Thursday, December 22, 2016

I Don’t Have Standard Students

            Auto manufacturers machine engine blocks to extremely tight tolerances. Each cylinder is exactly the same—not just for a single block, but for every block for that particular engine model. The reason why is obvious. They need the pistons to fit, and every piston for that particular engine is also exactly the same—machined to extremely tight tolerances. It’s one of those round-pegs-in-round-holes type of situations.
            Standardizing education is like machining engine blocks to tight tolerances. Some believe if the block is machined correctly, the outcome will be a smooth running learning machine. But, there’s a problem. Students aren’t like pistons. Each one is different. Some may fit the system like a glove, but some are a little more awkward—fitting like a foot in a glove. Or, even worse, some don’t fit at all.
            Suppose for a minute that auto manufacturers were no longer able to machine their pistons. Imagine they had to get all their piston from an outside source, and all the pistons were of various sizes. The only way they could make functioning engines is to start designing engine blocks to custom fit whatever pistons they had. The same applies to education. Bureaucrats have tried to mechanize learning, but in doing so, they haven’t followed a basic engineering principle. The peg must fit the hole!
            I am currently teaching online English classes to kids in China. One of my kids is a five-year old boy who is extremely energetic. Can you say ADHD? I knew you could! Now, imagine trying to teach English to this hyperactive little boy through an online system that resembles Skype. If I was in a face-to-face classroom, and had the freedom to teach him according to his learning style, I’d teach him English through calisthenics. J is for jumping jack: jump, jump, jump. P is for pushup: push, push, push. Today’s verb is run: run around the building, run around the building, run around the building. After he reached the point of exhaustion, I’d drag his little limp body to a desk and enjoy the 5 minutes of complete attention he’d give me until he fell asleep. Then, I’d go take a nap—a long nap, because this kid is exhausting!
            What do the “rules” of education say? They say when you’re teaching someone something that is new to go slowly—very slowly. The training the company I’m teaching for taught me to go very slowly for young kids. My thousands of hours of experience in the classroom say the same thing. We keep machining those cylinders that say, “for new material, go slowly—very slowly!” Now, I challenge you! Try to hold the attention span of a hyperactive, five-year old boy by going S-L-O-W-L-Y! I’m going S-L-O-W-L-Y, and all I see on my monitor is this kid crawling all over his room—jumping on the bed, showing me his feet (don’t ask me why, because I don’t know), playing with whatever toy he has in his hands, drinking his juice, . . . well, you get the point!
            Today I was teaching him the letter T—yeah me! Instead of going slowly, I instead tried speeding things up. Instead of, “T is for t-a-b-l-e” and then cupping my ear and waiting while he dances around the room, I sped it up and turned it into a little chant. Yes, I was being a little cheerleader with little dance moves and everything! “T is for table! T is for table! T is for table! T is for table!” While I wasn’t completely successful, because he has the attention span of a gnat, at times he starting parroting my cheers. High-speed, energetic chants seemed to work better than slow speed, patient conversation. Maybe this student is just a high-speed, energetic piston, and in order to reach him, I have to give him a high-speed, energetic cylinder. Today I broke the rules and I think it may have been the most successful lesson I’ve had with this kid in a long time. Sure, his attention faltered after about 15 minutes into his 25-minute lesson, but 15 minutes of decent attention was a miracle. Yes, I’m not an ordinary teacher. I’m a miracle worker! His attention did start to refocus near the end of the lesson as well. After class, I went down to the lake and was walking on water! Yes, I’m that good!

            Before we declare me a miracle worker, maybe I’m not the second coming. Maybe I was just following a basic principle of engineering—that the hole must be the right size for the peg. I don’t have any standard students. So, why does everyone want to keep forcing me to standardize education?

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