My student engagement dilemma

Most of the Twitter chats in which I participate often seem to become a litany of platitudes decrying the brilliant things strong educators are doing to make their lives and the lives of their students more tolerable trapped as we all are within the mass production mill that American education has become. And that's great. We all walk away from the computer full of wonderful ideas and a sense of camaraderie that only occurs when one finds kindred spirits and remembers that one is not alone before returning to work among the morass of mediocrity that can usually be found poisoning the proverbial water cooler in teachers' lounges across the country. But tonight, I have no successes to share. Tonight, I am left feeling frustrated by the particular machine of which I am presently a part.

You see, yesterday, I decided to ask my students how they would like to see us tackle our upcoming topic - persuasive speech. It was near the end of the period, but I wanted to leave them with the thought in the hope that it would simmer overnight.  Today, I reminded of the assignment to reflect on possible ways that we could tackle the subject over the next week or so.

The kids looked at me like I had a third arm growing out of my forehead.

"You were serious?" one of them asked.

They were incredulous.  They couldn't believe that I was asking them to help me plan our course. And then the familiar fear set in. What does he want us to say? What is the right answer here? Shouldn't he be telling us what to do?  And then the anger. He is still the teacher, right?  Why should we have to do his job for him?

You see, I realized a long time ago that my students do not come to me with any exposure to the process of thinking for themselves.  They arrive at my doorstep having been spoonfed an "education" for more than seven years.  They have outgrown such childish exploits as creativity, exploration, discovery, independence, and faith that their minds are capable of anything valid.  Instead, they trust their brains to collect, know, remember, and at the appropriate time, regurgitate.  The fact that this chain of events is utterly fleeting is of little consequence to them.  At the end of the day, all that really matters to most of them are the following:

• grades - These are short-term constructs that constitute payment for short-term rote memorization and recitation
• attaboys - For the teacher-pleasers, especially, the completely damaging set of compliments - You're so smart! Perfect, honey! That's EXACTLY what I wanted! - These little bits are the very manna and ambrosia that get them through each day
• Standardized Assessment Performance - We've come to a point where mere passing is enough for the majority of kids. They've heard the outcries round the dinner table, but they are loathe to look stupid on the one day of the school year when the returns come in.

None of these trinkets, though, constitute anything to do with any kind of authentic LEARNING. These are the products of our mill, and they are worthless.  These are how we measure our students' progress, and this is how they in turn measure their own value.  When we remove these from the picture and place the learning in their hands, they become shiftless and uneasy, adrift in an unfamiliar sea.

I have come to realize that all of this is part and parcel of the spoon-feeding process.  When the majority of your tasks cross your desk in the form of worksheets, you have a set of clear instructions and a set of right and wrong answers. And if you don't feel like reading the instructions, you can raise your hand and ask the kindly schoolmarm for "clarification" at which point she will gather her spoons, chew up the directions, and dribble the bits into the childrens' beaks for them.

We give our students myriad opportunities to exercise their brains, but little to no opportunity to develop their minds. 

This is the root of the corporations' lament over the last several years.  This, too, is the root of the despair felt by professors in the nation's colleges and universities.  We do not teach them to think.  I want to make them feel empowered, but at times, it feels like giving the car keys to a drunkard.  But then, if I drive him home, I am guilty of the same enabling behaviors that have gotten him so drunk in the first place.

So I've made a decision.

Tomorrow, I will go into class and stand firm. Tomorrow, I will dunk thier heads in a barrel of water until sobriety sets in and they remember the days of their early youth when imagination reigned supreme, discovery was the sole method for learning everything, and they were like little gods in a world that seemed to be their oyster.  Tomorrow, I will concentrate on teaching them, again, to think.