Sad Story
This is a sad story.
This is the story of a young teen, an asian toad, Peter Pan, and a Wonderland that will never be.
The boy, fourteen to be exact, slouches in front of a computer screen, the room silent, but his foot moving in time to a mysterious beat only he hears. His fingers rat-a-tat-tat on across the keyboard. He stops occasionally, for a few seconds, no more than three or four, before continuing his rat-a-tat-tatting.
"I'm just trying to find the right word he says. Should I say 'mad,' 'angry' or 'upset'?" he wonders.
He watches the words appear on the screen, the words making sentences, and those sentences eventually comprising three lengthy paragraphs. The story he tells is fantastical, a tale of adventurous jet-setting, from Malaysia to Wonderland to his bedroom at home, all in the space of a single page.
I ask him what he's trying to do with this piece of writing and he says noncommittedly, "finish it." I can tell this is his primary goal; he could care a less about the teacher's lofty ambitions, she, trying to get her students to see the real world equivalents of the slopes they are studying in class. The boys demeanor, slouched, attention split between what he's writing and some other, more interesting, internal melody, maybe even dialogue, demonstrates this.
The math assignment the boys toils over is comprised of two parts: one, a posterboard collage that includes pictoral representations of the various slopes they are studying -- positive, negative, undefined slopes -- and, two, a piece of writing -- narrative, expository, poetry -- that incorporates these slopes in some fashion, manner, or form. The assignment is a good one, an embodiment of John Dewey's educational philosophy. Dewey believed education should be experiential, that knowledge was communal and socially-constructed, and that our education should account for both of these principles while avoiding the rote learning of facts. The slope assignment requires students to extend their knowledge and understanding of slopes beyond their mathematics classroom and into their natural world, discovering ways to connect these principles with the world as they live in it.
But, something's wrong here because while the assignment is excellent in principle, something has happened in this process that allows the child to disengage.
The boy finishes, turns, states with finality, "I'm done. You can fix it if you want." He rises, pushes his chair in with care, and exits the room.
You may recall "Finding Neverland," the 2004 film depicting the life of J.M. Barrie, the author of Peter Pan. The films recounts Barrie's emerging relationship with a down and out family, with 4 boys of varying ages. In the film (I'm making no assumptions about the films veracity, its relationship to reality), Barrie and the boys develop a engaging relationship, play-acting, and the film-maker argues that it is the relationship Barrie develops with the boys that inspires him to write Peter Pan.
Play.
Both the boys and Barrie engage in all kinds of playacting. They develop scripts, costumes, and sets to compliment the visions each have. In doing so, they learn language, culture, character and characterization, about dialogue . . . about life. The narratives they create help them to make sense of the world they see around them. They learn, wholly and with vigor.
This is the story of a young teen, an asian toad, Peter Pan, and a Wonderland that will never be.
The boy, fourteen to be exact, slouches in front of a computer screen, the room silent, but his foot moving in time to a mysterious beat only he hears. His fingers rat-a-tat-tat on across the keyboard. He stops occasionally, for a few seconds, no more than three or four, before continuing his rat-a-tat-tatting.
"I'm just trying to find the right word he says. Should I say 'mad,' 'angry' or 'upset'?" he wonders.
He watches the words appear on the screen, the words making sentences, and those sentences eventually comprising three lengthy paragraphs. The story he tells is fantastical, a tale of adventurous jet-setting, from Malaysia to Wonderland to his bedroom at home, all in the space of a single page.
I ask him what he's trying to do with this piece of writing and he says noncommittedly, "finish it." I can tell this is his primary goal; he could care a less about the teacher's lofty ambitions, she, trying to get her students to see the real world equivalents of the slopes they are studying in class. The boys demeanor, slouched, attention split between what he's writing and some other, more interesting, internal melody, maybe even dialogue, demonstrates this.
The math assignment the boys toils over is comprised of two parts: one, a posterboard collage that includes pictoral representations of the various slopes they are studying -- positive, negative, undefined slopes -- and, two, a piece of writing -- narrative, expository, poetry -- that incorporates these slopes in some fashion, manner, or form. The assignment is a good one, an embodiment of John Dewey's educational philosophy. Dewey believed education should be experiential, that knowledge was communal and socially-constructed, and that our education should account for both of these principles while avoiding the rote learning of facts. The slope assignment requires students to extend their knowledge and understanding of slopes beyond their mathematics classroom and into their natural world, discovering ways to connect these principles with the world as they live in it.
But, something's wrong here because while the assignment is excellent in principle, something has happened in this process that allows the child to disengage.
The boy finishes, turns, states with finality, "I'm done. You can fix it if you want." He rises, pushes his chair in with care, and exits the room.
You may recall "Finding Neverland," the 2004 film depicting the life of J.M. Barrie, the author of Peter Pan. The films recounts Barrie's emerging relationship with a down and out family, with 4 boys of varying ages. In the film (I'm making no assumptions about the films veracity, its relationship to reality), Barrie and the boys develop a engaging relationship, play-acting, and the film-maker argues that it is the relationship Barrie develops with the boys that inspires him to write Peter Pan.
Play.
Both the boys and Barrie engage in all kinds of playacting. They develop scripts, costumes, and sets to compliment the visions each have. In doing so, they learn language, culture, character and characterization, about dialogue . . . about life. The narratives they create help them to make sense of the world they see around them. They learn, wholly and with vigor.
posted by CA Lund at 2:45 PM
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