I teach a lot of young people. They are mostly decent, honest and hardworking adolescents — their eyes brimming with inquisitiveness. What is behind the facade, however, if I were to be really honest with myself, is boredom. In their hands they possess the universe — the Internet: they are God controlling infinity. What can I truly say to them that sparks the intellectual curiosity that was normal in the “seekers” of my generation? I am no Platonist (1) but I do draw a distinction between people who accept what is and those few who contemplate what could be. I find that one of the few things that have any relevance at all is just telling the truth: the truth about you, a real person – albeit aging. They have little to no time for the pontificators or the embellishers. They want the raw facts. What was it like in the “old days?” (in what many see as the Jurassic Period, (2) with small dinosaurs still running around).
I grew up in an industrial town. World War Two was in the not too distant past and the economy of North America was the raw-material supplier to the world: it was sizzling. To this end, the lumber unions had extracted a measure of economic peace and stability from the logging barons by the high wages that were paid to the average unskilled or semi-skilled worker. It was possible to be employed for a year or a year and a half and buy a house: a small one to be sure, but still a house. This, of course, meant that “staying in school” had less and less allure as you got older and older. The system itself was experiencing something akin to academic schizophrenia. When I first went to school in Grade One, autocracy was “all the rage.” We were summoned into the classroom by an ominous bell: the kind that you imagine in your classic horror film. We moved to our desks and proceeded to stand at attention. The teacher arrived, “Good morning, Mrs. Smith,” we all intoned. Next, we sang God Save the Queen (3) and had our nails inspected. This was not some trifling, cursory inspection, but the full appraisal; including look, length and, cleanliness. We then sat down to begin the lesson. Any mere infraction was dealt with swiftly and severely: corporal punishment was immediate and arbitrary, its severity only lessened or increased by the mood and temperament of the pedagogue. There were “no prisoners taken,” no burp or chirp or guffaw that seems to be easily emitted by a young voice was tolerated. A classroom was noted for its peace and tranquility, though repressing the emotions and fears of its pupils. When I talk about “rote learning,” it still produces a visceral feeling in the pit of my stomach: A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P-Q-R-S-T-U-V-W-X-Y and Z: happy, happy family – now I know my ABCs. If there were any behavioral problems such as ADHD (4), for example, they were eradicated with the ADHD removal rod. It was a baton of medium length made from some exceptionally painful wood. It had a tendency to work wonders: even the most truculent could be cured after several visitations. Order, structure, and respect for authority were the norms of the system. It had only one problem: it wasn’t working in high school. Students upon reaching sixteen years of age, the age of legal maturity, were quitting and going to work in the industrial sector. And everyone’s great dream, at least if you were a boy, could be achieved – you could buy a car. A car meant social status and its attendant reward – a girlfriend, whatever that was? To mitigate the effects of this stern educational system and “keep the kids in school,” it was determined that the entire educational structure needed some form of recalibration: the rules had to be rewritten.
The implementation of this change just happened to be the year that I entered Grade Eight. Not singing God Save the Queen was the least of the changes. We no longer addressed our teachers by their formal names, Mr. Jones, for example. He now simply became “Bob, or Jim, or Fred,” like all the other classmates. This had the instant and probably undesired effect of reducing the teacher’s respect, in our eyes, to that of our most stupid colleague. Needless to say, our scholastic scores suffered. The lowest standard became the new standard, but we were staying in school. The greatest, and probably most puzzling decision, was to allow smoking in school: say what? Yes, it is true. We had a smoking area near our running field — even to write this fifty years later, “sounds crazy.” There was, in fact, a special technique to document your “coolness.” You dropped your cigarette ash onto your pant leg and rubbed it into the denim. The whiter the leg, the more worldly and sophisticated the person. You only smoked when you were talking and thinking, right? I remember that my mother once washed my jeans, thus destroying my social standing amongst my peers for a protracted period of time. It took me a long time to forgive her. How could you be that insensitive? I just couldn’t adapt to this new system and my grades consequently collapsed. What saved me in the end, and allowed me to graduate from high school with high marks, was my theatre studies. Our school had the best theatre program in the entire province. This was remarkable given the size of our town. Regardless: because of the director, Dr. Sparks, it produced award-winning productions, year after year. I remember my interview to attempt to join the class. Dr. Sparks was an impressive man with a full scholarly beard and no hair: he was bald. “So Mr. La Couvee, you want to join our group?” Yes, Dr. Sparks,” I eagerly replied. “Show me a fish,” was his command. “A what?” I queried. “A fish, show me a fish,” he repeated. I only have to wave my hands close to my ears and puff up my cheeks to be transported back to that interview. I passed and was admitted to the club, and finished my schooling. In the end, the new system didn’t work: most of my peers did not. Taiwan would be wise not to try to quickly copy the American system. That nation’s critical thinking skills do not seem to be in the ascendant, do they? Aristotle (384-322 BC) leaves us with a thought: The roots of education are bitter, but the fruit is sweet.
A closing thought: All pupils, unless they have severe behavioral or psychological problems, are seekers. They want to learn about the universe they are growing into. The most difficult for them is that the cell phone tricks all users into the belief that knowledge itself is finite when the opposite is true: all pure understanding is infinite and, ultimately, unknowable. Our responsibility as parents, teachers, and educators is to provide the key that each person needs to open their individual door. This can be realized through humor, honesty, and imagination. People, both young and old, can sense when “you do not take yourself too seriously!”
To sum up: This week we spoke about education and its pitfalls and problems for any generation. It is only with hard work and “good cheer,” as the British like to say, that we will change the world for the better.
A philosophical question: Why when you have a class of fifty students, do you lose your glasses and then suddenly discover them on the top of your head? Unfortunately, this epiphany occurs at the same time as the students realize where your glasses really were. You must be really old: is this fair?
Just for fun: Tchaikovsky – Symphony №5 (Bernstein)
This week on your meditative walk, please reflect on your own educational experiences.
Every day look for something magical and beautiful.
Quote: Life is like a flower, it needs fresh and clean knowledge to help it grow.
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