won’t miss her on the days when she skips? What will happen on the days she does come to class? Will she sometimes pretend to take notes but actually write stories and poems in her notebooks? Will she sometimes have no writing ideas and instead draw little caterpillars with the same number of segments as minutes left in the period, filling in a segment for every minute that goes by, using the caterpillar as a measure of hope that eventually she’ll be set free?
When our son Jason gets to middle school, what will his experience be like? Will it be like his father’s? Will he be too much of a behavior problem to place into the “smart class,” even though he’s bright? Will he be condemned to sink to the low expectations of teachers who have given up on him? Will he read ahead in his history book but find no one with whom he can share his discoveries? And if he makes his way into regular education, or even an advanced class, will he talk too much in an effort to prove he belongs? Maybe he’ll turn out to be good at cello, and music will be the one period in his schedule that lets him interact with the bright students. Or maybe he’ll get into so many fights that his principal will invite him to come to school early for extra recess to get his energy out. Maybe at morning recess he’ll bond with a deviant peer group who will comprise the heart and soul of his high school’s wrestling team. And even if he goes on to succeed in high school and get into a great college, what will become of those friends he left behind?
These are only partial stories of what school was like for us. The other side is that when we were in school, we both read books that made us think and wonder. We learned about issues that held our attention long after the unit was over and did work we felt personally invested in. We both had teachers who made us feel like we mattered. Our school experiences were mostly good. They must have been, because we both chose to continue attending school far beyond when it was mandatory. By the time we were getting advanced degrees, we’d stopped seeing school as something done to us—as if it were an assembly line and we were the products—and started seeing school as something we were actively doing, as if it were a workshop and we were artisans crafting our own lives, guided by our own values. Do our students have to wait until after graduation to see school that way, or is it possible for us to empower them to actively participate in school right now?
Our students might not feel particularly empowered. They don’t design the curriculum. They don’t decide which teachers they get; how they’re taught and assessed; which peers are in their classes; how much homework they have; how many hours, days, and years school lasts; or what graduation entails. But while students can’t determine what happens at school, they can choose how they want to approach school. What if they could learn to approach school as a set of opportunities to serve their values?
This book shows middle and high school teachers how to help students do just that. All tools are for grades 6–12 and teachers can adapt them based on their students’ characteristics. Part I suggests a variety of activities that help students discover and develop their own values, imagine assignments and interactions as opportunities to serve their values, and overcome barriers to enacting their values at school. Part II offers strategies teachers can use to turn each part of their own work into a context for empowering students. The ultimate goal in both parts is for students to transform what school means—from a set of demands placed upon them into opportunities to make their lives meaningful. But first, let’s see how students respond when school means complying with someone else’s demands, how they might instead decide for themselves what school means, the role values play in transforming what school means, and how transforming school’s meaning is empowering.
Reframing School
We give our students a wide variety of tasks to perform. Have a seat. Read chapter 17 and take notes. Build the highest possible tower out of toothpicks and marshmallows. Calculate the molarity of this solution. Draw this vase. Circle all the direct objects. Fill in the bubble next to the best answer. How many tasks are students given in a school day? A year? A K–12 career?
Let’s look at how students respond to such demands. Imagine that in a seventh-grade history class, students have been given a physical map of North America and are asked to write a two-page analysis of how physical geography impacts a region’s economy. Riley cares about thinking deeply, but she also has trouble expressing her thoughts in writing, and she quickly gets stuck. She looks around the room and notices all of her classmates typing away. “I hate essays,” she thinks. She starts coloring in the lakes and rivers on her map, wears down the point of her pencil, and gets up to sharpen it. The noise gets the attention of her teacher, who chin-points her back to her seat. Riley says she isn’t feeling well and needs to go to the nurse.
Riley is avoiding the task. Putting heads on desks, looking at the clock, texting, whispering, skipping assignments, skipping class, sighing, groaning, complaining, doing the minimum amount of work, staring out the window, doodling—the list of behaviors that students use to avoid doing their schoolwork is depressingly long.
But even when students look engaged, they might be avoiding learning. Sitting next to Riley is Andre. Andre is very bright and cares about expressing his ideas. In fact, he writes lyrically complex songs in his spare time (and sometimes during class), and he’s a fairly regular contributor to the school newspaper. But when he gets the history essay assignment, he doesn’t feel inspired like when he’s working on a song or opinion piece. He decides to write about the Appalachian region because his teacher talked about it a lot. He types up what he remembers her saying, knowing his teachers usually like his writing and that he’ll probably get an acceptable grade.
As far as his teacher can see, Andre is deeply involved in his work. That’s because he isn’t avoiding the task (like Riley), but he is avoiding the challenge. Perhaps you’ve seen students choose topics or classes they think are easy; they know they can do a good job and get a good grade, but they’re avoiding the effort that might lead to better learning.
Next to Andre is Jake. Jake loves big ideas, often imagines alternative explanations, and shares his creative thinking during class discussions. But this isn’t a class discussion. It’s a graded assignment, and Jake feels anxious. He goes to his teacher’s desk and says he thinks he’s going to write about mining and recreation along the Western Cordillera. His teacher asks what his question is, and Jake says, “I just wanted to see if that was OK.” A few minutes later, Jake returns with his laptop. His word processing program is suggesting that the word Cordillera should be corrected to Cordially. The teacher says to leave it. After a few more minutes, Jake is back, asking, “Is it OK if I switch my topic? I want to write about the fishing and oil industries in the Gulf Coast region.” The teacher asks if this is because of the Cordillera thing, and Jake insists that he just wants to write about the Gulf Coast. “I made a new outline; do you want to see it?” The teacher says she’s sure it’s fine and sends Jake back to his desk to write. As class ends and most students turn in their essays, Jake is still working. “Can I finish at home?” he asks. When the teacher says no, he asks, “Is it OK if it’s almost two pages?” Yes, says the teacher, it’s fine. Jake prints and hands in the essay, and on his way out of the classroom he asks the teacher, “When do you think you’ll grade these?”
Jake most certainly isn’t avoiding the task, and neither is he avoiding the challenge. He might end up with a great essay, and he might learn a little bit about how to improve his writing. He might even bump up his grade, especially if his teacher rewards frequency of class participation or effort. But by asking for so much guidance, he’s avoiding the critical and creative process of choosing what and how to write, so he’s not growing much as a writer. When students ask for a lot of approval, or when they politely and obediently do as they’re told, undoubtedly they’re getting something out of following instructions. But they might also be avoiding the questioning, doubting, debating, and decision-making behaviors that involve more risk but that lead to deeper
