My friend Kate mentioned that though her teacher, Mr. Mann, was really nice, she doubts she learned much from him.
I never had a class with Mr. Mann, so I can't say anything meaningful about him. But one nice teacher I remember is Mr. Hudson. He taught science, and he was one of the few teachers who was friendly to me.
But, nice as he was, I don't think I learned much from him. Nice is not good enough, though, had you asked me at the time i was in Mr. Hudson's class, I would have told you he was a great teacher. Back then, a nice teacher was more than I thought I could hope for. How sad is that?
It's fascinating to me that so many people talk about how they can't remember anything they learned in school. Calculus: can't remember it! French: can't remember it! Periodic Tables: Huh? Gerunds: What are they, again? People laugh about this and take it for granted, as if it's just the way it has to be.
I propose that we refuse to accept it. I propose that we stop taking it for granted. I propose that we get appalled by all that wasted time and energy. I propose we think of this as a problem that we can fix. Maybe we can't fix it. Maybe we'll pound our fists against the wall to no avail. But let's try!
Actually, I can think of reasons why it might be okay to forget what we learned in school: (1) maybe we actually don't forget all of it. We all have knowledge that we must have learned somewhere. Maybe we learned it in school and just forgot where we learned it.
(2) Maybe we learned "how to learn" in school. The actual subjects themselves weren't all that important. We benefited by the process. It exercised our brains and turned us into thinking adults.
Okay, I grant that we might have forgotten that school is the origin of some of our knowledge. But not most of it. I can actually tell you where I learned to program computers (not school), read (not school), write (not school), direct plays (in school but extra-curricular), draw (not school), cook (not school), drive (not school), love Shakespeare (not school)...
(I do know plenty of people who learned to hate Shakespeare in school!)
As for "learning how to learn," I agree that it's important. But if it happens in school, it's a lucky accident. I doubt most of my teachers were trying to teach me how to learn. Had that been their intent, they would have gone about it more intelligently and systematically. They would have disdained busy work and taught rigorous thinking skills: they would have coaxed me in logic, rhetoric and the craft of research. They would have taught mostly by getting me to experiment -- not via lectures and pop quizzes.
I propose that teachers ask these questions before creating a lesson plan:
- Is it important that this lesson sticks in the student's mind way after this class is over?
- If not, is it really important that I teach this specific lesson? If my goal is to teach a general method of learning, would I do better if I let the students study things that interest them?
- If so, then how can I make the subject sticky?
Sticky ideas are interesting. How do they get lodged in our minds? One way is via repetition. But we have to be careful when we choose rote as a pedagogical tool. Repetition can be boring. It can kill fun and passion.
We're social animals. One of the best ways to make something sticky is to make it socially important. If Bob tells me something, I might for get it. But if Bob, Alice, Max and Jane all tell me the same thing, I will remember it. The more voices that echo it, the more my brain wants to hold onto it.
Teachers learn very quickly that teaching (a social activity) is a great way to learn. Why don't we leverage this in our schools more often? Bobby should teach something to Jenny, and then Jenny should teach something to Bobby. Older kids should mentor younger kids. Kids should teach stuff to teachers. A little bit of peer-to-peer teaching went on when I was in school. Why just a little bit?
I learn best when the same facts and techniques hit me from at least three angles: when I'm trying to swallow a complicated Comp Sci problem, I do best when I read two books about it, watch a training video about it, listen to a podcast about it, and try it for myself. Partly this works because it engages so many of my senses; partly it works because it is repetition (coupled with novelty); partly it works because when I hear many different "voices" tell me the same thing, my social brain assumes it must be important.
As we're making ideas stick, we should ponder what ideas need to stick. In my view, the only ideas worth making sticky are those necessary for survival (however you want to define that) and those necessary as foundations for general thought and research.
Like most people, I never need Calculus or Geometry in day-to-day life. Were I not a theatre director, I wouldn't need Shakespeare.
I'm not saying these things aren't important. Shakespeare plays and Calculus are profound human achievements -- both deeply beautiful and enriching. But where to we get by ramming them down people's throats? And what's the point if they forget it all?
So let's leave Calculus and Shakespeare as electives (except for people in specific fields where they are needed every day). Let's focus on core skills that everybody needs. And let's really teach these skills. Let's rip into them. Let's make them profoundly sticky.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
To the teachers:
I would like to publicly apologize my teacher friends. My remarks were insensitive at best and rude at worst. I hope you can forgive me. As someone who taught regularly for twenty years, I truly believe that teaching in the noblest profession.
The truth is that most of the "bad" teachers would, in other fields, be called "mediocre." I'm guessing you'll agree that most people, in most fields, do a mediocre job. There are some truly awful writers, there are a few writers of genius, and then there are the majority (I'm among them) who slap adequate works on paper and then move on.
But just as there are no adequate brain surgeons (be amazing or don't touch my head!), I believe that there are no mediocre teachers. The job is too important for that. If you're not excellent, you suck.
Often, when a teacher is a "bad" teacher, it is not his fault. Giving grades is on my list of "things that bad teachers do." You may agree or disagree, but even if you agree, as a teacher in a typical school system, you have no choice but to give grades. I'm sorry if I have bitched at teachers for something that is out of their control.
But in the end, it doesn't matter (other than in an interpersonal way -- me not wanting to offend my friends). In the end, as I'm sure you'll agree, what matters is the student. If he is receiving bad teaching (regardless of whose fault it is), then he is receiving bad teaching. SOMETHING has failed him.
When I was a teacher, I felt the the buck stopped with me (even if I didn't mint the currency). I feel the same way as an director and as a writer. If I hold auditions and no good actors show -- so I am forced to cast bad actors -- it's my fault that the play is bad; if my editor cuts the two most important chapters out of my book, it's my fault that the book sucks; if my boss doesn't give me enough time to write a good program, it's my fault that the code is buggy.
When I say "it's my fault," I don't mean I beat myself up. I mean that I take responsibility. I do so, because I can't make actors or editors or bosses take responsibility. They will or they won't. That's between them and their rabbis. I can only work on bettering myself. And if I don't take responsibility, then there's no chance that I'll be able to solve problems. Who knows? Maybe there was a way I could have found better actors; maybe I could have moved some prose into the chapters I was allowed to keep; maybe I could have worked on the program over the weekend. Forgoing responsibility closes avenues of thought. Yes, if I take responsibility for everything I risk depressing myself about stuff that's out of my control. On the other hand, if I give up responsibility, I miss the chance of making things better. I'd take the risk of depression.
Long ago, I taught kids. But my most current experience has been teaching adults. I worked closely with a group of teachers for five years. Some of them were very good. But the "typical" ones (who outnumbered the good ones) had something in common: they complained. They didn't just complain about the bosses or the system -- they complained about the students: students didn't pay attention, they came late, they left early, they talked during class, the didn't "get it."
I consider myself a mediocre (bad) teacher, but I don't complain about my students. Had I done that, my responsibility would have become their responsibility, and I would have lost all chances of reaching them. I've noticed that the really great teachers (and I don't count myself in their numbers) don't complain about their students. A student problem signals to them something they need to work on in themselves.
Many of my adult students were forced to take my classes (by their employers). The typical teachers at my school labored under the bizarre assumption that these students should WANT to be there. They, the teachers, were offended when the students were bored or grumpy. But isn't it natural to take umbrage at what we're forced to do against our will? It stuns me how many teachers I see twisting reality to suit their personal universes.
What most upset me was how few teachers I saw working at their crafts in off hours. Let me be clear: if you're a chemistry teacher, only a small part of your craft is keeping up with the latest findings in chemistry (though, appallingly, some don't even bother to do that). If you're a chemistry teacher, you're a chemistry TEACHER, not a CHEMISTRY teacher. Your primary job is teaching. You should be working to better yourself at that every day. You should be doing that by talking to other teachers, asking teachers to sit in on your classes, sitting in on other-teachers', reading books about teaching, going to conferences, and -- most of all -- thinking about teaching.
If I go back on my word for a second and allow for the existence of mediocre teachers, I'd rate myself as a bit above average. To my surprise (and horror!), I typically get treated as if I'm a great teacher (by fellow teachers and students). When I get rated, I get five out of five stars, etc. But I'm not a great teacher. I'm OKAY. I care and I try to improve. But that shouldn't be good enough. It seems that there are so many atrocious teachers that once someone reaches a level of bare competency, people think he's a genius. Our standards are way too low. WHY DO I ALMOST NEVER GET NEGATIVE CRITIQUES OR SUGGESTIONS? AM I PERFECT? FAR FROM IT! WE SETTLE FOR LESS! DO WE SETTLE FOR LESS WITH BRAIN SURGERY? NO! WE SHOULDN'T SETTLE FOR IT IN EDUCTION, EITHER. WE SHOULD EXPECT GREATNESS FROM OUR STUDENTS, OUR TEACHERS AND OURSELVES!
On most days when I was teaching, at least one thing I said fell flat. Sometimes it succeeded in general but failed with one student. He wasn't helped by my analogy, metaphor, exercise or example. So I would lie in bed at night, thinking about how to make my point in a different way. If you do that -- if you lie awake and think about how to do better next time (and if you think of that as a major part of your job) -- then you're not a bad teacher. You're also not a "typical" teacher.
I started getting interested in the craft of teaching when I was in high school. I sought out the most radical books I could find. Back then, they were books like "Summerhill" and "How Children Fail" -- as-well-as books by Vivian Paley and Phillip Lopate. I read those books and my eyes were open to what teaching could be. I didn't understand why none of my teachers were like the teachers in those books. I tried to talk to some of them about it, but it turned out that none of them had read any of the books I had read? WHY NOT? What hadn't professional teachers read the cutting-edge books in their field?
I'll end this long post by admitting that I'm biased. My hometown had a horrible school system -- worst than most. My friends and I frequently share war stories. I know my schooling was worst than most, because when I got to college, I compared notes with people who grew up other places. I frequently met people who said, "You know, my schools sucked too, except for this one teacher, Mr. Smith. He was outstanding, and I owe him a lot." I have two reactions to that. The first is to feel frustrated that people's expectations are so low: they excuse their schools because one teacher was good! The second is to feel angry that I got dealt I got dealt shitty cards. I didn't have a Mr. Smith. (There was a Mr. Mann who was apparently great, but I didn't have a class with him.) I didn't have that one good teacher who recognized that I was smart and creative and kind. I didn't have a single adult (in school) who encouraged me. I hope you'll pardon the racist analogy, but I'm a bit like a white guy who hates black people because the only ones he's ever seen are inner-city gangsters. He's wrong and racist, but he's speaking from experience, and experience is hard to shake. He needs to be educated. He needs his horizons broadened. So I ask you to understand (not excuse) my "racism" and educate me. Tell me about the good teachers that you know! I want to think better of them.
Again, I apologize to all my hardworking teacher friends. We need you!
The truth is that most of the "bad" teachers would, in other fields, be called "mediocre." I'm guessing you'll agree that most people, in most fields, do a mediocre job. There are some truly awful writers, there are a few writers of genius, and then there are the majority (I'm among them) who slap adequate works on paper and then move on.
But just as there are no adequate brain surgeons (be amazing or don't touch my head!), I believe that there are no mediocre teachers. The job is too important for that. If you're not excellent, you suck.
Often, when a teacher is a "bad" teacher, it is not his fault. Giving grades is on my list of "things that bad teachers do." You may agree or disagree, but even if you agree, as a teacher in a typical school system, you have no choice but to give grades. I'm sorry if I have bitched at teachers for something that is out of their control.
But in the end, it doesn't matter (other than in an interpersonal way -- me not wanting to offend my friends). In the end, as I'm sure you'll agree, what matters is the student. If he is receiving bad teaching (regardless of whose fault it is), then he is receiving bad teaching. SOMETHING has failed him.
When I was a teacher, I felt the the buck stopped with me (even if I didn't mint the currency). I feel the same way as an director and as a writer. If I hold auditions and no good actors show -- so I am forced to cast bad actors -- it's my fault that the play is bad; if my editor cuts the two most important chapters out of my book, it's my fault that the book sucks; if my boss doesn't give me enough time to write a good program, it's my fault that the code is buggy.
When I say "it's my fault," I don't mean I beat myself up. I mean that I take responsibility. I do so, because I can't make actors or editors or bosses take responsibility. They will or they won't. That's between them and their rabbis. I can only work on bettering myself. And if I don't take responsibility, then there's no chance that I'll be able to solve problems. Who knows? Maybe there was a way I could have found better actors; maybe I could have moved some prose into the chapters I was allowed to keep; maybe I could have worked on the program over the weekend. Forgoing responsibility closes avenues of thought. Yes, if I take responsibility for everything I risk depressing myself about stuff that's out of my control. On the other hand, if I give up responsibility, I miss the chance of making things better. I'd take the risk of depression.
Long ago, I taught kids. But my most current experience has been teaching adults. I worked closely with a group of teachers for five years. Some of them were very good. But the "typical" ones (who outnumbered the good ones) had something in common: they complained. They didn't just complain about the bosses or the system -- they complained about the students: students didn't pay attention, they came late, they left early, they talked during class, the didn't "get it."
I consider myself a mediocre (bad) teacher, but I don't complain about my students. Had I done that, my responsibility would have become their responsibility, and I would have lost all chances of reaching them. I've noticed that the really great teachers (and I don't count myself in their numbers) don't complain about their students. A student problem signals to them something they need to work on in themselves.
Many of my adult students were forced to take my classes (by their employers). The typical teachers at my school labored under the bizarre assumption that these students should WANT to be there. They, the teachers, were offended when the students were bored or grumpy. But isn't it natural to take umbrage at what we're forced to do against our will? It stuns me how many teachers I see twisting reality to suit their personal universes.
What most upset me was how few teachers I saw working at their crafts in off hours. Let me be clear: if you're a chemistry teacher, only a small part of your craft is keeping up with the latest findings in chemistry (though, appallingly, some don't even bother to do that). If you're a chemistry teacher, you're a chemistry TEACHER, not a CHEMISTRY teacher. Your primary job is teaching. You should be working to better yourself at that every day. You should be doing that by talking to other teachers, asking teachers to sit in on your classes, sitting in on other-teachers', reading books about teaching, going to conferences, and -- most of all -- thinking about teaching.
If I go back on my word for a second and allow for the existence of mediocre teachers, I'd rate myself as a bit above average. To my surprise (and horror!), I typically get treated as if I'm a great teacher (by fellow teachers and students). When I get rated, I get five out of five stars, etc. But I'm not a great teacher. I'm OKAY. I care and I try to improve. But that shouldn't be good enough. It seems that there are so many atrocious teachers that once someone reaches a level of bare competency, people think he's a genius. Our standards are way too low. WHY DO I ALMOST NEVER GET NEGATIVE CRITIQUES OR SUGGESTIONS? AM I PERFECT? FAR FROM IT! WE SETTLE FOR LESS! DO WE SETTLE FOR LESS WITH BRAIN SURGERY? NO! WE SHOULDN'T SETTLE FOR IT IN EDUCTION, EITHER. WE SHOULD EXPECT GREATNESS FROM OUR STUDENTS, OUR TEACHERS AND OURSELVES!
On most days when I was teaching, at least one thing I said fell flat. Sometimes it succeeded in general but failed with one student. He wasn't helped by my analogy, metaphor, exercise or example. So I would lie in bed at night, thinking about how to make my point in a different way. If you do that -- if you lie awake and think about how to do better next time (and if you think of that as a major part of your job) -- then you're not a bad teacher. You're also not a "typical" teacher.
I started getting interested in the craft of teaching when I was in high school. I sought out the most radical books I could find. Back then, they were books like "Summerhill" and "How Children Fail" -- as-well-as books by Vivian Paley and Phillip Lopate. I read those books and my eyes were open to what teaching could be. I didn't understand why none of my teachers were like the teachers in those books. I tried to talk to some of them about it, but it turned out that none of them had read any of the books I had read? WHY NOT? What hadn't professional teachers read the cutting-edge books in their field?
I'll end this long post by admitting that I'm biased. My hometown had a horrible school system -- worst than most. My friends and I frequently share war stories. I know my schooling was worst than most, because when I got to college, I compared notes with people who grew up other places. I frequently met people who said, "You know, my schools sucked too, except for this one teacher, Mr. Smith. He was outstanding, and I owe him a lot." I have two reactions to that. The first is to feel frustrated that people's expectations are so low: they excuse their schools because one teacher was good! The second is to feel angry that I got dealt I got dealt shitty cards. I didn't have a Mr. Smith. (There was a Mr. Mann who was apparently great, but I didn't have a class with him.) I didn't have that one good teacher who recognized that I was smart and creative and kind. I didn't have a single adult (in school) who encouraged me. I hope you'll pardon the racist analogy, but I'm a bit like a white guy who hates black people because the only ones he's ever seen are inner-city gangsters. He's wrong and racist, but he's speaking from experience, and experience is hard to shake. He needs to be educated. He needs his horizons broadened. So I ask you to understand (not excuse) my "racism" and educate me. Tell me about the good teachers that you know! I want to think better of them.
Again, I apologize to all my hardworking teacher friends. We need you!
Monday, August 24, 2009
how not to motivate people: rewards (e.g. grades)
Want to know what's wrong with typical teaching methods? Watch this video:
http://www.ted.com/talks/dan_pink_on_motivation.html
When he talks about rewards, think grades.
http://www.ted.com/talks/dan_pink_on_motivation.html
When he talks about rewards, think grades.
confession, I was lucky, but...
I didn't want for much as a kid. I grew up in a big house -- a house full of art books and classical music LPs. My parents kept me safe, gave me a lot of freedom, and showered me with love and gifts. Every time I compared school with home, school lost the contest.
For other kids, school was a godsend.
There were kids who grew up in slums. School was the one place where anyone cared about them. For them, school could be dangerous and confusing, but it was also a place where they got a hot, free lunch (something I took for granted), where there was a nurse to patch them up, where not everyone around them was drunk, high and abusive. Where there were books.
To kids like this (or to grownups who were once kids like this), my complaints about school must seem pretty rarified and ungrateful.
Then there are all the kids who had to work to go to college. They shelved soup cans all night so that they could take classes by day. And here I am belittling the prize they got for all their toil.
When I've derided school in the past, I've often angered people. They react as if I'm being sacrilegious. Its as if I'm going to Sunday School and telling everyone that God doesn't exist. Well, I don't believe in God, but I'm also a polite person. I don't mock God in churches; nor do I go to football games and shout about how much I hate sports. People have a right to enjoy what they enjoy -- as long as they're not hurting anyone else.
But this is my blog, and I am going to talk here about how much I hated school. Don't read it if you don't want to.
I will admit that there are plenty of things that are way worse than school. Starving is worse; getting hit or molested is worse; dodging (or not dodging) dirty needles is worse. If school helps anyone escape from these horrors, it's doing something right.
But I want to point out that though a concentration-camp victim would kill to be in a minimum-security prison, that doesn't make a the prison a good place. It's just the lessor of two evils.
For other kids, school was a godsend.
There were kids who grew up in slums. School was the one place where anyone cared about them. For them, school could be dangerous and confusing, but it was also a place where they got a hot, free lunch (something I took for granted), where there was a nurse to patch them up, where not everyone around them was drunk, high and abusive. Where there were books.
To kids like this (or to grownups who were once kids like this), my complaints about school must seem pretty rarified and ungrateful.
Then there are all the kids who had to work to go to college. They shelved soup cans all night so that they could take classes by day. And here I am belittling the prize they got for all their toil.
When I've derided school in the past, I've often angered people. They react as if I'm being sacrilegious. Its as if I'm going to Sunday School and telling everyone that God doesn't exist. Well, I don't believe in God, but I'm also a polite person. I don't mock God in churches; nor do I go to football games and shout about how much I hate sports. People have a right to enjoy what they enjoy -- as long as they're not hurting anyone else.
But this is my blog, and I am going to talk here about how much I hated school. Don't read it if you don't want to.
I will admit that there are plenty of things that are way worse than school. Starving is worse; getting hit or molested is worse; dodging (or not dodging) dirty needles is worse. If school helps anyone escape from these horrors, it's doing something right.
But I want to point out that though a concentration-camp victim would kill to be in a minimum-security prison, that doesn't make a the prison a good place. It's just the lessor of two evils.
I hated school, but I loved learning
Hi kid. Do you hate school?
I hated it, too, and what really sucked was that grownups continually told me these two things:
1) You have to go to school.
2) There's something wrong with you if you don't like it.
The first thing they told me might have been true. It is true that going to school opens up some doors in life. And I didn't start this blog to talk kids into dropping out. I didn't drop out: I went to nursery school (one in England and one in Indiana), then elementary school (one in Indiana and one in Maryland), then middle school (Indiana and California), then high school (Indiana) and finally college (Indiana, Florida and Ohio). I then spent twenty years teaching for a living.
I'm also not here to tell you that you're weird if you like school. There are lots of good reasons to like school: maybe you go to a really good school, where the teachers care about you and the students aren't bullies or snobs; maybe you just happen to love the subjects they're teaching you -- or maybe your school lets you learn whatever subjects interest you; maybe you're more interested in socializing than academics, and you love school because it allows you to hang out with your friends all day. If any of those things are true for you, I'm happy for you. Enjoy.
They weren't true for me. My teachers didn't care for me. As an adult, I have a tiny bit of sympathy for them. I now understand that they barely made a living wage and that most of them had failed at other pursuits before becoming teachers. They were impoverished and depressed. They also had to work for school system that didn't support them financially or emotionally. Teaching was just a job to them -- and a bad job at that. Whatever. For me, the bottom line is that at best they ignored me and at worst they abused me. (Making a kid do mindless busy work is a form of abuse.)
When I was a kid, my favorite thing to do was to learn. I carried books everywhere I went. I carried so many books in my backpack that I grew up to have a permanent stoop. When I wasn't reading, I was talking to my friends about ideas: philosophy, science, art, history... What I didn't do was read the things I was supposed to read or study what I was supposed to study. Teachers would catch me reading "Godel, Escher, Bach" instead of "Social Studies 101" and they'd tried me like a deviant!
Now, I totally understand why they told me to put my book away and read what I was supposed to read. I don't blame them for that. But why wasn't there even one grownup who said, "I'm glad to see you're reading on your own?" Why wasn't there even one grownup who tried to reach me by talking to me about what interested me? As far as my teachers were concerned, all activities were equally bad if they weren't class assignments. When they caught me secretly reading Shakespeare they were just as upset as when they caught me secretly reading comic books. (And there were many comics books that were much better -- more more educational -- than the drivel they made me read.)
I had a particularly hard time with Math. But I wound up reading a couple of books that helped me see how Math could be exciting and magical. I tried to talk to my Math teacher, Mrs. Wilsey, about these books. You know what she said? "Quit bothering me and get out of here." I guess I was disturbing her break. She just wanted to get to the teachers' lounge and smoke! Too bad, because her scorn turned me off Math for twenty years. (I now like Math, but I couldn't stand it until the bad taste of school was out of my mouth. Then I had to slowly grope my way back to Math on my own terms.)
Socially, I was a geek before that was fashionable. I wasn't a loner with no friends. I had great friends -- some of whom I'm still friends with all these years later. But school wasn't where we wanted to be. At school, we were bullied and teased by the more popular kids. What amazes me (in retrospect) is that the teachers knew this. They knew that jocks and jerks were picking on us. Yet they did nothing. In one or two cases, they encouraged the hazing and bullying. Generally, they just seemed to take a Darwinian approach: "Yup. Some kids get bullied. Well, that's the law of the jungle."
So I hated school, and I hope you can understand why. Had grownups just told me that, like it or not, I had to go, I would have understood. I understood that you often have to do things you don't like to do. But the grownups didn't stop there: they also told me that school was great! That school was good for me and fun! That all healthy kids like school!
When I was in sixth grade, I had some sort of break down. I hated going to school so much that I began throwing up every morning. My parents took me to the doctor. He suggested that they take me to a psychiatrist, which was probably a good idea. But he didn't want me to go to a shrink just because I was stressed. No! He wanted me to go because, "it's normal for kids to like school."
Well, at the age of 43, I feel comfortable admitting how much I hated it. And I feel comfortable reaching back into the past and grabbing all those grownups in by the shoulders. I give them vigorous shakes and say, "Shame on you! I was a good-natured, smart kid. Why did you make be feel like a freak?"
Most of all, I want to talk to you, kid. You're the kid who is like me. You're smart and maybe a bit different from the more popular kids. I want to tell you that there are grownups out there who understand what you're going through. I understand. I've been there.
You are not bad if you hate school (or if you like it). You are not bad if you pursue your own interests. Chasing the tail of your passions is a good thing. It's one of the best reasons to live. The subjects they "teach" you in school aren't the only important subjects. They way kids act in school is not the way all your peers will act throughout your life.
I don't know what else I can do for you, other than tell you to hang in there. School ends. Life gets better. But if I can think of any other way to help, I will post it here.
I hated it, too, and what really sucked was that grownups continually told me these two things:
1) You have to go to school.
2) There's something wrong with you if you don't like it.
The first thing they told me might have been true. It is true that going to school opens up some doors in life. And I didn't start this blog to talk kids into dropping out. I didn't drop out: I went to nursery school (one in England and one in Indiana), then elementary school (one in Indiana and one in Maryland), then middle school (Indiana and California), then high school (Indiana) and finally college (Indiana, Florida and Ohio). I then spent twenty years teaching for a living.
I'm also not here to tell you that you're weird if you like school. There are lots of good reasons to like school: maybe you go to a really good school, where the teachers care about you and the students aren't bullies or snobs; maybe you just happen to love the subjects they're teaching you -- or maybe your school lets you learn whatever subjects interest you; maybe you're more interested in socializing than academics, and you love school because it allows you to hang out with your friends all day. If any of those things are true for you, I'm happy for you. Enjoy.
They weren't true for me. My teachers didn't care for me. As an adult, I have a tiny bit of sympathy for them. I now understand that they barely made a living wage and that most of them had failed at other pursuits before becoming teachers. They were impoverished and depressed. They also had to work for school system that didn't support them financially or emotionally. Teaching was just a job to them -- and a bad job at that. Whatever. For me, the bottom line is that at best they ignored me and at worst they abused me. (Making a kid do mindless busy work is a form of abuse.)
When I was a kid, my favorite thing to do was to learn. I carried books everywhere I went. I carried so many books in my backpack that I grew up to have a permanent stoop. When I wasn't reading, I was talking to my friends about ideas: philosophy, science, art, history... What I didn't do was read the things I was supposed to read or study what I was supposed to study. Teachers would catch me reading "Godel, Escher, Bach" instead of "Social Studies 101" and they'd tried me like a deviant!
Now, I totally understand why they told me to put my book away and read what I was supposed to read. I don't blame them for that. But why wasn't there even one grownup who said, "I'm glad to see you're reading on your own?" Why wasn't there even one grownup who tried to reach me by talking to me about what interested me? As far as my teachers were concerned, all activities were equally bad if they weren't class assignments. When they caught me secretly reading Shakespeare they were just as upset as when they caught me secretly reading comic books. (And there were many comics books that were much better -- more more educational -- than the drivel they made me read.)
I had a particularly hard time with Math. But I wound up reading a couple of books that helped me see how Math could be exciting and magical. I tried to talk to my Math teacher, Mrs. Wilsey, about these books. You know what she said? "Quit bothering me and get out of here." I guess I was disturbing her break. She just wanted to get to the teachers' lounge and smoke! Too bad, because her scorn turned me off Math for twenty years. (I now like Math, but I couldn't stand it until the bad taste of school was out of my mouth. Then I had to slowly grope my way back to Math on my own terms.)
Socially, I was a geek before that was fashionable. I wasn't a loner with no friends. I had great friends -- some of whom I'm still friends with all these years later. But school wasn't where we wanted to be. At school, we were bullied and teased by the more popular kids. What amazes me (in retrospect) is that the teachers knew this. They knew that jocks and jerks were picking on us. Yet they did nothing. In one or two cases, they encouraged the hazing and bullying. Generally, they just seemed to take a Darwinian approach: "Yup. Some kids get bullied. Well, that's the law of the jungle."
So I hated school, and I hope you can understand why. Had grownups just told me that, like it or not, I had to go, I would have understood. I understood that you often have to do things you don't like to do. But the grownups didn't stop there: they also told me that school was great! That school was good for me and fun! That all healthy kids like school!
When I was in sixth grade, I had some sort of break down. I hated going to school so much that I began throwing up every morning. My parents took me to the doctor. He suggested that they take me to a psychiatrist, which was probably a good idea. But he didn't want me to go to a shrink just because I was stressed. No! He wanted me to go because, "it's normal for kids to like school."
Well, at the age of 43, I feel comfortable admitting how much I hated it. And I feel comfortable reaching back into the past and grabbing all those grownups in by the shoulders. I give them vigorous shakes and say, "Shame on you! I was a good-natured, smart kid. Why did you make be feel like a freak?"
Most of all, I want to talk to you, kid. You're the kid who is like me. You're smart and maybe a bit different from the more popular kids. I want to tell you that there are grownups out there who understand what you're going through. I understand. I've been there.
You are not bad if you hate school (or if you like it). You are not bad if you pursue your own interests. Chasing the tail of your passions is a good thing. It's one of the best reasons to live. The subjects they "teach" you in school aren't the only important subjects. They way kids act in school is not the way all your peers will act throughout your life.
I don't know what else I can do for you, other than tell you to hang in there. School ends. Life gets better. But if I can think of any other way to help, I will post it here.
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