A New Year: Growing, Adding, and Keeping

“Do it again—BUT BETTER!” 

Remember the electronic game Bop-It? Its refrain at game end is one of the great things about teaching—each year is a chance to “do it again—BUT BETTER!” And with the first week (um, 4 days) of the new school year under my belt, already I have examples of practices I’m gradually improving, adding, and an old favorite I’m definitely keeping. 

Over 25 years of teaching and still growing. I’m so happy to have heard things come out of my mouth like…

• Could you elaborate on that?
• What in the text makes you say that?
• So what are you going to do tonight? (After giving the assignment, instead of saying, “Got it?” and receiving blank stares in response.)

I also tried something new that resulted in 10th graders walked into class on the 3rd day and erupting into discussion about the previous night’s reading: 

• First student: “The two pieces were so much the same, I couldn’t find any differences!” 
• Second student: “No way! They were so different, I couldn’t find any similarities!” 

The assignment had been to read a poem and its source material, and create a Venn diagram showing at least 3 items in each of the 3 areas. The texts were “The Creation” by James Weldon Johnson and Genesis 1. We had vigorous discussion as groups compiled their individual diagrams into one and then the whole class speculated about why the author had chosen to do some things differently. (Hooray for standards that required me to add this learning target! I’ve used the poem for many years—see the next paragraph—and we’ve had a brief comparison discussion—dominated by students with background knowledge and by the teacher—but nothing with this level of student engagement!)

Then we segued into one of my highlights of every 10th grade year. I commented on one of my favorite images in the poem, right at the end—the tender image of God creating the first human: 

This great God,

Like a mammy bending over her baby,

Kneeled down in the dust

Toiling over a lump of clay

Till he shaped it in is his own image;

Then into it he blew the breath of life,

And man became a living soul.

Amen.      Amen.

I commented on the connotations of the word choice: mammy, kneel, toil. Next, in what seems to be a non sequitur, I pulled out a picture of my family and introduced them all. Then I ripped out the part where my husband is, crumpled it, and dropped it to the ground. 

Utter silence. (Quietest class moment of the year.) Every eye was fixed on me. A few jaws dropped. A few nervous titters frayed the edges of the strained silence. I asked, “What’s the problem?” 

They said, “That’s your husband!” 

I replied, “No, it isn’t. It’s just a piece of paper with some ink on it. My husband is much bigger. He’s three-dimensional. He has feet.” 

They responded, “But a picture has meaning!” 

Bingo. A picture has meaning. Like an image. Then they read some study notes for Genesis 1:26-28 to determine what meaning people being divine image bearers has for life, language, and literature. What the implications are for how we view ourselves, our neighbors, the creation, and the culture people develop from the raw materials of creation.

New wrinkle this year: A few students spoke up, “Oh, that’s what was with that picture on the bulletin board in here last year!” You see, freshman health class met in my classroom last year, and when I was done with this object lesson, I had put the ripped and restored picture up on the board for a reminder. A primed pump can be one of the many benefits of sharing a classroom.

What are you doing this year that is, similar to the old wedding rhyme with a difference, something old, something new, and something gradually growing?