Education

The school constructed a dome-shaped building that, by all accounts, was asymmetrical.  The high school Physics teacher knew a good thing when he saw it, which is why he marched his class down to that building during finals week, clipboards at the ready.  He marched, shouted, and clapped his hands at the edges and center of the room, as well as a few random other spots. There was nothing predictable about any of the echoes.

“Get it?” he said to the class.  They nodded.

“Fix it” he said.  And then he walked out of the room.

The French class was held in a more conventional setting, and a student with a regrettable tendency to be late showed up to find class in full swing.  He’d learned enough to look around at what his fellow students were doing to get the gist of things when he arrived, and set to work.

It was 5-10 minutes later the quiet hum of productivity was broken by a student with a question.  “Bob?” the student queried, at a school where teachers were called by their first names.  “Bob?” he asked again, this time more urgently. 

It was about this time that the classroom door opened once again, allowing not a late student to come in—but the teacher.  He had been called away for an emergency five minutes before class started, but only now—about 20 minutes into the class period—did anyone notice his absence.

And if you’re thinking, not bad for a high school French class, I would agree.  Except this was a sixth-grade French class.

I’m not advocating for classrooms without teachers here, although I’ve been in classes where that would have been a better alternative.  They come to mind when I come across articles about the malaise of students—that they aren’t curious, organized, or interested.  This is especially true with “empty vessels” articles, suggesting students don’t know anything about, well, anything, and it’s up to teachers to tell them what, and how, to think.

Enter Annemarie Roeper.  A cofounder of The Roeper School, Annemarie and husband George believed learning was not teacher-directed, but rather a mutual discovery of ideas, students and teachers working side-by-side in a relationship of mutual respect and exploration. Like many educators, Annemarie was passionate about advocating and protecting students.  In her case, however, this protection didn’t shield students from the world.  Protecting them meant respecting the students enough to know they could understand life’s complexities and the power of compassion.  So, when a jazz band came to perform at the school, the three-year-olds came, and loved it.  When the school had a Vietnam War teach-in, the eight-year-olds attended.  When a school rule about eating food on the bus came up, six-year-olds had a say.

If you think this approach to learning is short-sighted, irresponsible, or just plain wrong, think back on your own education.  What comes to mind—the lectures, or the time the teacher handed over the keys and let you drive, if only for a while?  When I ask, I get answers like:

• The time our homework was to determine the area of a Dorito.
• When the band director left the podium with the band at full volume, to make sure the sound was right in the back of the auditorium.
• Almost anything having to do with driver’s education.

Many of the complaints about education today center on the idea that the teachers are supposed to entertain the students.  Annemarie Roeper knew children to be complete, so you don’t have to entertain them; you let them engage themselves.

Waiting

Not so much
More of the same
And not really
Marination
But emerging to a greater sense
Of what it will be and mean
Upon arrival.

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