Mr. Metcalf’s Reflections on Teaching

Although country music is really the only genre that I can’t listen to (okay, that techno-ick is pretty bad, too),  I found myself a while back watching a few minutes of the Country Music Awards.  While some balding guy with a cowboy hat and overtight jeans on strummed a guitar I was reminded of the old classic song “Mommas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys.”  Since I have always liked cowboys and western movies, I wondered why cowboys are not to be role models.  Then I decided that Waylon Jennings  was wrong.  In many ways, a parent should be proud if their child could become a cowboy (or cowgirl!).

Cowboys are typically solitary figures.  In fact, Waylon reasoned that they are always alone, even when they are with someone.  But cowboys are also the masters of their own destinies – they plot their own course through the pasture of life.  They aren’t swayed by fads, fashions, or the fickle nature of the crowd.  Cowboys have figured it all out, probably thanks to all of that quiet time riding on the range with only their thoughts and some unpleasant smells for company.  They have a firm grasp on what is important to them, what isn’t and what they need to do.  I’ve  heard it said that they know when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em.

I’ve invested a lot of effort this school year nurturing independent thinking in my students.  It’s hard to imagine a more iconic independent thinker than the American cowboy.  John Wayne  didn’t look to others to determine what’s right.  He might have listened to Katherine Hepburn, but he always made up his own mind.

To me, independent thinking doesn’t involve stubbornness, resistance to new ideas, or arbitrary contrarianism.  If it requires going against the grain, it’s more like being a rebel with a cause.  It does, however, embody the idea that all people have the right and the responsibility form their own opinions and to act in accordance with those opinions.  Now, as a parent I definitely make efforts to shape the opinions my own children form to benefit them in specific ways (such as the belief that illegal drug use is extremely harmful), but as a teacher I feel that the way I can help my students most is to help them develop the ability to assess a particular context, evaluate the relevant facts and form a well-reasoned point of view.  And,  like roping cattle, the only time-tested way to do that  is to practice, practice, practice.

That’s why I typically respond to a student who shows me his work and asks me “Is this good?” by replying “What do you think?”  And why I so often answer a student question with another.  And why I feel proud when students challenge me in ways that show they have been thinking about something.  And why I try to always model for them by thinking aloud for myself.

Because I am charged this year with teaching American history to my school’s entire fifth grade, I am constantly reminded that independent thinkers are the people who created our country, who forged a path that was new and different, and who were the drivers of nearly every turning point that shaped our modern society.  I want my students to make the connection to their own lives.  They seem to be a bit early of the learning curve, but I intend to help them move as far up as possible before the end of my time with them.  Us mommas and papas need to help them grow up to cowboys and cowgirls.

There always comes a time during the school year when the economist in me finally peaks out and I take a moment to teach my students the concept of finite resources.  The basic idea is that there is only so much “stuff” to go around in the world, and that this is the source of competition.  Because it’s pretty safe to assume that every child in my class has watched Animal Planet and/or the Discovery Channel, I refer to lions and antelopes.  I tell them that it’s much more enjoyable to live your life as a lion than as an antelope.  Lions go out and get the “stuff.”  Antelopes are the “stuff.”  Another way to extend the metaphor is to understand that not all lions get enough antelope.  Some lions are fatter than others, but even those lions have it better than the antelopes.

I share this concept with my students because in some sense they are in the process of deciding whether they will become as an adult a lion or an antelope, and I want my students to be the lions in life.  I want them to control their own destinies and get more than their fair share of the finite resources available in the world.  But how does this apply to adults?  If a person is already an antelope. can he or she subsequently become a lion?  Or is the rule “once an antelope, always an antelope?”

I wonder about this because it seems to me that teachers have been conditioned by a set of increasingly powerful forces to be antelopes.  There is a rich body of educational research documenting the de-professionalization of teaching as an occupation.  Today teachers have less autonomy over what they teach, how they teach and when they teach it.  Teachers face an increasing amount of administrative, non-teaching work tasks.  They fund many instructional costs out of a paycheck that is universally regarded (well, except for those who use our tax money for nearly everything under the sun except compensating teachers) as inadequate.  Teachers increasingly work in uncomfortable conditions such as limited air conditioning, and in some places unsafe conditions associated with crumbling building structures.  To top it all off, politicians who couldn’t pull more than a C-average when they were students claim that the holy grail of school reform is better teacher quality.

In this context, teachers sure look like antelope to me.  Maybe if I were a teacher all of my adult life I wouldn’t even notice it.  Maybe I would just wring my hands, grumble in the faculty lunchroom and then just close my classroom door and keep taking it.  But my previous careers were in the realm of lions.  I was bred to be a lion, and it was necessary because the antelopes were very quickly eaten.  Consequently, I’m having some trouble going down now without a fight.  The big challenge for the few of us remaining lion teachers is how to show the antelopes that it doesn’t have to be that way.  The decisionmakers in education are counting on them remaining antelopes, because lions would be a threat.  Lions would challenge them and refuse to be victims.

So what’s it going to take?  How can this shift be brought about?  I wish I knew.  I just know that “If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always gotten.”  We need to change how we do things.  All teachers need to stop accepting the status of the victim and assert ourselves as professionals.  I became a teacher because I believe teachers, by virtue of their nurturing relationships with their students, are the most important citizens in our society.  We have to start acting like it.

Starting today, I’m back “on the clock.”  Of course, teachers are always working in some form, but today is the first day of the new school year that I am actually paid to work.  It’s also the first official day in my new assignment at a different school.  I think one of the reasons I really like new things such as new assignments, new students, and the new school year is that, to a learning-motivated person “new” means opportunity.  Opportunity to learn and grow as a person.  Same-old, same-old experiences too often result in same-old, same-old people. 

The presence of new opportunities also generates hope.  I hope all of my new students are healthy and having loving parents.  I hope  they like to learn and laugh.  I hope know I will learn from my new collegues and hope they will learn from me.  I hope that the last day of school will not seem to come in the blink of an eye.

I also hope I can continue to keep all of the balls juggling in the air.  I hope that I can get in the gym more consistently.  I hope that I can do a better job keeping in touch with friends.  I hope I can be more proactive in changing light bulbs and taking out the trash.  I hope that I can convince my daughters to stop growing up so quickly.  I hope that I can get enough sleep.  I hope that I will never lose hope.

Yesterday I had to release my students and allow them to withdraw my “zone of influence” forever.  The last day of the school year is always a very difficult one for me because I have learned that it is impossible for me to spend hours each day with these complicated individuals without developing a real connection with them.  There are times when they may irritate me or even disappoint me, but there has never been a time when I did not feel a protective concern and a genuine caring for them.  It is with this perspective that I make a humble plea to those of you who will continue to influence their growth from this point forward:  Please, please, please don’t underestimate them.  Always proceed on the assumption that it is impossible to overestimate them.

I’m not really talking about expectations, because when we in education talk about expectations we tend to imply a judgement about what is acceptable.   It’s more of a belief in them and their ability to almost always do more than we thought they could do.  And it can’t really be measured by traditional grading standards or by standardized tests.  If you want to be amazed by these students, engage them in a deep-thinking problem-based project, give them lots of time to work, and coach them along the way.

Here’s a formula that I have found to work with most of my young learners:  First, make sure that they know that they are unconditionally loved and that they can take risks and fail without losing that love.  Then teach them to understand that struggle and frustration and occasional failure is necessary for learning and personal growth.  Next, create experiences for them that require a level of thinking likely to cause struggle and, hopefully, temporary frustration and, possibly, failure.  Then, coach them through questioning without revealing much of your own thoughts.  Finally, help them see how much they have intellectually produced.

There’s an emotional benefit for students in this approach as well.  I know that my learners left the third grade yesterday with a greater belief in their own ability to learn and do things that they find to be difficult.  The resilience that they have gained will be invaluable in the future because difficult things are the “juice” of the meaningful fruit of life.  I hope that they will remain tenacious in the face of struggle and frustration when it inevitably comes their way and be comforted by the confidence that great things will ultimately result.

It’s well documented that empty praise does little to support one’s ego or self-confidence.  Instead of telling your children and students how great they are, create opportunities for them to prove to you, the world and themselves how great they are, and they will become future masters of the universe.  Please.

My thoughts are most typically preoccupied with the Bizarro world of education, and my related observations and accompanying bewilderment often appear here.  However, this week my mind was a million miles away from its usual place, and I discovered a place every bit as confusing and illogical (and sometimes disturbing) as a school.  I had a medical problem that evolved into minor surgery and then into less-than-minor surgery.

Nothing reacquaints one with Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs like health problems.  Being just plain sick can bring your daily routines to a halt, so anything out of the ordinary medical realm will quickly dominate 99.95% of one’s mental effort. In such a situation your progress toward self-actualization is entirely off the radar screen.  That’s what led me into the labrynthine netherworld of medical care, where a hidden language and tightly-controlled set of rules directly impact a person’s level of immediate discomfort, to say nothing about the prognosis for improvement.

I have found in the past that the one fairly certain way to limit personal discomfort in the face of medical trouble (there is no way to limit inconvenience – don’t waste the effort) to roughly four hours or less is for your medical trouble to share outward symptoms with one that frequently results in sudden death.  Although lingering, arguably malpractic death is tolerated, sudden death is a condition frowned upon among medical professionals.  Because most trouble does not fit this qualification, (and if it does you will enjoy the additional concern that death is imminent) it’s usually better to be resigned to a prolonged period of personal discomfort as the journey toward eventual treatment and recovery begins.

Although I kept chanting over the past week the Niechtze quote “That which does not kill me makes me stronger” I seem to remember that the response I heard in return from the medical profession was “That which does not kill you is eventually effective medical practice.”  In attempting to make some sense of my environment while I was trying to improve, I did uncover some key themes:

The more important someone or something is, the longer the required wait time for him, her or it is.  For example, more intense pain levels mean that you must wait longer for relief than for less intense pain.

 Someone is going to have to suffer, and it sure as heck isn’t going to be the care provider.  If we need to choose between your tortured sleep in the hospital or the nurse assistant’s need to open the door as loudly as possible when entering in the middle of the night, enjoy your bleary-eyed deprivation.

Medical providers have had a lot of training, so they don’t want any ideas from the peanut gallery.  That IV line is there just in case you code, so don’t even think about suggesting that blood could be drawn using it – you need an additional three sticks to accomodate the on-the-job training needs of the phlebotomist.

In most cases, pretend.  If confronted, lie.  Procedures are alway minor, side effects uncommon, recoveries quick.  No one ever has to lie immobile for days before returning to normal activity.  An exception is the supervising nurse telling you – over and over again – the horrifying details of her similar surgery and subsequent difficulty with recovery.

 Now, I must admit before I return to the prescription sedative haze that alternates every four hours with surprisingly lively physical pain that I am writing from a particularly dark place after being separated for the past week from everything I want to do (except sleep, but even that is unsatisfying), and that our medical system accomplishes a staggering degree of care each day, but what really stuck with me was the idea that although my medical insurer was paying obscene amounts of money to the hospital for my treatment, my wife had to wait for a volunteer to take her to the surgical staging area to see me.  Evidently, funds are not available for paid help in all areas.  Actually, that’s kind of the way it is in schools, too.