The Center of the Universe
Is not you.
Don’t get me wrong: Teachers are important. They are central to the relational network of a classroom. They are crucial nodes in that learning system.
But they are not the center of the universe.
If you are a teacher, this fact should
flood you with a feeling of relief.
Because, let’s face it, teaching is not about what you know so much as it is about what the students know — and don’t know. As not-the-center-of-the-universe, isn’t it a relief to think of yourself as a friendly planet orbiting around the classroom keeping an eye on all the little stars as they figure out how to solve a quadratic equation? Or something?
OK, so the metaphor breaks down almost immediately. But you get my point, right?
I have long wondered why teachers are generally considered to be the sole arbiters of right and wrong, good and bad, in the classroom. Why must every paper a student writes, for example, be read, commented on, and graded by the teacher? Why wouldn’t students be better candidates for this work, given that effective writing DEMANDS critical evaluative reading? by the writer, I mean?
This is radical,
I know, but I’m a big fan of setting up instruction that decentralizes the responsibilities for knowing and learning. Instruction that, in effect, makes the teacher a friendly planet and the students the stars who do all the shining. Oh! And the planet reflects their light! The metaphor is beginning to work!
Time for an example. How would a friendly planet approach writing instruction? Perhaps by
starting with what the students know (like, “What makes writing good?” Or, better yet: “What makes writing bad?” If students don’t know, give them a piece of writing. Have them rip it to shreds. They’ll love it.)
formalizing what they know into a list of criteria (some might call this a rubric)
having students apply the list they generated to their own and others’ writing (including group discussion of helpful ways to deliver bad news, like turning “this paragraph sucks” into a description of the reader’s experience, like “I’m not sure what the point of this paragraph is”)
revisiting that list regularly and revising and refining it as students’ understanding deepens
dropping in provocative challenges that keep students thinking and wondering, prodding and shredding, building and judging, noticing and growing, shining
remembering that good writing cannot happen without good thinking, and if the best you can do is get students to think well about writing, you may have done your job
I really hate to say this, because I am a neo-Luddite, but going remote is a perfect opportunity for practicing decentralized teaching and learning. Otherwise known as student-centered learning. Otherwise, now, officially, known as
creating a classroom galaxy.
The way I see it, teachers now have the opportunity to set up experiences among students that make them engage with content and with each other. And you can set yourself up to watch and reflect back.
Emphasis on set up. Which takes work, of course. And, once you’ve settled on a set-up, you need to be vigilant and flexible so you can change the set-up according to what the students teach you they need.
Still plenty for you to do. And you can always insist on seeing and evaluating everything your students write. If you really want to.
But why not, in this crazy time, give yourself permission to try something a little crazy? That could diminish the stress? That could turn an impossible workload into a possible workload? That could actually be fun? That could reduce your dread of sitting down in front of your computer yet again? If not now, when?
And, speaking of crazy: Why not get some direct support? I can help with despair, panic, anxiety; I can help with creating a classroom galaxy. If not you, then maybe someone else. Gift cards are newly available!