Facing imminent death, Randy questioned the lasting impact he could have on his young children, the youngest of whom may not even remember him in a few years. As a teacher, I similarly question my lasting impact on students. After all, it is the ultimate goal of teachers to reach students beyond the school day, beyond the semester, beyond school itself. Certainly, Randy wanted to be sure his children, his “defacto students” as I think all teachers’ children are, knew his wisdom and passions long after his death. The Last Lecture stands as testament to those, defining the values and habits of mind we as teachers and sometimes parents, wish to pass along, the legacy we hope will self-perpetuate across the generations to create a more learned, more compassionate, more fully developed, fulfilled, and successful populace.
Success in education is for some teachers (students, administrators, Boards of Education, parents and communities) defined by students scoring 5s on the AP test, or surpassing minimum requirements on the CAPT or acing the SATs and subject tests. Success is defined by National Merit Scholarship, landing in the top 10% of the class, 4.0 GPAs, quarterly grades of 98 or 99 or even 100. Success is attending an Ivy League. In and of themselves, these are not shallow, meritless goals to be belittled though many in America find it sport to do so (see Barack Obama labeled elitist for his thoughtful, highly educated approach). Ironically, aspiring to such achievements in
But too often, teachers, students, parents, administrators and Boards of Education, and the occasional Admissions Office, do not have formal tools by which to measure other forms of success in valid, reliable ways, and so the measurements we do have are decidedly incomplete. Therefore, these traditional (and traditionally) scored measures cannot be the types of benchmarks by which we solely define success. They represent what is captured within only the frame of a snapshot at a fixed point in time, providing us with a moment of focus at the expense of greater context. Five, ten, twenty years from now, do I want my students to remember my class as the 98 on my midterm exam and the resulting 5 on the AP test? Or would I prefer they write powerfully and precisely from the most romantic poems to the most elegant public policy speeches to the most clear legal documents to the most inspired civic minded letters?
Clearly, I want my students to know the difference between what is worth being familiar with and what is important to know and do. I want my students to be able to live and think independently using the structures, skills and knowledge of the past as starting blocks. Then I want my students to recognize how to use those strategies when confronted with new situations and problems because 21st century students must be able to tackle big ideas and manage unfamiliar transfer tasks. I want my students to know the difference between recall and application, between regurgitation and innovation. I want my students to tell me what they think and feel in elegant, concise, beautiful language. I want my students to create.
I want my students to think before judging the homeless person on the street, to recognize when and how political speeches, advertising and sound bites on the evening news manipulate their thoughts and emotions. I want my students to recognize and value the incredible freedom we have to put our thoughts on paper, and share them. I want my students to know how to heal themselves, their loved ones, and even complete strangers with their words. I want my students to care for strays, and root for the underdog, to be honest and kind, to weigh the facts before making a decision, to honor the lessons of history, and to judiciously employ the preciseness and power of words. I want my students to compassionately approach the neighborhood feral cat.
I recognize that these are a lot of wants. And yet here we’ve merely reached the proverbial tip of the iceberg. Late at night, when I am inconsolable and insomniac, as I often am, I take odd comfort in my wants, in my idealistic hope that my students will honor me, our time together, each other, and the privileged learning opportunities they have, by developing intellectual curiosity and a lasting love of learning, by developing the intellectual habits of mind which lead them to discover knowledge in many disciplines, creating a constant thirst for knowledge and self-discovery, one that might keep them awake at night, too.
Oh, and one more thing. I want my students to go into the world feeling compelled to dine at the world’s smorgasbord, as if there were no other choice but to do so, as if by doing nothing but passively ingest, they would indeed starve.
I want my daughter to learn from teachers like you. I want all these things too.
ReplyDeleteNow, I'm crying.
Thanks Lisa!
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