Arts, Crafts, and Historical Pedagogy

About the time I was beginning to interview with various school districts last year, the school at which I would eventually teach was in the process of becoming a "Visual and Performing Arts Anchor School." What this means, in short, is that I am expected to incorporate visual and performing arts content standards into my curriculum. For me, as a social science teacher, this means both teaching about the art of the cultures we study, and engaging the students in art projects themselves. The first element of the newly-instituted program I was immediately on board with; looking at a society's art is an excellent way to gain greater insight into the context of the times, and pieces of art can serve as great primary sources.

As far as the second element of the program, I had my reservations. If approached properly, art in the history classroom could be useful. But it seemed all to likely that incorporating art into my curriculum would turn into simply doing "fun" art projects, and sacrificing academic rigor and intellectual challenge for student engagement and entertainment. I knew it wouldn't have to be this way; indeed, this was certainly not the intent of the new program. However, I knew that one of my greates challenges would be to keep this from happening.

During the opening weeks of the school year, I did a few things here and there; we drew some pictures, analyzed some Mesopotamian bas-relief sculptures, but the heavy-duty art began as our unit on Ancient Egypt came to a close. You can see some of the sculpted sarcophagi above. They may look simple enough, but you should have seen the disaster that was my classroom at the end of the day. The custodian walked into my room and just about turned around and walked back out.

Later, we painted them:



















And we made and decorated pyramids to house them. (Thanks, by the way, to those loyal friends who spent a Saturday afternoon helping me cut the pyramids from giant sheets of core board.)





We sponge-painted the outsides with mixtures of brown and yellow paint (historical pedagogy momentarily aside, the mixing of paint was a great art lesson in itself for the students), and decorated the insides with designs inspired by art and hieroglyphs we had seen inside Egyptian tombs.

Now, the critically important question: What was the value, really, of this activity? Is there a chance my students' understanding of Egyptian art, religion, or culture was enhanced by what we did? Certainly they enjoyed it. Students usually apathetic were engaged, and those who are usually my most disruptive were my most helpful, generally speaking. But did they learn anything about historical thinking? Were they really growing and developing their minds in the way they ought to be doing in my classroom, or was this little more than a fun arts and crafts day, a publicly funded summer camp?

Now, don't get me wrong, artistic expression is a valuable part of a student's development as a person. I just hope that the way that I use art in my history classroom is not at odds with what I am trying to teach my students about history.

Confessions of a First Year Teacher in Mid-November

I wish my students knew, when I lose my temper and raise my voice, how disappointed I am in myself. I wish my students knew, when I act like I am fed up with them, how much I long to be that teacher who is always there for them. I wish my students could understand how I want to be patient, meek--how I want to take them by the hand and gently lead them, only I don't always know quite where we are going myself. I hope that, every once in a while, amidst the assignments, the grades, the tried patience, and the lunchtime detentions, that my students catch at least a glimpse of how much I love them and want them to succeed. And I hope they forgive me.

Last year, about this time, Rachel Lotan, the director of STEP, warned me and the other teacher-candidates in the program about the "November Slump," that time just before the holidays in which new teachers start to wonder why they didn't just go to law school instead. She assured us that the discouragement and questioning of one's career path were normal, and that they would indeed pass. I remember thinking the message had come a bit late for me, as I experienced my November Slump in October.

Oddly enough, the same thing happened to me this year. About the middle of last month, I was beginning to wonder if the sixth grade classroom really was the place for me. It wasn't just that the hours were long, the pay seemingly meager, and the work often thankless; my patience was wearing thinner and thinner, and the ability to apply all the great principles of pedagogy I learned at Stanford was eluding me. My heterogeneous groups were in a sorry state, formative assessments were rare and formative feedback rarer, and I had yet to teach my students how to source a historical document. It seemed my job had become 10% history teacher and 90% classroom manager, and I wasn't nearly as meek or patient a classroom manager as I would like to have been. Too many times, I would lose my patience in the classroom, only to reflect during my commute home on how really it was my fault in that I hadn't made my expectations clear, or hadn't structured the classroom environment in a way that would really facilitate student success. For the first time in years, I allowed myself to question whether teaching was really right for me.

Fortunately, the fit of madness passed, and things started looking up. I began to realize that I needed to forgive myself for being human, and that as I did, so would my students. I revisited some of the classroom management strategies I learned last year, and added a few new ones to my arsenal. A friend and veteran teacher pointed out that spending time teaching sixth graders how good students behave really is just as valuable as (perhaps more valuable than) teaching them about the rise and fall of ancient empires. As I took on this point of view, I found that I resented less the time spent teaching appropriate behavior rather than content, I started to enjoy myself more, and, incidentally, behavior problems decreased.

So, when my sixth period class spiraled out of control today, and I lost my temper with them yet again, it was that much more discouraging. I know better, I know my students know better, and they deserve a teacher who can keep his cool while reminding them that they know better. Later in the day, when I found myself on Stanford campus, I began again to entertain the idea of returning to Stanford for a Ph.D. Of course I couldn't return to graduate school as an escape from the classroom, and I certainly need to spend more time in the classroom before I would have credibility as a Ph.D candidate anyway, but it is a tempting thought. Until that time, I'm fortunate that I have friends who have been teaching a few years longer than I have who remind me that I don't have to be perfect in my first year, or even in my second, third, or fourth years.

A Few Scattered Thoughts

Me: Class, can anyone tell me whose faces we see here on Mt. Rushmore?

Student: Oooo, Oooo, I know Mr. Douglas--George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and...George Clooney!



I've been remiss in writing recently, but I've had several thoughts in the last few weeks that I want to capture. Here are three reflections on my classroom experiences over the last month or so:

Leaving the Kids with a Sitter

Several weeks ago, I left my students with a substitute teacher for the first time. Now, I don't have any children myself, but I imagine that what I felt upon leaving my students with a sub might not be to dissimilar from what a parent feels upon leaving his child with a baby sitter for the first time. I spent a significant amount of time the day before instructing my students on how to treat the substitute with the proper respect--remembering, of course, what we did to substitute teachers when I was in sixth grade. The day I was out, I spent most of the day worrying about how my students were treating the substitute, but also worrying about how my students might be faring with the substitute: would she follow the instructions I had left? Would she be sensitive to the needs of my English language learners, or to my students with special needs? Would she be mindful of the emotionally sensitive child who is all to often picked on by her classmates? As pleasant as it was to take a brief break, I've decided that I much prefer to be with my students, even when they are difficult and when they try my patience. I also learned that, when I must be out, it's in my interest to find a rather unpleasant substitute--it helps my kids to appreciate me that much more.

Playing "The Game"

In my credentialing program, we often spoke of students learning to play "the game of school"--the set of unwritten, unarticulated rules for success in the public school system. The idea was that knowledge of this "game," with rules written and enforced by the culture of power, could facilitate academic success independent of understanding of content or intellectual ability.

I think I've discovered another game that is played in the classroom. I've noticed an interesting pattern among students I keep after class for disruption. The conversation during class might go something like this:

Me: Travis, we do not throw paper/shoot spitwads/chew gum/listen to ipods in this classroom.
Student: What? Me? But I didn't do anything, I was just sitting here..
Me: No need to be dishonest, I saw what happened, it just needs to stop now.
Student: No, Mr. Douglas, I swear, it wasn't me...

This could go on for several minutes. Some students, I think, would like for it to go on for longer. I stop it by telling them we'll discuss it after class, and this is how the conversation picks up:

Me: Now Travis, tell me honestly, were you throwing paper/shooting spitwads/chewing gum/listening to your ipod during class?
Student [with surprising meekness]: Yes, Mr. Douglas. I'm sorry.

The change in attitude, in demeanor, is surprising, but perhaps even more surprising is the ease with which they admit to wrongdoing when their classmates aren't watching. Now, their classmates all know what they were doing, to be sure, but they won't admit it, won't "lose face" in front of the class. It's almost as if the bell signals a "time out" in the classroom game, when the rules change, and it is somehow less threatening to admit to the teacher that it was, in fact, you who just threw that paper airplane. Or, perhaps its simply that, once the bell has rung, they know the easiest way to get me to release them is to admit guilt, actual or imagined.

If only teachers really did have eyes on the backs of their heads.

Columns and Rows

Last fall, as an assignment for a course in classroom management, I had to sketch my ideal classroom layout, paying attention to such things as where students attention would be focused, how easily all student could see the board, how easily students might transition from whole-class discussion to small groups, and in general what kinds of messages the layout would send about the desired culture of the classroom. It didn't seem like a terribly significant assignment at the time; at any rate, I had minimal control over the physical layout of my classroom as a student teacher because it was not, in fact, my classroom. Now, however, I am awed at just how much time and thought I have put into the physical layout of my classroom. Even before school started, I went through at least three or for iterations of my original "ideal" desk configuration. The one I finally settled on looked something like this:
I hoped it would provide a good compromise between rows and a circle-- a setup that would facilitate class discussion, but would also establish the front of the room as the primary focal point. It only took me a couple of weeks to decide that I really disliked this setup, however. Whichever half of the class I faced, I always had my back to the other half. I've discovered that, with sixth graders, it's best if I can see them all at once, all the time. Now, I have them in groups of four that easily transition into rows if necessary (pictures of this setup are on their way), but I'm beginning to discover some drawbacks to this setup as well. Part of the problem, I think, is that the students simply get to comfortable, so I have to change things up every once in a while to keep them on their toes. So, now, it's back to the drawing board for my classroom layout.