Dear colleagues,
When our colleague Caleb wrote in to me with this classroom story (below), I was covered in goosebumps. What a phenomenal example of the power that is possible in everyday classrooms like yours and mine. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
Recently, my 8th grade language arts students have been studying theme. It’s a skill they learn about all through elementary school, but the skill gets more nuanced and difficult as texts become more complex. Right now we’re reading the graphic novel Maus by Art Spiegelman.
At the beginning of class, before launching into the text, I threw my students a curveball.
“Who cares about ‘theme’ anyway?” I asked. “Why should we even be studying this? We’re never going to use this in life, right?”
A few students chuckled. A few others looked at me and shrugged, as if saying ‘You tell us.’
But, after a few awkward seconds, some students started to get the idea.
“Because this stuff really happened, and we can learn from it,” Jay said.
“To get the author’s message, to understand what they’re saying,” said Lucia.
“Yes!” I said, “Now, can I have 10 seconds to tell you why I think it’s important?”
And this is where I had planned to launch into what educator Dave Stuart Jr. calls a mini-sermon: a very brief moment in which I share with students why I think what we are doing in class has real value to their lives and their long-term flourishing as human beings.
I told them that some books I’ve read over the years have changed my life: changed the way I think, feel, believe, and act. And that’s because the themes of those books have gotten through to my head and my heart. And I told them that I wished that same thing for them. I wished for books that would change their lives. And in the midst of me telling them this, I started to see some looks in their eyes that I hadn’t seen since August. Curious, even hopeful, looks.
Fast forward to the last 10 minutes of class. By this point in class, we had read chapter four, and now we were doing partner conversations about the emerging themes of Maus. I assigned them a task in which partner A would say, “I think the theme of Maus is ___ because __,” and partner B would respond with one of two questions: Why do you think this is an important theme? Or When is this theme true in our world today?
After they completed their partner conversations, I pulled them back together for a group debrief, and I asked a few of them to model their conversations.
Serina, who, with her curiosity and incisive questioning, will lead a country one day, raised her hand.
“I think the theme of this section is about how money cannot solve all problems, it can’t save your life.”
Aisha, Serina’s partner, replied: “Why is this an important theme?”
Serina: “Because we become too focused on money, and it can’t be the goal in life.”
“Very nice start,” I said, “Who else wants to model this conversation for us?”
Michael, who sits in the front of the class, stood up and faced the class.
“The theme is sometimes you have to hide or run to escape oppression.”
Abdou, his partner, asked, “When is this theme true in our world today?”
Michael paused a bit, and instead of reading his answer from his notes said, “This is my family’s immigration story.”
And slowly a stillness started to settle on my class. I recognized this stillness because it is so rare and special. I hesitate to try to name it or talk about it, and I don’t want to be overly dramatic, but it felt really important. I would describe it as a collective feeling around the classroom as if students were thinking, “This is real. This is beyond Mr. Nothwehr’s language arts class, or 5th period or Tuesday afternoon. Something special and true is happening right now.”
Michael sat back down.
Omar raised his hand.
“The theme is you have to keep going even if it means you might die.”
“Why is this an important theme?” Silas asked.
Omar, with small half-smile, responded, “Because you shouldn’t be afraid of death’
Some levity broke in the class and some students ‘Ooooo”-ed and Carlos, across the class, said “That’s deep.” I liked the energy.
“Tell us more,” I said to Omar. “Why should we not fear death?”
“I can’t,” he said, “Not right now. It’s too deep.”
As we say in my classroom this year, Caleb: Respect. MAD respect.
Best,
DSJR
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