore in class.
“There are just some things you have to learn,” a young man said.
“Some kids will learn it. Some won’t. It doesn’t matter what a teacher does. You can’t make up for motivation or lack of it,” another student added.
“But at least if a teacher makes the information interesting it’s better.”
“Yeah, and tell some jokes.”
“Get us arguing.”
“Okay,” I said. “How do I do that? I’d gladly spend every class period like this or like when we read our essays, but what happens when no one wants to discuss anything?”
“Turn us against each other,” a student added. He had been silent until now. He seemed pretty fired up about this. “Find out what are personal beliefs are and challenge them.”
“Aha!” I said. “What about if I hurt someone’s feelings?” I said and glanced over at a student who had me for Comp II last year. She was part of a discussion we had on abortion as part of our persuasive essay preparation. She was adamantly pro-choice. However, once the class (and I) realized she was so passionate about the issue and her stance toward it – to the point of not being able to see any other side other than her own – we all played devil’s advocate just to provoke her. At that point the discussion quickly unraveled into chaos. I swore I would never let that happen again.
“Don’t worry,” the student said, even smiling at the recollection of the argument that took place, though no mention was made of it in class. “We can take it. I mean how are you ever going to believe in something if your belief is never challenged?”
“So you guys aren’t as fragile as we like to think?”
“Are you crazy?” one of the drama kids said. “We can take it.”
Then, as if on cue, the bell sounded. And so ended one of the best classes I’ve ever had. I’m still trying to digest all that took place.
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