The Art of Questioning

I would never wish upon my worst enemy (if I had one in the first place) the trials and tribulations of a first year teacher. It is such an uncertain time, in every sense of the word. I remember doubting myself, my choice of profession, my knowledge of my content area, my ability to gain respect from my students, my ability, in turn, to respect them, and, in general, my capacity to reach my students and make a difference—just to name a few. Four years later, some of my doubts have been laid to rest. For example, I am positive that no other job, at this time of my life, could bring me as much happiness. I feel like I have been called to do what I do, and I am grateful to have answered it. That said, not all of the questions, concerns, and doubts of my first few years of teaching are answered. Teachers, decent ones anyways, seem to naturally adopt a certain “trial and error” mentality that is attached to our “call of duty.” We are constantly questioning our lesson plans, methods, our overall effectiveness and success of our students. What worked? What didn’t? Why?

My English 530 professor recently assigned articles that addressed the need for teachers to question and conduct their own research in the classroom, and I couldn’t agree more. Most teachers recognize that in order to best service our students, we cannot rely on standardized testing and “Gold Star” research methods that turns our students into numbers, and blankets individual needs and diversity. In an age of “No Child Left Behind” the American public is closer and closer to relying solely on these means to understand how our students learn instead of recognizing and validating the voice of the teacher, who, above anyone, knows in turn the voices of the students. Like our students, teachers have a story to tell. The issue is that a)will teachers continue to question and seek methods of finding answers and b)will the public choose to listen.

I feel a bit lost at this point of my research, and the scary part is that I know that in many ways, this stage will be the easiest. But, where do I start? There are so many topics that I would like to pursue. Are students still profiting from “canonized” classics? Do the “Westernized” classics contradict our push for a diverse, multicultural curriculum? I have a feeling that most students graduate from high school without ever having fully read a novel—if this is true, how come? Why is it that students are just not reading and/or comprehending? How has technology limited literacy? How can I use both literature and writing to truly impact my students? So many questions….so little time. But, this is just the beginning. ..

Defining Adolescence

What does it mean to be an adolescent? It seems like a simple question on the surface that renders an equally simple response. However, here lies the problem. Like the question itself, the definition of adolescence is complex and, in many ways, subjective. Most would agree that adolescence is a “life stage” that is an essential component in the Westernized concept of “coming-of-age.” But our opinions on the topic doesn’t end there. We have serious connotations when it comes to generalizing young people, connotations that are a product of our social, political, cultural, ideological, and economical experiences. Consequently, this forms the foundation and ideas behind our pedagogy and curriculum in the education system. It makes sense: we will treat and educate our students based on how we view them, and we typically view them at best as “hormonally imbalanced,” “misunderstood,” and “awkward,” and at worst, “rebellious,” “lost,” and “incapable.” This, in turn, then works to define what “good” teaching is, and unfortunately, the art of teaching, at times, has become synonymous with the art of “managing” and “reining in” these lost young adults.

When thinking of how our culture views adolescents, I thought of Gwendolyn Brook’s poem, “We Real Cool.” In it, the poet describes in quite negative imagery what she believes are the thoughts and feelings of a group of seven young men who were playing pool during the middle of the school day. In an interview, Gwendolyn Brooks candidly responds to questions regarding the collective, “adolescent” voice of her poem “We Real Cool”:

They have no pretensions to any glamor. They are supposedly dropouts, or at least they're in the poolroom when they should possibly be in school, since they're probably young enough, or at least those I saw were when I looked in a poolroom. They're a little uncertain of the strength of their identity.

Mrs. Brooks, in her observation, makes several assumptions of her subjects. They must be skipping school, and thus they must be in all sorts of trouble (“sing sin,” “thin gin”). I happen to love this poem, but thinking of how we define adolescents made me see it in a new way. Essentially, the poem gives a voice to the adolescents—a voice that is pretty rebellious, complacent, and quite honestly, depressing.

What is the voice that we are giving our adolescent students by what we teach them and how we teach it? Are they speaking themselves or are we (parents, teachers, administrators, authors, etc) speaking for them?

“We Real Cool”

Gwendolyn Brooks

THE POOL PLAYERS.
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.

We real cool. We
Skip school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.