16-17 January 2014: DAYS 9 AND 10: BELIEVE

16-17 January 2014: Days 9 and 10

LESSON NINE: BELIEVE

I taught my first full lessons Thursday and Friday. Allison and a teacher who teaches the same curriculum to another set of sixth graders, Mr. Paul Pinza, allowed me to design the unit around one they have been teaching for the last few years. I adapted the first half slightly from the text, but designed the assignment—an essay—myself.

At the beginning of each class, I outlined what we were going to be doing for the next week and a half. I then discussed three reasons why we were learning the material: (1) Because we must understand government in order to participate in it, and to know our rights. (2) Because they will be writing essays and papers for the next 7-14 years, and I want to show them an easier, faster way to do those assignments and still get good grades. (3) Because doing things we don’t want to do and learning self-discipline is fundamental to our success as human beings—the latter is, in fact, the single biggest predictor of success in children.

I then had the students experience “living” under each form of government. For monarchy, I selected two boys to be king and prince, and crowned them in front of the class. I then placed a pile of candy on the table in front of them and told the class that, since the king had all the power, he would decide how the candy would be distributed. After hearing suggestions from a number of students, the king decided (per my secret instructions) to keep all the candy for himself and his prince. (And the “citizens” complained loudly). The king then died (dramatically falling to the floor) and the prince took his crown. The prince then had to choose what to do with the candy…and he also took it all for himself. (More grumbling from the citizenry).

Next, I instituted an oligarchy by selecting three girls to come to the front of the room. They were each given a stack of $100 bills to represent the fact that oligarchs gained their authority because they were wealthy. They, too, were provided with a pile of candy and had to decide how to distribute it. After hearing ideas from the class, the three of them divided it among themselves and returned to their seats.

At this point every student was vociferously asking if he or she could be the next leader. But the next leader would not be chosen by me. I asked the students to think carefully about the following question: Which of you believes that many other students would like to have you as their leader, and to have you make decisions for them? The students who raised their hands were asked to stand. The rest of the students then had to choose one of these standing volunteers as their leader, and go sit at their feet. After a bit of shuffling (as well as some campaign promises and bribes), we looked to see which “tyrant” had the most support. He or she became the tyrant, and was given a golden scepter (well, a brass-plated curtain rod) symbolizing his or her power. He or she then rewarded his or her followers by giving each of them candy in exchange for their support.

Finally, we established a democracy. All the students got to suggest ways to divide the candy, which I wrote on the board. After there were no more suggestions, we voted on each idea. The idea that got the most votes became the basis for me distributing some candy to every student in the room.

After each reenactment, I asked students to come up with advantages and disadvantages of each form of government. They provided insightful and creative answers. They understood the strengths of central rule, and the efficiency of monarchies vs. the ponderous slowness of democracy. They understood that ‘the many may err as greatly as the few.’

Afterward, students filled out workbook pages that required them to demonstrate their understanding of each concept.

Next, I began introducing them to a process I teach about how to write essays using a type of graphic organizer. We were not able to get very far, but I am confident that they will come to see the method as useful, and will be impressed with the results they achieve.

More importantly, I gave them an assignment that will be difficult for them, and I told them that it would be difficult, and that this was a good thing. It is when we do the difficult assignments that we learn the most. Personally, I feel that many of these students are not being sufficiently challenged by the curriculum. Expectations are low, and students are living up to them.

Now for the eighth graders…

On January 17 the students took a test. Mrs. Hastings had told them the previous day that they could use notes on this test. She had given them a study guide with questions that covered the test material, and told them they could fill it with notes and answers and use it on the test. When the students showed up to class on test day, eight out of 31 had brought study guides. In an act of shocking patience and generosity, Mrs. Hastings gave the entire class 20 minutes to finish preparing these study guides and studying for the test. The far majority of students wasted this opportunity. They were their typical selves—loud, disrespectful, not listening, wasting time talking and laughing instead of doing anything useful or listening to what their teacher said. Allison was very frustrated; she was being (overly) accommodating to them, and they just didn’t care.

One student, though, LN, behaved differently. She is a very attractive, popular girl who dresses like she is on her way to play sports every day. She came into class, sat down, and began working on her study guide (which she had started working on at some point before class). I asked her if I could help her; she agreed, and the two of us spent the entire 20 minutes writing down notes to help her pass the test. When we finished, she thanked me repeatedly and sincerely.

The students took the test. Afterwards, there was not a lot of class time left. I asked Allison if I could talk briefly to the kids and show them a video. She agreed. I introduced and then showed them one of the many versions of the so-called “Stanford Marshmallow Test.” If you want to see it yourself, the version I shared can be found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sc4EF3ijVJ8 .

For those of you who are unfamiliar, the test was designed to measure willpower and children’s ability to delay gratification. It was done at Stanford University in 1970, and has been repeated many times since in many different countries. Children, some as young as three, were put in a room and given a marshmallow. They were told that they could eat the marshmallow anytime they wanted, but if they waited until the experimenter returned, they would receive two marshmallows. After the test concluded, these children were “followed” by the experimenters for many years to see if there was any correlation between their ability to delay gratification and their success in later life.

The results are extraordinary (although, as with any well-known study, they have been challenged many times and in many ways). Children with high levels of self-control ended up more healthy, happy, and financially successful as adults. They made more money, had better jobs, had better family lives, more and closer friendships, fewer major health problems, and a far lower likelihood of having a criminal record than their less-self-controlled peers. In fact, self-discipline is a greater predictor of success than even intelligence and social class origin.

The kids watched the video with more interest and attention than I had expected. The girls oohed and aahed over the cute little kids and their reactions; students laughed at the kids’ faces, and even the toughest students seemed to enjoy it. (It is pretty darn funny).

By the time the video was over, though, so was class. The students left and Allison and I talked. I asked if the next day, when the eighth graders returned, we could spend at least a part of the class just talking about their behavior. She kindly agreed, and we discussed what we might share with them.

On January 18 they came into class as they always do—a maelstrom of noise, hidden fear, and social posturing. Allison told them that I wanted to talk to them a bit, and I went to the front of the room with only a vague idea of what I wanted to say.

I explained the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment to them, and the results. I told them as clearly and simply as I could that they could set themselves up for success—and it wasn’t by getting good grades or taking all the right classes. It wasn’t by making anyone happy or getting into the best college or by learning to enjoy school.

“You just need to develop one quality—ONE QUALITY that will increase your chances of success in life dramatically. You just need to develop self-discipline, and learn to delay gratification. You just need to do what’s hard now, to make yourself do what you don’t want to do, for benefits that will come later.”

They were getting quiet now. Some were paying attention. Some were looking worried.

I told them that when I had come to SMS, I had already heard about them. “You have something of a reputation as a class,” I said. “Do you know what it is?”

They chuckled and nodded. “We’re a lot better in here than in Mrs. –‘s class,” someone offered defensively.

“For the first several days,” I continued, “I was able to just sit in the back and watch you. And what I saw seemed to confirm what I had heard about you. But then I started interviewing you one-on-one. And I have to admit something—I had misjudged you. In your interviews, I suddenly saw students who were interesting and interested, who have dreams and goals—and noble ones! You want to do things with your lives. Many of you want to serve others, and to do jobs that will make the world a better place. You were polite and respectful and honest, even about your flaws. You care! I was impressed. In fact, I find you to be one of the most extraordinary, impressive group of young people I’ve ever worked with.”

At last. Silence. For the first time since my student teaching began—silence and attentiveness. Finally—I had them, if just for the moment. Allison told me later that they began sitting up in their chairs, holding their heads a little higher.

“I don’t care what your test scores are,” I said, talking quietly. “I don’t care what your grades are. Most of you won’t go on to become writers, or mathematicians. Once you graduate, you might never use algebra again. But there will never be a day in your life during which it won’t benefit you to have self-discipline. Each of you can become successful in your own way. But the route to that success is, in some ways, the same: learning self-discipline. Learning to make yourself do things you don’t want to do, to control your behavior.”

One or two students tried to make quiet comments to their neighbors; the other students shushed them. It stayed quiet. I had their eyes. I looked over at a student who had never showed the least interest in what happened in class, a somewhat gangly boy who always slouched in his chair and looked at anything but his textbook, the teacher, or the board. He was sitting up, facing me. His eyes were wet.

“I want you to be successful,” I said. “That’s what Mrs. Hastings wants, too. And I see so much potential in you.”

At this point two students who sit near the front of the room, within an arm’s length of where I was standing, began talking to each other, joking about something. They continued talking over me a moment before I turned to face them and said, “And here’s a perfect example of two people who choose not to exercise self-discipline.”

They quieted; the closest one was angry. “Don’t you see?” I asked him. “What you are doing right now determines your success in the future.”

“I don’t care!” he said, sneering.

“I think you do,” I answered.

When I finished talking to them, Mrs. Hastings showed them a video called “Perspectacles,” which addresses the issue of judging other people, of failing to take into consideration that you do not know what they are facing in their lives. It was good, emotional and powerful.

After class, the students left with a perceptible change in their attitudes. One boy came over to me. “Good speech,” he said, shaking my hand. I got a fist-bump from another student, and a moment when our eyes met—a bit of a rarity between middle school students and their teachers.

When they were all gone, Allison and I talked about how things had gone. I felt positive; I felt we had made an impact of some sort. I remembered her telling the class a few days before that she was making a new seating chart. I asked her if she had every considered asking the students to make the seating chart.

We chose four students who represented various segments of the student population, three boys and one girl. Allison went to the class they were attending and brought them back to her classroom. I had a large piece of paper on a table waiting for them, along with pencils and pens, post-it notes, croissants, and candy. I asked them to design a seating chart that would facilitate student learning—to arrange students so that they were most likely to pay attention.

At first they were confused, not understanding that we genuinely wanted them to do this, and that we would be using the seating chart they made. Once they did understand, they got immediately to work, dividing tasks, debating and discussing—but cooperating! They couldn’t have taken their assignment more seriously.

Twenty minutes later, we had a new seating chart. I asked them to explain the choices they had made—and to explain specifically why they had placed themselves where they had.

They did a good job. I was proud. They were proud.

Next week will be a new start. It will be a rough start, and we have a long way to go. But today a foundation was laid, and I think it is strong enough to start building on.

LESSON NINE: BELIEVE.

Believe in your students. Believe they can be good, noble people. Believe that they want to be happy, and successful. Believe that each of them has real potential for greatness. Believe that they will respond to caring, compassion, and personal concern. Believe that you can make a difference.

Believe in the power of teachers. It is the best, and the second hardest job in the world (next to parenting). But if we believe in teaching—real teaching—we can make a difference.