
It’s so tempting sometimes to actually teach my kids some history. But I can’t.
Well, I CAN – it’s just I know I shouldn’t. Not very often. Teaching them stuff is, um… bad.
Direct instruction has been weighed and found wanting, as the amount of information available is simply too vast and the needs of the next generation too unpredictable to settle on this or that bucket of knowledge as canon. We are called, it seems, to teach them to think! To question! To boldly go where no student has gone before!

If you read the various criticisms of lectures and other teacher-driven, direct-instruction-ish stuff, you’d think the underlying problem is that such things are ineffective. That’s not true.
I give pretty sweet lectures, packed with content and connection and interaction with students – all sorts of edu-goodness. When former students come back to visit, or email me years later, they may thank me for pushing coherent thesis sentences – but they remember with enthusiasm the stuff from the lectures. They tell me how it was the first time they’d liked history, or understood government, or whatever, and tell me stories of how something learned therein came in handy in subsequent academia.
The problem isn’t that my activities or direct instruction aren’t effective; the problem is that they leave me doing so much of the work. As a department and a district, we’ve prioritized teaching kids to think, and to learn, and to function. We’re trying to make our students into students.

We’re trying to teach them to ask various types of questions effectively, to dig into documents or statistics or pictures and ponder what those sources do or don’t communicate, and how they do or don’t communicate it. We want them to read and write coherently, and above all else – and this is the killer – we’re trying to teach them not to be helpless little nurslings in the face of every idea, task, or challenge.
That part feels damn near impossible most days. If ignorance is a mighty river, we’re that ichthus fish swimming against the tide – losing out to the gar of apathy and the tuna of better-things-to-do.
Seriously, we should make shirts.
This is where the idealists jump in to argue that we can do both – we can teach content THROUGH the skills! Whoever’s doing the struggling is doing the learning! Let’s celebrate this breakthrough!
The learning DOES happen in the struggle – this is dogma to me. I would argue, however, that we must inculcate and consciously teach the struggle. Our darlings do not, by and large, come with a built in appreciation of struggle – at least in application to education. Some struggle enough getting through the rest of their worlds and have little energy left for academic wrestling matches. Others push themselves quite impressively through their own little zone of proximal development while playing music or sports or video games, but lack enthusiasm for transferring the principle to unpacking the Federalist #10.
It’s that teaching of the struggle that’s killing me.
It’s not an intelligence problem, or an attitude problem. It’s not even the challenge of the content.

It’s the mindset of helplessness and a sort of dazed, bewildered hurt they experience at the least of my expectations. That’s what I can’t seem to overcome. I don’t know how to fix it. I must fix it, of course – we’re no longer allowed to let kids fail in any way, shape or form – we must save them repeatedly or they’ll never learn to be independent, self-directed learners.
Forget analyzing the Federalist Papers, I can’t get them to reference my class webpage for help or assignments they’ve missed, let alone videos I’ve posted for them to watch. And getting them to check their own grades online rather than expect I spend half of every class period EVERY DAY explaining what they haven’t turned in (“but I wasn’t here that day”) – you’d think I’d handed them a scalpel and suggested they do their own colon splicing.
It’s not that they don’t know how the internet works – Google is their info-god. It simply never occurred to them that not EVERYTHING associated with school would be photocopied and hand-delivered to their backpack as many times as they can lose it. The drive – the initiative – the risk-taking craziness required to click on a few things or look on more than one page or ask questions of the people around them – it’s simply beyond many of them.
We’ve taught them to be completely helpless. We’ve trained them not to move until we tell them exactly what to do, and how, and then do it for them. The learning does indeed happen in the struggle, but how do they learn to struggle without, well… struggling?
I don’t say this to curse them or bust out the standard “kids these days” routine. It’s a new generation and we’re going to have to figure out some new ways to reach them. That’s fine – that’s why I make the big bucks. I’m SO up for the challenge.
Most days.
But it makes me tired. The number of ways students go out of their way to make their own learning untenable is fascinating. The internal mechanisms protecting them from forward momentum are legion. The currently trending vision of an edu-spirational Arcadia where students are natural learners if only the damn teachers would get out of the way is ridiculous. Come watch 200 kids in the commons a half-hour before school starts staring bored into space rather than risk reading or finishing their math and tell me how self-actuated they are.

I love them, you understand – but I drag them into the light kicking and screaming, if at all. Meanwhile, I hear repeatedly that I should be letting them do more of the dragging.
I’m not supposed to spoon-feed them, but they won’t chew – and they’re starving, informationally-speaking.
I’m not giving up on them, but more and more I’m wondering if the skills and mindset I’m failing to instill are worth the trade-off of basic knowledge and cultural literacy I could lead them through instead. AND the results are clearly measurable – we like that, right?
I feel myself giving in… letting go of the idealistic ‘oughta work’ and looking longingly towards the ‘would actually result in learning.’ I feel myself slipping off-program, avoiding my admins, and lying to my PLC about what I’m really doing in class that day.
I want to just teach them stuff about history and government and things that actually matter to them in the real world right now. I want to see that look where they ‘get it’ and remember it and love me for it. I don’t care if they become self-directed learners THIS year. I don’t care if they don’t master document analysis or political cartoons or thesis sentences anymore.
I’m tired. Maybe I’ll just teach a little… just this week… I won’t get hooked. I can quit any time I want – I swear. Just say the word and I’ll… I’ll flip my lesson and establish mastery-based standards achieved through collaboration, I promise! But just give me a little… one PowerPoint over the Progressives… one crazy story about Andrew Jackson and I’ll stop.
I promise.
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Related Post: A School of Reindeer

My ELA comrades are fond of discussing ‘universal themes’ and ‘common plots’ in literature and in life. I can’t speak to every book ever written, but I will confess I have a much better idea of who’s going to die and who’s going to betray the hero in any decent sci-fi or superhero movie now that I’ve sat in on a few literature classes.
Opening your eyes and looking around is harder than it sounds – that’s why there are so many songs and books about it. You’ve probably noticed how often major characters experiencing personal revelation are blinded or in pain from the sun or other sources of light, even when they don’t kill Arabs on the beach. Jackson Browne even had to go to the doctor after trying to keep his eyes open for so long. We’re all fighting the darkness, sure – but we’re equally blinded by the light.
Step Five: Initiate Conversations.
I hate to be difficult.
But while I love my state, rural Oklahoma is full of districts who don’t much cotton to them big city ideals. I don’t want to burst into a musical number from Tatooine, The Musical (“Beyond Uncle Owen’s Moisture Farm” is my personal favorite) but there are numerous districts where the toughest thing about teaching high school is convincing families there’s anything out there bigger than the local poultry processing plant or Assistant Manager at Dollar General.
Kern is most known for her crusade against gay people, who are apparently much like Bennett’s terrorists. She uses her background as an educator to explain that she’s just keeping it simple for folks, explaining it this way. In her defense, she doesn’t much like blacks or women (?!?) either. Because so many disagree with her, and are in fact horrified by her remarks, she’s also the victim of the worst sorts of persecution.
It’s already problematic in many rural areas to cover the basics of various faiths as part of World Cultures class, or to explain Evolution even as a ‘theory’. I recently attended a workshop with a lady in a nearby state whose head was exploding because Noah’s flood was the mandated correct response in World History class covering major population movements.
There’s a kerfuffle going on in Texas (again) and Colorado (huh?) regarding the level of flag-waving patriotism in history textbooks and curriculums, including APUSH. The short version is this:
The Modern Liberal Academics are upset that these flag-waving right-wing extremists want to whitewash American history to feed their predetermined paradigm of American Exceptionalism. There’s something Orwellian (or at least Valdimir Putinian) about euphemizing (or simply ignoring) travesties like slavery, genocide, and Woodrow Wilson. The Academics would like more emphasis on effective questioning and understanding multiple points of view. American schools should be shaping good world citizens ready to confront things of which we cannot yet conceive, not drones painted red, white, and blue.
This is about choosing
I liked Aquaman.
Why can we not allow Thomas Jefferson the same intellectual and moral complexity we accept in Mystique? Why accommodate a Batman who does dark twisted things so soccer moms feel safe but insist on ‘hero’ or ‘villain’ labels for Andrew Jackson or Malcolm X? Can we not accept that real people – who lived monumental lives and did big stuff – might be at least as unpredictable as Magneto or Malcolm Reynolds?
In the same way that the people around you are so much more meaningful, useful, interesting, when they allow you to see something beyond the façade… in the same way heroes are far more heroic when you know what a mess they are, but they keep trying to do the right thing anyway… our history, our icons, our story resonates far more – not less – when we do our best to lay it all out there as whatever it is.

6. Can you tell the ‘spur’ thing bugs me? You spur a horse that’s not trying very hard or moving very fast. You spur a horse because horses are too stupid to know which way they’re supposed to go on their own. You dig your metal into its flank and keep your bit in its mouth so it will remain compliant – an extension of your own purposes. Spurring suggests schools and teachers get F’s because they’re just not trying very hard. They’re meandering, munching some grass, peeing a long time – just standing there until the SDE comes to do some spurrin’. Giddy-up go, Ms. Hernandez – giddy-up, go! Because you know what grade a horse really wants? A neighhhhh…

