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?
