“I wonder if they were happy. Or if life was too much of a struggle,” the student says.
Other students, having been out of school all summer, and it being this early in a class, are a little shy to jump right in with a response. This will change quickly as we all get to a comfort zone with each other and are encouraged by the lack of judgments from adults in the room.
“I have also visited Chaco Canyon, the historical center of Anasazi,” the technology teacher chimes in. “And I went to some of the Pueblo villages where descendants of the Anasazi live today. I look forward to talking with you about our experiences.”
Next, Cora says she is interested in the time of slavery in the US, “for obvious reasons.”
“What are the obvious reasons?” someone asks.
“Those times in part define who I am,” she says. “But only in part.”
She chooses not to elaborate, so all eyes move to me.
“I’m interested in the Industrial Revolution,” I say.
“Would you tell us more about your interest?” the English teacher asks with a smile.
“I think it was a very exciting time, all those new inventions so people didn’t have to work as hard.”
“Do you think of yourself as an inventor?” This question is from a student I know from last year.
“No, I’m not too interested in science. More the business end of things, learning how the big tycoons of the day became such a success.” I wonder if the teachers remember what each person says. I sure can’t. I focus on trying to remember names of people I don’t know. People like that, when you remember their name. Then they won’t get offended when I ask them to remind me what “interest” they talked about.
When everyone in the circle, including teachers, has had a chance to share an interest, we are asked to get up and circulate, seeking out people we want to talk with about their interest. Teachers join in too, modeling how to focus on listening and sharing honestly, no phony nicey-nice stuff.
As the discussion energy wanes, we are asked to come back to the circle. Many of us sit in a new place, now that everyone has shared something personal and conversation seems easier.
The English teacher tells us we will have lots of opportunity during the year to follow up on our interests through reading at least one book, short story, or article of our choice each week.
“Tomorrow we will meet with the Junior Librarian, who has been following you folks since ninth grade. You can update her, individually, on your interests, and she may already have some book suggestions based on knowing you and what you have read in the past two years. Talking with her now will allow her to order new books she thinks you might enjoy.” She looks around the room, making eye contact with as many people as possible. “Another aspect of communication is writing. Your assignment for the rest of class today, to be completed before class tomorrow, is to write a minimum of two pages on a topic we all have in common—what school means to you, or, stated another way, what you want from your school experience. Okay, find a space at the computer desks, tables, or chairs to write and get going so you have no homework tonight.”
Most of us complete these types of assignments in school. Our only homework, usually, is reading books we have selected or doing research for projects we have chosen to work on. So both are things based on what I care about, not drudgery. And I can pick the times during the week when I want to work on these. If I didn’t have those assignments, I’d probably be bored. I can only do so much schmoozing in the park after school. Of course, if I get a job then my spare time will be filled up with that.
Our classroom environments are chill; we can talk with other students while we work, not like Sean’s description of Hilltop, where they aren’t allowed to talk in classes and are desperate for time to hang with friends. He says kids there mainly interact at night through social media. Pathetic, I think, compared to being able to talk with a friend in person. I don’t always agree with all the teaching methods here at Stone Creek, but I’ll take this over Hilltop any day.
Our school newspaper was named many years ago, when adults working here were apparently pretty disconnected from youth culture. Students then voted to call it Stoners Report, supposedly a reference to the school name, when really it was a joke about students smoking weed.
At today’s club meeting, we decide while eating lunch who will do what for the end-of-September edition. I volunteer to cover the first Chautauqua event, specifically the book club discussion Cora is facilitating. Chautauquas are held monthly for our whole community. The name comes from Native Americans and then a town in New York in the early 1900s where people shared things like concerts, recreation, lectures, and discussions of the day.
One of the student editors tells me I also need to be available to do things that come up at the last minute. This kind of structure of being told what to do isn’t typical of Stone Creek clubs, and I’m not a fan. I’ll have to see how all this goes; maybe I won’t end up wanting to be part of the newspaper group after all.
When I arrive at Spanish class in the afternoon, I greet Sean at the door. He went to the Future Farmers of America meeting with Jake last period to check it out, and I can’t help but tease him about it a little.
“What’s up, Farmer Sean?” I say, grinning, as we walk into class.
“The FFA people were really nice and they know a lot about the county and what goes on here,” he says. “I told them about some of my bike rides. They knew all the people I had met.”
The Spanish teacher starts speaking a mile a minute, in Spanish, telling us to gather round the tables. I head to one of the tables and motion for Sean to follow.
Sean looks sick. “Are you kidding me? What is she saying?”
“Don’t worry,” I say, “you’ll get the hang of it. Let me explain the routine. Half the hour is speaking with the teacher or other native speakers from the community and the colleges, many of them students. The other thirty minutes is computer work with language lessons or watching things like videos in Spanish. I can show you some cool videos I watched last year that might help you catch up with where we are. You’ll be amazed how quickly you pick it up. Besides, we can practice during soccer.”
The class flies by, and soon we’re on our way to our math/science block.
“How did English/social studies block go this morning?” I ask as we walk to class.
“Great. We got to talk a lot. I had a ten-minute conversation with this really cute girl, and it didn’t seem awkward or forced or like I had to pretend to be somebody I’m not. People at this school seem so real, not fake. They’re interesting, thinking about things in ways that never occur to me. And did I mention she was really cute?”
I laugh. “I got it, Sean. You can use our next class to figure out what chemical reactions happen when a boy is attracted to a girl!”
The classroom we’re in for this block has seminar-style seating for forty students, with an adjacent lab room that we share with another science class. I recognize the technology teacher from a ninth grade computer elective class I took during last period that year. The other three teachers, sitting at one end of the seminar table, introduce themselves with their specialty: chemistry, calculus, and special needs.
The chemistry teacher announces that students will introduce themselves this period through a “Stump the Experts” game created by the four teachers. It goes like this: A student will state an interest that is significant for them. Then the teachers will relate that student interest to the discipline of chemistry.
“See, Sean, I got you all prepared to share your interest!” I say, jabbing him with my elbow.
Sean flushes. “Knock it off.”
“Is anyone new this year at Stone Creek High, so not familiar with the ‘interests’ approach?” the chemistry teacher asks.
I find it funny to see Sean squirming like I do in unfamiliar settings. I point toward him before he has a chance to raise his hand. A girl also raises her hand.
�
�Change is our school-wide theme for this quarter,” the teacher says. “We will all help the two of you to quickly grasp our project-based learning approach for understanding. No memorization or repetitive practice of formula implementations.” Moving toward Sean, the teacher continues, “I am a scientist. That means I have been trained in the scientific method. Thus, I am required to be a keen observer. I see you are wearing a surfing T-shirt. Is that a significant interest of yours?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says.
Sean’s formality is really funny, but I can’t laugh. He’s already so nervous it looks like he might puke at any moment. Only a few quiet snickers escape my hand, which I’m using to cover my mouth.
“I hear your use of the local southern form of address to those in authority,” she says. “It’s fine with me if you prefer to leave off the ‘ma’am.’ Would you mind kicking off our game by being the first player?”
“I’m not feeling too confident about this,” Sean says, so pale you wouldn’t be able to see him if it weren’t for the freckles on his face.
“As long as you have a sincere interest in surfing, you’ll do fine,” she says. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
I try to give him a reassuring look, but he’s not having anything more to do with me.
“Thank you. So, what is your name?”
“Sean.”
“Sean, have you actually surfed before, or is this an imagined interest?”
“I surfed from age eight to fifteen, when I lived in San Diego.”
“You have many years of practical experience. Great. And has your surfing led to a particular affinity for the ocean?”
“Definitely.”
“So you have a feeling for the character of the ocean, its nature. That connection is important to you as an individual, but also important to all of us because the oceans support the greatest abundance of life on earth. The general chemical makeup of the sea, as you probably already know, is water and salts. The eleven salts are listed in the periodic table posted on the wall over there. How the ocean’s chemicals interact illustrate significant concepts and principles of chemistry. So, I think it is fair to say chemistry can further develop one of your interests.”
She turns to the other teachers. “Someone else?”
Sean looks at me like, Are you kidding me? More!?
I try to think what Cora would say. She calms me down all the time. Too late …
“Many people are concerned with the growing imbalance in the ocean’s chemistry related to fossil fuels and global warming,” the calculus teacher says. “Mathematicians working for NOAA, National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, are using calculus to develop ways to measure ocean contamination.”
“If you wear a wetsuit,” says the special needs teacher, “it is probably made of a fossil fuel–based rubber and, thus, not biodegradable.”
“I just read recently that Patagonia has been instrumental in the development of a wetsuit made from a biodegradable natural rubber, derived from a desert shrub,” the technology teacher adds.
The chemistry teacher looks at Sean. “You be the judge. Have we satisfactorily demonstrated that your interest involves chemistry and calculus?”
“You have,” he says, blushing. “Does that mean I’m more likely to be successful in this class?”
Everyone laughs.
“Good one,” I say.
“Absolutely,” the teacher says. “If you start to lose a sense of passion, talk to one of us. Okay, let’s move along to the next person …”
“Sorry,” I say to Sean in a quiet voice. “I got a little carried away at the beginning. Guess I was nervous watching you be nervous. But you were great, and I actually found the whole ocean chemistry discussion pretty interesting myself.”
All of the teachers at Stone Creek use a project approach to learning, based on student interests. So I am used to this kind of demonstration. But Sean is blown away, and he hangs on every word said by teachers and students during the rest of the demonstrations.
The pace picks up and class goes on, the teachers making sure they get around to everyone, so it isn’t boring. These two-hour blocks give us time to kind of relax and settle in. And the teachers are getting better at planning fast-paced activities that don’t drag.
When introductions by interest are completed, the math teacher distributes a handout describing a project for us to complete using calculus in a work situation we select. He and the other teachers will help us go through the process step by step. At the end, we will share our results, drawing out key concepts of how calculus works.
The project choices include: an architectural engineer designing a sports stadium; a medical researcher; designing a mountain road race route; business manager for a credit card company; graphic artist for a new video game; a physicist designing an SUV; or any other interest we declare.
Sean selects the architecture project and I pick the business manager one. We begin working on Step 1, using details provided in the handout to write a narrative of what measures are needed for the task ahead of us and why.
After class, Sean hands me a piece of saltwater taffy.
“Man, these teachers are working hard,” he says. “In my old schools, they just told us to read pages whatever in the textbook and answer the questions at the end. I’m going to have to get more sleep if I have to do all this thinking.”
“Lighten up, Sean. You’re gonna do fine at this school. Trust me. Besides, it’s playtime: soccer!”
We head outside to the soccer field. The soccer teacher, who the rest of the day is an English teacher, tells us our main agenda for the day will be to form the teams we’ll play on for the rest of the semester.
I propose the language groups idea first thing. “It will give us language practice while we play,” I say.
The teacher looks surprised. “That’s very different from last year’s emphasis on diversity of skill levels and social backgrounds in forming teams.”
“Well, Chief did announce this morning that this quarter’s theme is ‘Change.’ So how about we try something different?”
Other students don’t seem to care much about how to form teams, but they do feel strongly about this being our time to play, and that students should be in charge of making decisions. After only a little more than a year since the shift to students being in control of learning at Stone Creek, it has become the bedrock of what we care about, because we’ve seen what a difference it makes when our teachers treat us with dignity, expecting us to take responsibility for our lives. The other soccer students begin speaking up in favor of my approach.
“Okay, Daniel, we can try your idea,” the teacher says. “Let’s agree to reassess in a few weeks and decide whether this idea is as good, or better, than the previous team formation process based on diversity.”
The result is three Spanish-speaking teams, three English (Brits, Aussies, and US), one French, and one German. A smattering of students from other backgrounds—Chinese, Vietnamese, Indian, Sierra Leone, and Guinea—randomly join the eight teams. One of the Spanish teams is primarily Mexican-American students, with a few other students originally from Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua. Another Spanish team is about two-thirds African-American students. The third Spanish team, the one I end up on, is all white natives.
I’m loving how all this is coming together so easily. But Sean hangs back, not participating in the process. “This doesn’t feel right,” I hear him mutter.
After school I go straight to the town newspaper office to see about the status of my application.
Several women are working behind the front counter of the office, but only one looks up at me.
I greet her in my cheeriest voice. “Good afternoon. What a beautiful day out.”
No response.
I try a different tack. “I’ve never seen roses this color. Did you grow them?”
“No.” The stare continues.
“I’m following up on an application I submi
tted two weeks ago.” She has me so flustered, the last three words turn into a question.
“Name?” she mumbles.
I’m used to people talking down to me because of my age, but this is downright rude.
I give her my information, and she replies she will let the Human Resources Manager know. Without an invitation to do so, I sit in a chair near the door.
After what seems hours, checking the clock to see that a minute has passed, I am sweating, my hands twitching, and the dizziness is starting. From experience I know the difficulty breathing will start soon. I also know attempts to control these reactions will fail. It is just a matter of time before I have to bolt from the threat. If people who refer to me as confident, sometimes with the “over” modifier, could see me now, they would see my fear of being judged by people who have power over my life. Then again, they probably wouldn’t see anything; I’ve become pretty good at hiding my panic reactions.
I researched all this on the Internet and learned that anxiety is quite common among teenagers. Makes sense, with all the stress we’re under to make something of ourselves. I’m hoping it is just a temporary phase I’ll grow out of when I have more freedom to direct my life. I hear Chief in my head, saying, “Use your freedom now, make decisions, and learn from them.”
A woman older than God’s dog comes out. No hello, no handshake, no “come back to my office.” She looks at my application—not at me. I wonder if she even read it before this moment.
I take the initiative. “I’m hoping to work after school and weekends—”
“Do you have any newspaper experience?” she snaps.
“I’m working on my school newspaper staff.”
“How long have you done that?”
“This is my first year. I will be responsible for interviewing—”
“We don’t need you right now,” she says, finally looking at me, “but you can check back with us this summer.”
School Tales Page 11