Tag Archives: students

Quotables — Hell, ZINGERS — from Student History Blogs

If you enjoy the pens of these two 14-year-olds in their first-ever blog posts the way I did, click through and tell them. (They’re responding to a chapter in Anglican Bishop John Shelby Spong’s The Sins of Scripture on sexism in world religions. Sign up for Spong’s inspiring weekly newsletter here.) Cross-posted from our class blog:

Cults and new religious movements in literatur...

[Note: When I say "Oh, yes!", I'm talking about the writing as much as the ideas.]

Oh yes:

God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept and God took one of his ribs. When this was stated in the book it made me realize: woman are like the spare parts put together to ‘make me a sandwich.’

–(read the rest on purplepony)

And oh yes, yes:

…let’s move on to Christianity, the single most practiced religion, and incredibly sexist.  A good place to start is the beginning: Genesis.  When God noticed that Adam was alone, he made many animals to be his companion, such as the cow, horse, camel, pig, and cat to try to comfort him, but he wasn’t satisfied.  So he took one of Adam’s ribs and made woman.  So…what have we learned?  Women were God’s backup plan AFTER the cow, pig, and cat. . . . And how could an animal such as a woman argue with the divine will of God?  This is why women can’t be female preachers.  It would be defying the very will of God.

–(read qwertyuiops‘ full post for a skilled conclusion, especially)

These lines prove that great writing can happen at 14. And I mean great.


On Using Technology Without Understanding It

This editorial from our high school student newspaper is a must-read for its criticism of the school-wide technology integration initiative. It’s a must-read for other reasons too — and other readers — but read it first, and we’ll get to that very different party afterward.

hs edtech editorial
hs edtech editorial 2

The first thing I did when I read this was mentally applaud.

The second thing I did was wish I could reply to it and, better still, promote it for a wider audience than the guaranteed one in the schoolhouse (I’ve always thought school newspapers were a bit like busywork, since they were monopolies without real-world competition, and had no incentive to earn a bigger audience through superior quality — especially silly in the Information Digital Age).

I wanted to start a conversation with the writer, share ideas and viewpoints, extend the topic — you know, basically learn more from her, and ideally give such quality feedback in my comments that maybe the author would learn more too. Surely she knew that authors have far less authority in the Information Digital Age, that the nature of those things called texts and authors has been revolutionized by the ability of readers to write on the same page, to (in the language of AP exams) “challenge, qualify, and extend” the author’s ideas and words and worldview.

Surely she knew that the 21st Century writer learns as much from the 21st Century reader as the reader does from the writer. (Because 21st Century readers — the best ones, anyway — write with the writer. Just look at Nobel-winning economist Paul Krugman’s blog, all the references he makes in his writing to what his readers are saying in comments. Look at Rolling Stones’ Matt Taibbi having conversations with his readers in the space beneath his articles — you know, those silly “forum”-like things. Just look.)

So yeah, I wanted to respond to it, and share to the world here on my (real) blog. I thought the writing and the critique of the rush to laptop use in the classroom were that good.

But the editorial was on that precious resource and traditional tool called — what was it? It’s been so long since I’ve written on it — oh yeah, paper, so no luck there (for me, or the forests, or the atmosphere, or the students’ future environmental situation).

The third thing I did was figure, since the student says her “generation is more than adept at using technology,” that she would surely know that journalism lives more and more online now, that print news is dying. Since she says, after all, that she’s a “member of the Information Age,” she would know that the Huffington Post — a newpaper that has never been in print — eclipsed the venerable old Washington Post (that traditional newspaper that actually still uses paper) to take the number 2 spot, after the New York Times, in total traffic last September. I figured she’d know that the, what shall we call it?,  traditional NYTimes itself is taking out loans on its headquarters building, due to its almost nonexistent profit margins in this post-Gutenberg age. But surely this student knew all this stuff too, because I’m sure she uses an RSS reader, and reads links from the thousand smart people she’s built up in her Twitter network — surely Tweetdeck is one of the applications open at the bottom of her screen, and surely it’s populated not by people who share her blood or her table at the school cafeteria, like most of the silly Facebook crowd, but by like-minded peers (and unlike-minded ones) around the world.

Surely she uses these by-now old tools to stay more informed about the world than people who don’t use them.

I figured, in short, that I could find an online version of the editorial — since the student surely knew that that’s not only writing’s future, it’s its present — and be able to respond to it, and promote it to all of you readers dotting the six inhabited continents on my nifty Clustrmap at the bottom of the right sidebar. A simple select, copy, paste, and link to her site so my blog’s readers could follow the link, join the conversation, share their praise (and their experience).  Maybe offer her an internship if they’re in the publishing biz, since I figured her blog would surely have a “Contact Me” page for just such possibilities. I mean, she’s technically adept, after all, and so used to troubleshooting Internet Explorer for her parents. (She surely dropped IE long ago with most geeks in favor of Firefox, Opera, Chrome, Safari, or whatever. It’s a parent thing, surely.)

The fourth thing I did was search for the online version of the paper and, sure enough, I found it — in pdf. You know, the format where, as I saw Will Richardson put it, “good ideas go to die.”

And that almost totally changed my view of the editorial. I couldn’t comment. I couldn’t read other students’, teachers’, administrators’, parents’, and purely authentic Readers-from-the-Brave-New-Web’s ideas about the text. I couldn’t copy and paste the most interesting ideas in the text for fine-grained commentary here, and link to the article to send you there. Instead, I had to take screenshots of it and upload it here. All of which suggested to me that, contrary to the claims of “adeptness” and expertise in the editorial, the editorial writer(s) have much more to learn than they realize.

Parting shots: Last month I took three days off of school to fly to the beach in Australia, all expenses paid, in order to give a talk to an educational technology conference. I got the offer via the “Contact Me” page on this blog, from a reader of this blog I’d never met (because while she did read, I’m not aware of her ever commenting). She invited me to speak simply by virtue of the fact that she said she was a long-time reader who liked what she read here.

Here. On a simple blog.

That wouldn’t have happened if I thought pdf was good enough for the 21st Century writer.

A couple months before that, I got another “Contact Me” bite from a PBS TV documentary producer asking if I’d be available to be a talking head on a show they were doing about classic literature — for the first episode, to be exact, which was about none other than Gilgamesh, about which I’ve written about 20,000 words over the last year here, on this simple blog. She’d read my take, and said it was exactly the kind of approach and tone her team wanted for the show.

That, too, wouldn’t have happened if I thought pdf was good enough for the 21st Century writer.

But at that Australia conference, much of what I said actually agreed with what the student editorial said: I agree that teachers can be excellent at what they do without technology. I agree that, worse still, pushing teachers to use technology before they’re trained, experienced, and ready can indeed lead to worse teaching and worse learning. I really do think the student writer’s criticisms along these lines should be taken very, very seriously. I’ve been in this world long enough to believe that we can’t push the reluctant to use it, and that that’s a fool’s errand. The best we can do is “pull,” I said in Australia. But even that word is wrong, since it still requires more energy than is sustainable for teachers. Now I believe the best we can do is simply attract. The sun isn’t getting muscle fatigue keeping the planets in orbit. It’s simply attracting them, effortlessly, because of its impressive mass. Teachers should be suns in this way, and students the planets worth keeping in orbit. Those with ears, let them hear.

But. What I hope I’ve given the writer pause to reflect on in all of the above is that having “six or seven apps” open on your computer, doing Facebook, and helping Mom with IE is nothing special. It’s about as impressive as publishing to pdf.

And: Here’s my pitch, and it’s to you, student editorial writer, whoever you are:

Our school is going 1:1 next year whether we like it or not. And I’m not sure I like it myself, since I’ve taught at a 1:1 laptop school before, and really wonder, as I wrote lately, if “the Web is too beautiful to waste on the young.”

Because just as you’re arguing that admin shouldn’t force teachers who don’t want to learn new ways to do their job, I’d much rather not force students to learn what I’ve learned after three or four years of self-publishing, podcasting, networking, and more. I’d much rather invite the “three out of a thousand” I see every year to come by after class so I can say, “You’re a great writer (or speaker, or artist, or photographer, or whatever), and if you want my support in sharing your uniqueness with more than the school hallway or your bedroom file cabinet, I’ll show you some things that have worked for me. They might lead places for you.”

Moreover, I’d much rather you use the laptops at home to watch podcasted lectures and whatnot, and come to school to discuss, write, plan, create in a workshop-style setting that applies what you learned on your laptop the night before.

And I have no interest in playing cop to your generation’s Facebook addiction in the classroom. Sometimes I wonder why I should have to. Students who choose to spend their school time writing graffiti on Facebook (and not, in the traditional way, on their schooldesk) instead of learning from the web activity that the teacher, after all, ideally has judged as worth their time  — that’s their choice. It’s a choice not to rise. Maybe they shouldn’t rise, then, and they should go ahead and practice their spelling of “LOL,” “wtf?”, and “rotfl.”  Meanwhile, the teacher can focus on the students in the room who want to learn, and to peacefully pursue future superiority over the Facebook scribblers sitting next to them. It’s a lesson in real-world responsibility. Sometimes we have to do things we’d rather not do, or suffer the consequences.

And while I’m not sure I believe that, this I do believe: It’s going to be messy for all of us.

And you, student, whoever you are, can help make it less messy. You took a good first step by articulating the problems you say students are talking about. Now take the next step: get those students to join you in generating solutions. (Read my “Recession Skills 101″ posts here, here, and here to get my take on how you should see yourself as a stakeholder in your education — as basically an employee who’s expected to contribute to the betterment of the company.)

Do it openly, do it professionally, do it maturely, and do it constructively. Don’t name names and if you’re going to stab something, stab a solution.

How can you do that? The simplest way would be to start a blog — or turn the newspaper into one.

And one last thing: as you’re helping the school try to launch this thing, as you’re suggesting your changes and communicating your point of view, don’t forget to be open to changing your mind and learning something new. Because there’s more to the web — to “blogs, wikis, and forums,” to quote your example (did you know the CIA and United Nations use wikis now?) — than you seem to understand.

And that’s true for all of us.

Godin Sees It Too: “Recession Skills 101″?

It’s in the air — and in this economy, it’s no surprise.

I felt it here, noticed Paul Krugman touching it here, and now Seth Godin here:

[W]hen we ask you to look people in the eye, be creative, brainstorm, be generous, find a way to satisfy an angry customer, work with a bully, learn a new skill or bring joy to work, suddenly the excuses pile up. Is this a different sort of work? Is raising your hand in class too much to ask of you?

The jobs most of us would like to have are jobs like this. And yet we put up a fight when given the chance to do them well. [whole post here]

I started to bold print certain phrases, but really the whole thing deserves emphasis.

The people who haven’t caught wind of it? In my experience this year in the classroom: students.

It needs a name — maybe even a whole class. How about “Recession Skills 101“?

On Laxatives and GPA’s

Were, in a fire of becoming,
Laboring to be burned away,
Then work, half-measuring, half-humming,
Would be as serious as play.
–John Hollander, “Adam’s Task

Still tunneling out of the avalanche of semester exams (have I mentioned I love my ninth graders in Western Civ? Exam essay quote: “Without the Reformation, Obama would be planning his Pakistan policy with the Pope.”), but I can’t let Paul Krugman — you know, the Nobel Prize-winning economist and NYTimes columnist — get away without tying his recent observation about the limitations of “mere” academic excellence to what I yammered about in the last post.

Krugman marks the passing of economic theorist Paul Samuelson. After summarizing eight — count ‘em, eight — of Samuelson’s seminal contributions to economic thought, and noting that any one of them would be enough to win him a seat in intellectual history, Krugman asks:

So how did he do it? By being smarter than anyone else, of course. But there were also, I’d suggest, two aspects of Samuelson’s intellectual makeup that empowered his intellectual quest.

The first was his playfulness. Read Samuelson’s work, and what you get is the sense of a man who, rather than sitting down to write Very Serious Papers, was having fun with ideas. Sometimes the playfulness boiled over into inspired silliness. Look at footnote #9 in his overlapping-generations paper, where he writes: “Surely, no sentence beginning with the word ‘surely’ can validly contain a question mark at its end? However, one paradox is enough for one article …” It seems clear to me that Samuelson’s playfulness liberated his imagination, and fueled his creativity. [emphasis added]

That Nobel Guy Sure is Smart

And to tie that in with my last post, real simply: some readers who didn’t read me closely enough (or closely at all, since I said it clearly) claimed I was saying “academic excellence” doesn’t matter, when what I said was that it doesn’t separate one 4.0 egg-head  from his or her numerically identical twins,  while social intelligence does. In a room full of 4.0′s, we’re going to want to work with the ones we’d give a 4.0 to for attitude and personality — professional attitude and personality, which I argue doesn’t mean “stiff” and “buttoned-up” (what I call “constipated” in my buttoned-down moments), but rather smart people who are also  engaged, engaging, and passionate about the work at hand. And I argue that takes social intelligence, because I’m sure I’m not the only person who’s all-too-familiar with “passionate professionals” who, owing to social ineptness, only alienate and anger their colleagues. It’s much nicer and more pleasant when they’re smart enough to be, well — nicer and more pleasant. Which takes smarts.

What I love about Krugman’s excerpt above is his identification of another intelligence — creativity, which he nicely links to “playfulness” and “fun” — that, Krugman believes, enabled Samuelson’s superior academic performance and insight.  Creative types aren’t doing it (only) for the grade (or _your extrinsic carrot here_), and it’s tempting to argue the converse: their academic creativity results in the grade (or other carrot). They invite complex subjects over for a private mental  cocktail party, entertain and have a good time with them, and share the proceedings with us in their texts and talks. And that’s why we like them more than the extrinsically-motivated grade-grubbers doing it perfectly, but without heart or spirit. (Those types risk becoming what Alexander Pope, in his “Essay on Criticism,” called “The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read/ With loads of learned lumber in his head.”)

TED Talks is really all about this sort of buttoned-down, socially intelligent, and creative intellectualism.

Code: Lesson 2

It takes social intelligence to know how to button-down in spirit, and not just in form. Losing the tie is not the same thing as losing the constipation, as anyone literate in body and facial language knows. How we move, sit, stand, arrange our faces, choose what to say and how to say it, are all forms of writing by which others read us; we’re walking texts, in this sense. And our whiz-kids need to be taught this, since so many of them clearly need it.

I could go on forever about this, and probably need to, because I can hear the rumblings before the comments are even formed (so let me say, again, that I’m not saying academics don’t matter, but that so much else matters as well — especially in a landscape of diminishing opportunities). I’ll just close this sermon by saying that what I’m saying is nothing new to adults, but it is to kids. We’ve conditioned them to think that all work, no play, and 4.0 gpa makes Johnny a success, when they really, as the old saw goes, make him a “very dull boy.”

Now back — half-measuring, half-humming — to the grading.