I funny thing happened today. My wife asked me, "How has your teaching changed since you started taking your Master's". She has been reading the blog as a show of support, and, I suspect, to make sure that she is not involved in any embarrassing stories. Even though she had read every article, and even though the blog is a representation of the bridge between the theoretical education I have received and its practical applications, it is apparent that I have missed an explicict explanation of the connection.
I started my Master's degree thinking that I would study the application of manipulatives in middle school Mathematics, specifically, how they are used in the Math Makes Sense textbooks. Now, however, some six months later, I can think of at least four other pathways that interest me. I wonder about student perceptions of gender bias in Math. I am amazed by the website "khanacademy.com" and its uses of technology to individualize education. I am, as you have read, fascinated by Foucault, and his odd little ideas of power and its impact on my day to day, and I am still curious as to the theoretical underpinnings of the use of manipulatives that is so prevalent in Math today.
Starting my Master's has shown me the educative connections to the past; why we do things the way we do. More importantly, it has changed the way I teach. I try to create more individualized alternatives to as much of the class work as I can. For example, I am teaching Human body systems in Science right now, and I am going to leave the final project up to the students. They are to demonstrate their understanding of a particular system in whatever way they wish. This is scary, but it might just work. Check back in a month or so to find out.
I also tend to sweat the small stuff a little less. I know, for example, that the curriculum we teach today is largely a direct result of the space race of the 1960s, with a broad goal of creating excellent rocketry scientists. Knowing this, I focus on students' general understanding of the material, emphasizing an individual, and intrinsic, motivation. Basically, I want my students to wonder about things, and enjoy that sense of wonderment.
What I have taken from the Ivory Tower, this sense of wonderment in learning, is now what I hope to pass on to my students. I don't care if they can't remember that a cell contains a nucleus which has 46 chromosomes bound in pairs and forming a double helix that was first discovered by James D. Watson and Francis Crick in 1953 for which they won a Nobel prize. Are they amazed that something so small works in such a way as to control something so large? That is why the Ivory Tower is important.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Friday, March 30, 2012
The Digital Revolution
What would happen if I allowed students to study whatever they wanted? What if, when students came into class, I set up my homeroom class in the computer lab and told my students that we would not have Math, Science, LA, Socials, or language, but that they could just go wherever their minds took them; what would happen?
Clearly, I would have a few angry parents descending upon me, showering me with epithets, warnings, threatening joblessness. What if, however, I was able to get them on side, and they agreed that this might be the way, what then?
I suppose, eventually, The principal would haul me into her office and ask me what I was doing? She would tell me that I must get the PLOs from the IRP completed in time for the AGM, or else I would be SOL for next year. But what if...
What would students learn? What would they want to know? Would they look up sex to try and get a reaction? Maybe, but that would get old fast. A few would look up Justin Beiber, and other celebs, cruising gossip magazines, and fast cars, long boards, Neff clothes, and Quibids, until they got bored. And then what? Would they come to me and plead to be instructed? Would it be my place to instruct? I would send them back to the technology. Everything is on the internet, anything they would every need for life is accessible from that cord in the wall, so I would tell them, "Sorry. I will not instruct again. It is up to you to find your own way, and that way is through technology. We all know that. So get back on there and Google something."
Eventually, students might get a little pale, and sickly, but I suppose I could get them ipads, and we could continue lessons outside for a hour or so, just to get a little fresh air.
What would students do? I suppose they would find something eventually. And I further suppose if they got stuck, I could suggest different websites that could provide an answer to unstick them. They would become like computers themselves in a way, accessing information from other computers, and filing it away for future reference.
And the children would learn everything they ever needed from the internet, from ipads, kindles, blogs, tweets, and youtubes, and facebooks, and others yet to be invented. And they could move on knowing, without a doubt, that whatever the situation, a solution could be found within a search engine, bound to the internet, a part of the digital revolution.
Clearly, I would have a few angry parents descending upon me, showering me with epithets, warnings, threatening joblessness. What if, however, I was able to get them on side, and they agreed that this might be the way, what then?
I suppose, eventually, The principal would haul me into her office and ask me what I was doing? She would tell me that I must get the PLOs from the IRP completed in time for the AGM, or else I would be SOL for next year. But what if...
What would students learn? What would they want to know? Would they look up sex to try and get a reaction? Maybe, but that would get old fast. A few would look up Justin Beiber, and other celebs, cruising gossip magazines, and fast cars, long boards, Neff clothes, and Quibids, until they got bored. And then what? Would they come to me and plead to be instructed? Would it be my place to instruct? I would send them back to the technology. Everything is on the internet, anything they would every need for life is accessible from that cord in the wall, so I would tell them, "Sorry. I will not instruct again. It is up to you to find your own way, and that way is through technology. We all know that. So get back on there and Google something."
Eventually, students might get a little pale, and sickly, but I suppose I could get them ipads, and we could continue lessons outside for a hour or so, just to get a little fresh air.
What would students do? I suppose they would find something eventually. And I further suppose if they got stuck, I could suggest different websites that could provide an answer to unstick them. They would become like computers themselves in a way, accessing information from other computers, and filing it away for future reference.
And the children would learn everything they ever needed from the internet, from ipads, kindles, blogs, tweets, and youtubes, and facebooks, and others yet to be invented. And they could move on knowing, without a doubt, that whatever the situation, a solution could be found within a search engine, bound to the internet, a part of the digital revolution.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Change: How far do I go?
The problem with change, at least how it is envisaged by universities, is that it must be systemic. As a classroom teacher, I have a certain amount of flexiblity. The Prescribed Learning Outcomes are, for example, deliciously vague:
Life Science: Cells and Systems
It is expected that students will relate the main features and properties of cells to their functions (BC IRP, p. 30)
I can get my students to demonstrate this in any number of ways, posters, prezis, PowerPoints, essays, stories, and so on. However, if students would rather learn about astronomy instead of cells, then too bad. I also have to give students letter grades instead of mastery or comment-based reports, and I must teach to a bell schedule. In fact, students have become so used to this system that they are often confused and even irritated when I try to incorporate Math into Science, or LA in Socials, etc.
Research from the Ivory Tower would suggest that students would learn best if they were allowed to follow their own interests, but that paradigm shift is not feasible for an individual teacher. Why must change be systemic? Is the system, which has taught millions of students in virtually the same way over the past two hundred years, so broken that it is beyond repair? What can a teacher do right now?
For the past six months, I have had students work on a website called Khan Academy. For those who don't know, Khan Academy is a website whereby individual students can practice virtually every Math skill necessary for high school completion. There are videos and hints for when students get stuck, and "points" that can be gained for mastery exercises to keep students motivated. I use the site to allow all students to work at their level. For some of my Grade 8 students that means working on double-digit multiplication, and for others it is graphing quadratic equations. It could be the closest to John Dewey's student centered learning that I have acheived, and it is within the current system. I think that a systemic, paradigm shift is not necessary, what is necessary are teachers who are willing to engage in a fearless experimentation.
Life Science: Cells and Systems
It is expected that students will relate the main features and properties of cells to their functions (BC IRP, p. 30)
I can get my students to demonstrate this in any number of ways, posters, prezis, PowerPoints, essays, stories, and so on. However, if students would rather learn about astronomy instead of cells, then too bad. I also have to give students letter grades instead of mastery or comment-based reports, and I must teach to a bell schedule. In fact, students have become so used to this system that they are often confused and even irritated when I try to incorporate Math into Science, or LA in Socials, etc.
Research from the Ivory Tower would suggest that students would learn best if they were allowed to follow their own interests, but that paradigm shift is not feasible for an individual teacher. Why must change be systemic? Is the system, which has taught millions of students in virtually the same way over the past two hundred years, so broken that it is beyond repair? What can a teacher do right now?
For the past six months, I have had students work on a website called Khan Academy. For those who don't know, Khan Academy is a website whereby individual students can practice virtually every Math skill necessary for high school completion. There are videos and hints for when students get stuck, and "points" that can be gained for mastery exercises to keep students motivated. I use the site to allow all students to work at their level. For some of my Grade 8 students that means working on double-digit multiplication, and for others it is graphing quadratic equations. It could be the closest to John Dewey's student centered learning that I have acheived, and it is within the current system. I think that a systemic, paradigm shift is not necessary, what is necessary are teachers who are willing to engage in a fearless experimentation.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Foucault, power, and the baby bird
I am not an expert in Foucault. I have not even read any books by Foucault; I plan to, but I have not yet had the time. I will make the time, but not yet. As a non-expert, I have had to borrow what I know about Foucault and his idea of power from lectures and the internet. I understand that a book would be better, and reading said book in French better still, but I don't know French, and I haven't had time, so here is a summary of Foucault's definition of power cobbled together from the lectured internet:
Foucault would argue, I believe, that students listen teachers because they are locked into a discourse which values teachers as a source of information to students. This discourse is power.
I wonder why substitute teachers have such a difficult time in a new classroom, like myself and incident with the baby bird. Power, according to Foucault and the internet, is present in all levels (macro and micro) of society, but is it to a greater or lesser extent? If power is a relation, then are the relationships between students stronger than teachers. Why would this be the case? Society has said that students are to listen to teachers, but if there is no relationship, like when a new Sub teaches a class, the students have will find it difficult to listen. Are there hierarchies of power? Can hierarchies of power exist within Foucault's framework? Does Foucault give us the whole picture?
- power is not a thing but a relation
- power is not simply repressive but it is productive
- power is not simply a property of the State. Power is not something that is exclusively localized in government and the State (which is not a universal essence). Rather, power is exercised throughout the social body.
- power operates at the most micro levels of social relations. Power is omnipresent at every level of the social body (http://www.michel-foucault.com, 2012).
Foucault would argue, I believe, that students listen teachers because they are locked into a discourse which values teachers as a source of information to students. This discourse is power.
I wonder why substitute teachers have such a difficult time in a new classroom, like myself and incident with the baby bird. Power, according to Foucault and the internet, is present in all levels (macro and micro) of society, but is it to a greater or lesser extent? If power is a relation, then are the relationships between students stronger than teachers. Why would this be the case? Society has said that students are to listen to teachers, but if there is no relationship, like when a new Sub teaches a class, the students have will find it difficult to listen. Are there hierarchies of power? Can hierarchies of power exist within Foucault's framework? Does Foucault give us the whole picture?
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Michel Foucault and the Baby Bird
The baby bird incident is one of many strange and bizarre stories that I have gathered from my subbing days. While the details remain ever-changing, the underlying cause remains the same: The students would rather be doing something else. In an ideal situation every student would be working on his or her own individual learning plan that caters to his or her current interest. However, even the most liberal educational philosopher would have to admit that this must be tempered to some degree; we cannot have students learning how to make explosives, but maybe we can allow them to investigate the science behind an explosion...maybe. Even this incremental omission sets the student down a different path, one whereby the teacher knows and the student does not.
Practically, the students must all learn what the teacher, and by extension the Ministry of Education, provides. This takes the form of generally set lesson plans, classes, and standardized tests. Students can, and do, learn at different rates, and may pass through the material quicker or slower in relation to one another, but each student learns more or less the same thing. It is simply a matter of time management. A ministry in charge of roughly 400,000 students cannot assess all of them if they are all doing something different. I would argue that for a substitute teacher, the acceptance of standardization is ideal, both for the sub, and the students.
The problem is power, not power in the Marxist sense, whereby a few hold power malevolently over many others, but in the sense of a social contract sub-consciously signed by all members. Michel Foucault writes:
"Basically power is less a confrontation between two adversaries or the linking of one to the other than a question of government. This word must be allowed the very broad meaning which it had in the sixteenth century. "Government" did not refer only to political structures or to the management of states; rather it designated the way in which the conduct of individuals or of groups might be directed: the government of children, of souls, of communities, of families, of the sick. It did not only cover the legitimately constituted forms of political or economic subjection, but also modes of action, more or less considered and calculated, which were destined to act upon the possibilities of action of other people. To govern, in this sense, is to structure the possible field of action of others. The relationship proper to power would not therefore be sought on the side of violence or of struggle, nor on that of voluntary linking (all of which can, at best, only be the instruments of power), but rather in the area of the singular mode of action, neither warlike nor juridical, which is government" (221).
In a classroom, both the teacher and the students are linked by power, students are "the other" to a teacher, but a teacher is also "the other" to his or her students. Generally, problems arise when a substitute teacher comes in and has to be brought in to the "conduct of individuals" by the students. Could this ever happen when students are working individually, each his or her own island, apart from the main? If students worked separately, what would the role of the substitute be?
In an ideal situation students would learn concepts based within their own interests. However, as a substitute, a group process is needed to maintain a smooth transition from one teacher to another. Unfortunately, that group is a social contract bound within the curious rules of power. This is both a good and bad thing, the incident with the baby bird happened because I had no social contract with that set of students; I was trying to dominate, not participate. However, as a substitute, I do not have the time to write a contract. I do not, and cannot, govern because I cannot "structure the possible field of action of others" (221).
How, then, can substitution ever result in little more than containment? Does a substitute truly have any power? Why do students listen at all?
Foucault, Michel. (1982). "The Subject and Power." Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics. 2nd edition. Ed. Hubert L. Dreyfus and Paul Rabinow. Chicago: U of Chicago Press.
Practically, the students must all learn what the teacher, and by extension the Ministry of Education, provides. This takes the form of generally set lesson plans, classes, and standardized tests. Students can, and do, learn at different rates, and may pass through the material quicker or slower in relation to one another, but each student learns more or less the same thing. It is simply a matter of time management. A ministry in charge of roughly 400,000 students cannot assess all of them if they are all doing something different. I would argue that for a substitute teacher, the acceptance of standardization is ideal, both for the sub, and the students.
The problem is power, not power in the Marxist sense, whereby a few hold power malevolently over many others, but in the sense of a social contract sub-consciously signed by all members. Michel Foucault writes:
"Basically power is less a confrontation between two adversaries or the linking of one to the other than a question of government. This word must be allowed the very broad meaning which it had in the sixteenth century. "Government" did not refer only to political structures or to the management of states; rather it designated the way in which the conduct of individuals or of groups might be directed: the government of children, of souls, of communities, of families, of the sick. It did not only cover the legitimately constituted forms of political or economic subjection, but also modes of action, more or less considered and calculated, which were destined to act upon the possibilities of action of other people. To govern, in this sense, is to structure the possible field of action of others. The relationship proper to power would not therefore be sought on the side of violence or of struggle, nor on that of voluntary linking (all of which can, at best, only be the instruments of power), but rather in the area of the singular mode of action, neither warlike nor juridical, which is government" (221).
In a classroom, both the teacher and the students are linked by power, students are "the other" to a teacher, but a teacher is also "the other" to his or her students. Generally, problems arise when a substitute teacher comes in and has to be brought in to the "conduct of individuals" by the students. Could this ever happen when students are working individually, each his or her own island, apart from the main? If students worked separately, what would the role of the substitute be?
In an ideal situation students would learn concepts based within their own interests. However, as a substitute, a group process is needed to maintain a smooth transition from one teacher to another. Unfortunately, that group is a social contract bound within the curious rules of power. This is both a good and bad thing, the incident with the baby bird happened because I had no social contract with that set of students; I was trying to dominate, not participate. However, as a substitute, I do not have the time to write a contract. I do not, and cannot, govern because I cannot "structure the possible field of action of others" (221).
How, then, can substitution ever result in little more than containment? Does a substitute truly have any power? Why do students listen at all?
Foucault, Michel. (1982). "The Subject and Power." Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics. 2nd edition. Ed. Hubert L. Dreyfus and Paul Rabinow. Chicago: U of Chicago Press.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
The Baby Bird Part Two
Cheep....Cheep....Cheep....
Once the class was silent, except for the furious rustling of pencil on test paper, it became apparent that a small bird had decided today was the day to sally forth and welcome the spring. It drove everyone nuts.
I once rented a basement apartment from a lovely couple that owned two small Yorkshire terriers. These were very nice dogs, unfortunately one of them suffered from some sort abandonment issue and barked when its owners were at work. The worst part about the dogs is when you think it is going to stop, but doesn't. The bird was the same, it sounded like it had stopped, but didn't. This did not sit well with an already riled up room full of children. I told them that there wasn't anything to do about it, the windows were too high for anyone to see outside, and try to ignore the high pitched annoyance. Cheep.....Cheeeep!
At around this time the IST, integrated support teacher, popped his head in to see how I was getting on. He seemed pleasantly surprised by the quiet focus of the group. I took this as a good sign, and was feeling pretty good about my apparent management skills. He crept up to the front of the class and asked how it was going.
I told him that it was pretty good, if the children had tried to light me on fire, I would have said it was going well, but such is the life of the substitute. I told him that the only real problem was the bird calling outside. The IST paused, and as if on cue.....Cheep!
The man took it upon himself to investigate, and peered out the high bank of windows. He turned, and having solved the mystery he called out to the expectant class...
"Hey guys, there's a baby bird that's fallen from its nest out here!"
As I replay that moment in my head, it gets more and more cartoonish. There is a pause as the students digest the information, and then SHOOMM! Dust flies up from the vacuum of air created by twenty-eight tiny bodies pasting themselves to the windows and walls to watch a real life drama unravel. That can't be what really happened of course, because in a vacuum there is no noise, the classroom was not. It was chaos. The IST, the progenitor of this mayhem, had left as quickly and as quietly as he had come leaving me to quickly abandon the tests, and pry children off chairs, desks, and heating registers.
It was 10:51, and I was in for an interesting day.
Once the class was silent, except for the furious rustling of pencil on test paper, it became apparent that a small bird had decided today was the day to sally forth and welcome the spring. It drove everyone nuts.
I once rented a basement apartment from a lovely couple that owned two small Yorkshire terriers. These were very nice dogs, unfortunately one of them suffered from some sort abandonment issue and barked when its owners were at work. The worst part about the dogs is when you think it is going to stop, but doesn't. The bird was the same, it sounded like it had stopped, but didn't. This did not sit well with an already riled up room full of children. I told them that there wasn't anything to do about it, the windows were too high for anyone to see outside, and try to ignore the high pitched annoyance. Cheep.....Cheeeep!
At around this time the IST, integrated support teacher, popped his head in to see how I was getting on. He seemed pleasantly surprised by the quiet focus of the group. I took this as a good sign, and was feeling pretty good about my apparent management skills. He crept up to the front of the class and asked how it was going.
I told him that it was pretty good, if the children had tried to light me on fire, I would have said it was going well, but such is the life of the substitute. I told him that the only real problem was the bird calling outside. The IST paused, and as if on cue.....Cheep!
The man took it upon himself to investigate, and peered out the high bank of windows. He turned, and having solved the mystery he called out to the expectant class...
"Hey guys, there's a baby bird that's fallen from its nest out here!"
As I replay that moment in my head, it gets more and more cartoonish. There is a pause as the students digest the information, and then SHOOMM! Dust flies up from the vacuum of air created by twenty-eight tiny bodies pasting themselves to the windows and walls to watch a real life drama unravel. That can't be what really happened of course, because in a vacuum there is no noise, the classroom was not. It was chaos. The IST, the progenitor of this mayhem, had left as quickly and as quietly as he had come leaving me to quickly abandon the tests, and pry children off chairs, desks, and heating registers.
It was 10:51, and I was in for an interesting day.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
The Baby Bird
I have always thought that Subbing (or TOCing for the politically correct) is like leading a wolf pack. Immediately upon arrival in the classroom you must set yourself up as the alpha, because if you don't you will be the omega, and that is not a place to be.
One of my last sub days last year was given to me over e-mail. The teacher said I could have the day, but to be careful of her grade 7 class, it was, in her words, an "energetic group". The day arrived in full late-spring splendor. Blue skies, fluffy clouds, and just the first hint of warmth in the sun. The classroom was another story. I am always weary of a classroom with carpet, it's like a carpeted bathroom, you can't see the untold horrors, but you know they are there. This class had a red pile carpet that was a relic of the seventies, and a smell that belied its age. The room was musty and the desks were far apart. The room was on the ground floor, and had a row of high windows along one side like the kind in a basement apartment. I opened one to air the place out, and sat down to look over my day.
My job, apart from attendance, was to administer a Science test. Tests are usually no-brainers, students know that they are supposed to be quiet, even when they are done, and The substitute doesn't really need to know what has been taught. The teacher had left a note saying that I was not to be afraid to send any students who were misbehaving to the office.
Soon the students filed in, and began to look me over. For the most part, one day in school is very much like the other; it is largely based on routine. When a teacher is away, he or she doesn't usually tell students in advance, so when I show up, a new face, students are generally interested. I will meet them at the door, say hello, and try to establish dominance early.
At the start of the first block, I handed out the tests, asked if anyone had any questions (no one did, and no one ever does) and told the class to begin. Within seconds a student, who I shall call Peter, raised his hand and without waiting announced in a loud voice that he did not know what to do. Peter was a student who had the biggest afro I had ever seen. He also could not sit still, and had a glassy, unfocussed look to his eyes, not in a druggy sort of way, just in a fifteendifferentthoughtsallatonceandlotsofsugarycerealforbreakfast sort of way. I calmly told him that I had just explained that the class was having a test, and he was to do the best he could. Peter said that he would try, and I returned to my perch at the front of the class. Not two minutes later Peter started shooting Paul.
Paul had pulled the imaginary two-finger gun, a classic little boy staple, and had opened fire on Peter, who was sitting clear across the other side of the room. I want to reiterate that these were completely imaginary. Nevertheless Peter returned fire with a barrage of his own, complete with sound effects and realistic dodging techniques. Needless to say, by this point I had lost my alpha status big-time. The class erupted in giggles, tests forgotten. I kicked Peter and Paul up to the office with their tests, and managed, with some difficulty to wrestle the class back into a close approximation of test-like silence.
That was when we noticed the cry of the bird, "Cheep.........Cheep..........Cheep".
Part Two Tomorrow
One of my last sub days last year was given to me over e-mail. The teacher said I could have the day, but to be careful of her grade 7 class, it was, in her words, an "energetic group". The day arrived in full late-spring splendor. Blue skies, fluffy clouds, and just the first hint of warmth in the sun. The classroom was another story. I am always weary of a classroom with carpet, it's like a carpeted bathroom, you can't see the untold horrors, but you know they are there. This class had a red pile carpet that was a relic of the seventies, and a smell that belied its age. The room was musty and the desks were far apart. The room was on the ground floor, and had a row of high windows along one side like the kind in a basement apartment. I opened one to air the place out, and sat down to look over my day.
My job, apart from attendance, was to administer a Science test. Tests are usually no-brainers, students know that they are supposed to be quiet, even when they are done, and The substitute doesn't really need to know what has been taught. The teacher had left a note saying that I was not to be afraid to send any students who were misbehaving to the office.
Soon the students filed in, and began to look me over. For the most part, one day in school is very much like the other; it is largely based on routine. When a teacher is away, he or she doesn't usually tell students in advance, so when I show up, a new face, students are generally interested. I will meet them at the door, say hello, and try to establish dominance early.
At the start of the first block, I handed out the tests, asked if anyone had any questions (no one did, and no one ever does) and told the class to begin. Within seconds a student, who I shall call Peter, raised his hand and without waiting announced in a loud voice that he did not know what to do. Peter was a student who had the biggest afro I had ever seen. He also could not sit still, and had a glassy, unfocussed look to his eyes, not in a druggy sort of way, just in a fifteendifferentthoughtsallatonceandlotsofsugarycerealforbreakfast sort of way. I calmly told him that I had just explained that the class was having a test, and he was to do the best he could. Peter said that he would try, and I returned to my perch at the front of the class. Not two minutes later Peter started shooting Paul.
Paul had pulled the imaginary two-finger gun, a classic little boy staple, and had opened fire on Peter, who was sitting clear across the other side of the room. I want to reiterate that these were completely imaginary. Nevertheless Peter returned fire with a barrage of his own, complete with sound effects and realistic dodging techniques. Needless to say, by this point I had lost my alpha status big-time. The class erupted in giggles, tests forgotten. I kicked Peter and Paul up to the office with their tests, and managed, with some difficulty to wrestle the class back into a close approximation of test-like silence.
That was when we noticed the cry of the bird, "Cheep.........Cheep..........Cheep".
Part Two Tomorrow
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Ted Aoki and the Third Space
Ted Aoki, the esteemed Canadian Curriculum scholar, has "described three views, or models of "school"....The first school strives to develop "rational thinking" skills.... Aoki's second kind of school is all about "doing"....[his] third type of school, offers an alternative to the "thinking" and "doing" models discussed above" (Beck, p. 125).
In moving beyond the Ivory Tower, I would like to dwell briefly in Aoki's notion of schools. Ultimately, the best kind of school would be neither the purely rational first school, or the manually instructional second. Aoki would like us to indulge in a school that focuses "primarily to being and becoming, a school that emphasizes and nurtures the becoming of human beings" (Beck, 126).
How does the teacher teach humanity? What is the lesson plan, worksheet or handout suppose to do if "doing" is not the goal? Aoki would say that it is not the product of an education that is important, but rather the process in which that education is achieved that matters. Aoki asks us to exist within a third space, an in-between, between the curriculum as planned and the curriculum as lived. In this way, the "doing" of a traditional lesson and the passive "being" of its students can join together in a "becoming". The lesson is never complete, nor are its students, both are in a continual state of change, or bettering. Hopefully.
I believe that in moving beyond the Ivory Tower, the goal must be this state of bettering. Can I push off from the rocky crag, that solid ground that forms the foundation of all traditional, formal education and thrust myself into deeper waters, head high? Will I fight the water, or will I embrace its turbulence? Or will I be spat out, cast off as an outsider? I can only take a deep breath and swim.
Beck, K. (2009). "Seeking the "inter": Contextualizing, Contesting and Reconceptualizing internationalization of Curriculum". In James Nahachewsky and Ingrid Johnston (Eds.), Beyond 'Presentism' Re-imagining the Historical, Personal, and Social Places of Curriculum. (123-137). Rotterdam, The Netherlands: Sense Publishers.
In moving beyond the Ivory Tower, I would like to dwell briefly in Aoki's notion of schools. Ultimately, the best kind of school would be neither the purely rational first school, or the manually instructional second. Aoki would like us to indulge in a school that focuses "primarily to being and becoming, a school that emphasizes and nurtures the becoming of human beings" (Beck, 126).
How does the teacher teach humanity? What is the lesson plan, worksheet or handout suppose to do if "doing" is not the goal? Aoki would say that it is not the product of an education that is important, but rather the process in which that education is achieved that matters. Aoki asks us to exist within a third space, an in-between, between the curriculum as planned and the curriculum as lived. In this way, the "doing" of a traditional lesson and the passive "being" of its students can join together in a "becoming". The lesson is never complete, nor are its students, both are in a continual state of change, or bettering. Hopefully.
I believe that in moving beyond the Ivory Tower, the goal must be this state of bettering. Can I push off from the rocky crag, that solid ground that forms the foundation of all traditional, formal education and thrust myself into deeper waters, head high? Will I fight the water, or will I embrace its turbulence? Or will I be spat out, cast off as an outsider? I can only take a deep breath and swim.
Beck, K. (2009). "Seeking the "inter": Contextualizing, Contesting and Reconceptualizing internationalization of Curriculum". In James Nahachewsky and Ingrid Johnston (Eds.), Beyond 'Presentism' Re-imagining the Historical, Personal, and Social Places of Curriculum. (123-137). Rotterdam, The Netherlands: Sense Publishers.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
The Ivory Tower
Ivory Tower, n.
A condition of seclusion or separation from the world; in general, protection or shelter from the harsh realities of life (OED online, 2012).
A condition of seclusion or separation from the world; in general, protection or shelter from the harsh realities of life (OED online, 2012).
I can't remember where or when I first heard the term, the Ivory Tower. For some reason, it makes me think of my father reading J.R.R. Tolkien to myself and my brother when we were children. I believe that Gandalf, the wizard, had to report to an ivory tower at some point, although I may be making this up.
Apparently, the origins of the word are not from a bed-time story, but the songs of Solomon, "Thy neck is as a tower of ivory" (King James Bible, Song of Solomon, 7:4). It later became an epithet for Mary, largely due to the idea of the purity of Mary, mother to the son of God.
The Modern English usage took the biblical idea of purity and twisted it. In 1911, a text entitled, laughter by C. S. H. Brereton & F. Rothwell described a purity that was separate from reality, "Each member [of society] must be ever attentive to his social surrounding; he must avoid shutting himself up in his own peculiar character as a philosopher in his ivory tower" (OED, 2012). The Ivory Tower has become a particular critique of Academia whose subject matter can have little bearing outside the realm of academia itself.
Gandalf aside, my personal experiences with the Ivory Tower are many and varied. I am currently in my eighth year of post-secondary instruction, having received an English degree, then going back for an Education degree, and now pursuing a Master's of Education. I have been told by fellow teachers that a Master's degree is largely a waste of time. The Ivory tower's walls are too thick and too high to see very far. The theoretical musings of its professors are too oblique and too vague for any practical application. I was instructed that my best bet was to jump through the hoops, get the degree (and the subsequent increase in pay), and move on.
This blog is my attempt to scale the tower's walls, to find a middle-ground between the practical and the theoretical, to lash the tower to the school and prove, to myself and to others, the purity of the Ivory Tower is not its downfall.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)