An Anthropologist’s View

I am always surprised and amazed at what I find on the floors of the Bartlett hallways. The last two days before the February break, I picked up everything I found in the hall. I was wondering what would happen if an anthropologist examined what I picked up?

Let me be very clear about two things: I did not pick up anything disgusting - nothing with food reside on it (Gross - and why on Earth should that stuff be on the floor of the hallways?) also; any pencils or pens I found, went right into my borrowing bins so students could use, and re-lose, them again. (It’s sorta like a catch-and-release program).

What did I find? Valentines’ cards, empty candy boxes, a bag ‘o carrots, ranch dressing, school papers, a hair clip, bits ’n pieces of erasers, a $5 La La Buck (what ever the heck, that is), a science magazine (that came from my room), and assorted pieces and parts of packaging.

An anthropologist would put all the objects together and try to discern something about the culture of humans who left them behind. What can we figure out about the people and their culture?

Based on the two school papers found on the hallway floor, an anthropologist might say this is a careless group, but I would disagree. Note the candy boxes: They are empty. If these humans were genuinely careless they would have lost both full and empty candy boxes. Since only empty boxes were found, and assuming they were not on the floor long enough for the mice to empty them, I have to surmise the candy had value to the owners but the empty boxes did not. 

This assertion is supported by the bag ‘o carrots. It is full, unopened and was found in the general vicinity of the packet of ranch dressing. It is probably safe to assume they were together at some point and were dropped by the same individual. They may be become separated by the kicking action of so many middle school feet tromping down the hall. If this culture was one that valued all food items, then the carrots and dressing might have been found open. Since the candy was consumed and only the packaging was lost and the entire “snack” of carrots and ranch dressing was lost before being opened and consumed, it is likely that these individuals value candy over carrots. 

We can extend that idea to the school papers. Since about 120 kids use these halls on a daily basis, finding only two school papers is a pretty low percentage. That tells me the students do, in fact, value their work. If they did not find the work important, I would expect to find many more papers on the floor. Of course, as valued as the school work might be, it probably does not exceed the value of candy.

My conclusion: The humans who inhabit these hallways are selectively careless. They can and do hang on to what the most value i.e. candy, and are willing to let items of lesser importance fall the the floor i.e. empty boxes, school papers, and carrots. As a teacher who is dealing with students who “lose” their homework on a regular basis, I think I have hit upon a solution: I am going to start printing homework assignments on candy. 

No kid is going to lose a worksheet that’s printed on a slab of chocolate, right? 

The Exquisite Pain of Critical Thinking

I made a mistake the other day in class. I assigned my 7th grade a chapter to read in class and supplied a worksheet with questions about the reading.

As I circulated around the room, I was disappointed to see the majority of my young charges were just scanning the chapter for answers instead of reading. Several scholars had started the worksheet without even opening the book. Only a tiny handful were actually reading the chapter first.

I mentally reminded myself, “Must not supply questions before they actually read the chapter.”

<Ugh>

The scanning for answers has become kind of a thing for my students. I beseech them to read but they resist. Better to get the work done poorly in 13 minutes, than take 19 minutes to read the chapter and provide well thought-out answers to the questions.  

In an effort to avoid the pan-and-scan approach to reading, I often ask questions that require them to use the facts from the reading as foundational information - questions that have no obvious answers; queries they cannot quickly search through the text to find. In other words, I ask them to think critically. I do not accept, “I don’t know’ or ‘IDK.” (See previous post)

You would think I had them strapped to the rack and was slowly turning the giant crank.

“Oh, nooooooo, not thinking!” they wail from the torture chamber that is my classroom.

“How do you think Columbus was able to sail due West from the Canary Islands?”

Gnashing of teeth.

“Compare and contrast our milkweed bug study with Jane Goodall’s chimpanzee study.”

Groans of despair.

“Why do you think locating sources of water on the Moon might be helpful to NASA’s ambitions to send astronauts to Mars?”

Shrieks of pain.

“In your opinion, should NASA receive more funding, less funding or exactly the same funding. Cite three pieces of evidence from the reading.”

Heads around the classroom…..explode.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

“Welcome to Science,” I say to begin each class. This is my polite way of asking for your attention. When I say this, students are to stop what they are doing, stop talking, and turn to face me.

Sounds like a great plan, and it is. It’s wonderful when it works, and when it doesn’t?

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” I say waiting for you to stop playing with your friend’s hair, to stop fretting over the scuff marks on your sneakers, to stop making beautiful eleven-color doodles on your homework, to stop trying to find the the perfectly-right stool to noisily drag to your desk.

I wait.

I shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh so loudly my ever-talkative students can hear me over their off-topic, ill-timed and not-doing-any-work conversations.

What on Earth do you have to talk about so completely all of the time? 

I can shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh so powerfully, it is a shame to waste all the wind and energy just quieting down kids. I should be blowing up party balloons at The Party Store with just one shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh from my lungs.

Sometime’s I think i must sound like one of those Macy’s parade helium-filled balloons with a leak. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. “OMG, the Science Teacher ballon has a leak! Someone call 911. Oh, the humanity!”