Engaged Learning

In this post I will write about two examples of engaged learning, one long-term, one short-term.  These were successes and I am proud of them.  But even “failures”--and there have been many--can be a spur to make learning better.  But we often must take a risk and avoid pat formulas, the safe path, over-reliance on texts.  There is no textbook on life and learning that I know about, so lessons, too, should not be textbook bound, though they can be textbook-based.  For me, all textbooks are just one more resource to use.  They are not sacred scripture.              

I was asked to do a long-term substitution at the local high school in the ESL (English as a Second Language) program.  The point of this class, I was told, was to prepare the twenty or so students, many of whom were newly arrived in the country from Mexico, to pass the state English examination (AZELLA).  All of the students were primarily Spanish speaking. Though some had lived many years in the United States, their homes were Spanish-speaking.  These spoke well, but reading and writing were, generally, poor.  All had relatives in Mexico whom they visited at least once a year. 

            The ESL students were segregated with me from the rest of the school in the mornings: 8 AM –11:30 AM.  Of course, their instinct was to speak Spanish, because that was the best language for all of them.  The textbook provided was for me a nightmare of well-intentioned but mind-numbing short readings about irrelevant topics, with reading, writing and speaking exercises at the back.  I had faced such “obstacles” before in Japan, where, if possible, the texts were even worse.  I refuse to use such books.  So I went into my first university class in Japan and said: ‘You see this!”  I held-up the textbook.  All the students dutifully held it up.  Then I threw it in the wastebasket.  Their collective gasp may still be reverberating through the universe.   But we had a great time after that.  OK, back to my Arizona highschool.

            I manfully tried for about a week to use the textbook, but I couldn’t.  The students were unresponsive, bored, or resentful.  Me, too.  Some were just plain homesick.  So the second Monday I drew on my bags of tricks from Japan.  I walked in and told them this wasn’t working, so we were going to do other things.  What, exactly?  Well, I wasn’t quite sure myself, but, like life, we would kind of make-it-up as we went along.

            Some things I knew: they all loved and knew about Mexico; they wanted to be in the United States, but language held them back; many of the boys loved soccer; the girls loved boys and shopping; school was less than a fun way to spend your day.  That’s a pretty good curriculum.

            I allowed them to bring in a Mexican flag and in the morning we would often repeat the equivalent of the Mexican pledge of allegiance—after translating it into English.  I had them translate some of the school’s documents into Spanish, so they would not get in trouble for violating rules.  Every morning on the front whiteboard I wrote a conversation that I had created with some words missing, some poor punctuation, mis-spellings, etc.  They had to write and then fix the conversation.  They could help each other.  Then we went over the conversation together and fixed every mistake.  I played current music and we wrote out the lyrics, then I gave them the full lyrics and listened again.  So much of learning language is learning its rhythm.  I had them write stories of their lives in Mexico.  They drew pictures of their homes in Mexico and labeled everything.  They wrote poems—some quite good.  They did projects, drama.  One young but very shy artist had freedom to draw on the other whiteboard at any time.  I got short English readings off the Internet about Mexican history and culture, or about well-known Mexican-Americans.  They were familiar with these subjects, so the English was the only thing they had to learn.  The boys often made weekly reports of their soccer exploits.  The girls would speak of their work or shopping.  I taught them English phrases for these things.  Again, they knew what they were doing.  They just couldn’t say it in English.  I talked in Spanglish for them, for comedy relief.  They would teach me Spanish--also for comedy relief.  I taught them some words in Japanese.  They loved that.  

             Occasionally I took them outside, where they could look at Nature, play soccer, put on their make-up, etc, and all in English.  They memorized the Gettysburg Address.  It is not just short, but also it is masterful English.  Lincoln was one of our best writers.  Always use examples of the best of a language.  Try not to dumb it down.  I gave them opportunities to do other subjects—math, history, science—if they a test coming up in that subject, and we would do it in English.  They could help each other, but try to help in English.  And some times, usually the last afternoon of the week, would be Spanish time.  They needed a break, and so did I.

            Meanwhile, the AZELLA test grew moldy on the shelf.  Test-day was approaching and there were about 6 students whom I felt had a chance to pass it.  It was a difficult test and I knew from the get-go that the ones recently arrived from Mexico would never pass this year.  But I had hopes for the 6.

            Long story short: 5 of the kids passed.  It was, the principal said, an unprecedented number.  The regular teacher returned and I had to turn over “my kids” to her.  But we remain friends.  When I go back for an occasional one-day substitution many will seek me out to say hello.          

The other story is about a small group of football players.  I was called in to "substitute teach"—something of an oxymoron—a history class.  These guys were not history buffs, to say the least.  So the object of their time in this class was to create as much mayhem as possible.  The “lesson” given to me was about the signers of the Declaration of Independence.  Students were to read the chapter and do the questions at the end of the chapter.  These guys, all sitting together of course, immediately got to work whispering, throwing wads of paper at the “nerdy” kids, asking to go for a drink of water.  The usual stuff I did during high school.  So I went over to them.  Their faces were set for a confrontation.  I asked them what they liked to do.  They said “Football.”  I asked, "How did your team do this year?”  It seems they did poorly, and the blame seemed to them to be the coach’s lack of creative play calling.  “Do you guys have ideas for plays?, I asked.  “Hell, yeah!”  I ignored the profanity.  “OK.  Then each of you design for me one offensive play and then design the defense to stop it.”  They did not believe me.  So I repeated—very slowly for their now stupefied brains—my instructions.  They blinked, looked at each other seeking for guidance.  They had obviously just met the Mad Hatter.  Slowly they got paper and pencil out, looking at me the whole time to detect some sign that this was a clever set-up.  But I walked away.  They began to buzz earnestly, but in low voices: X’s and O’s appeared on their papers.  They were engaged in meaningful and pleasurable learning and sharing.  Time flew by.  Near the end of class I asked to see their work, which they showed me.  It wasn’t bad.  I told them: “Show this to your coach.”  One howled as if I had bitten off a chunk of his arm.  "He'll never listen" they chorused.  I said with some heat, "If you guys are serious about football, then be pro active and fix your situation.  Don’t come into my class with your frustrations and take it out on me and the others.”  Class was dismissed.

            I don’t know if they showed the coach their drawings.  I hope so.  My point was not just to create a quiet classroom for the more academically-minded.  I did not care if they ever knew who signed the Declaration of Independence.  I cared about getting them to live their life, which was, in good part, centered upon football.  Use student interest to build lessons.

            I would love to read reactions to these examples, and for others to give examples of engaged learning.