“Why do we have to learn this?”

I hate that question. I think all teachers hate that question. We poke fun at students during staff meetings by “impersonating” their whining, making it at least 50% more nasally.

So, why do we hate this question? Part of it no doubt rests in the nature of the question, in that it is almost never an actual question. It’s usually a sign of mutiny in the ranks, a permitted sign of rebellion (after all, we can’t tell them NOT to ask it). It’s almost never asked in a cheerful tone, full of exuberance at the thought of another lesson with the potential to shape their future. “Why do we have to learn this?” is pretty much the more appropriate version of, “Do I have to?” It’s a stall tactic.

Or perhaps we hate it because we don’t know how to answer it. Heck, I don’t know how to answer it most of the time. Why do you have to learn how to divide fractions? Beats me. You have to learn it because you’ll need it to do harder math, which you’ll need to prove to colleges that you’re smart enough to get in, even if you don’t want to study math. Also, a select few of you in here may decide to work in a field which requires high level math skills, like an actuary, in which case you still won’t need to divide fractions, but you’ll have to do something much harder than that.

This is generally an unacceptable answer. I usually go with something like, “It’s good for your brain.” Sometimes we’re ace fibbers, sometimes we have thought of the one real life application that we can ride out for all time (do yourself a favor and please read this delightful answer by Dr. Math), sometimes we cleverly change the subject to avoid answering. Because this is usually the cold hard truth: you have to learn it because I have to teach you.

And why, I sometimes wonder as I stare into Evan’s poor doe eyes saying, “I still don’t get this!” do I have to teach this? Why do I have to teach this to Evan? Evan, who still hasn’t figured out what fractions even mean. I have to teach this to Evan because the aforementioned future actuary is in our class and needs to be exposed to this math, and because Evan is going to take a test at the end of the unit and his scores will report on my proficiency as a teacher, and because at the end of the year Evan will take an even bigger test that will be used to report on our proficiency as a school, and because those tests will be used to make decisions about Evan’s educational future… and how can Evan even have a chance at success in any of those outcomes unless I teach him how to divide fractions?!?

But am I teaching him how to divide fractions? Or am I perhaps teaching him that he is not very good at math? Am I teaching him that sometimes even the teacher can’t help? Perhaps I am teaching him grit (love me some Angela Duckworth)! Perhaps I will use this as a lesson in Growth Mindset (this graphic breaks it down)! Alas, I’ll never know what I actually teach him. He may not know what this is teaching him. But if, at the end of the year, he still can’t do most of what’s being asked of him, I think we can gather that something or someone has failed poor Evan. Perhaps it’s the teacher, perhaps it falls on previous teachers for leaving him unprepared, perhaps it’s the school system, perhaps it’s the test-centric climate which does a great job of reminding him he can’t do it, and perhaps it’s the curriculum.

This is not intended to be a down-with-the-public-schools, testing-is-Satan’s-mistress, Math-should-be-illegal, free-the-children-from-their-school-prisons rant. Schools do good. Schools do well, at a lot of things. We have entered a marriage with testing – for better or for worse, it’s probably not going anywhere. Math is fun (for me at least)! Children’s lives are, arguably, far better for their time in school than they were before the existence of public education, and schools are doing more than ever to make school a positive place for schools to be (Quest2Learn is a prime example).

To get to the point: what is curriculum? It’s a lot of things. It’s what we teach, it’s what we learn, it’s that “stuff” which we’ve decided is worthy to make up the collective brainpower of a nation. It’s a powerful mechanism in both free thought and censorship. It’s a lot of things – it’s BIG.

So BIG, I don’t think we know what to do with it. It’s a monstrous thing – the kind that probably keeps some of those scholars up at night. Gosh, what is worthy for our most precious and powerful resource? When we cut something out, what are we doing to our kids? When we pack more in, what happens then? It’s so big, and (frankly) scary, that I think we’ve pulled away from the question. Noddings informed me that we’ve gotten out of the habit of speaking towards our aims – our goals for doing something. This seems pretty silly. But people disagree on aims. They disagree on value. And curriculum involves a whole, whole, whole lot of people who, like the curriculum theorists in Schubert, like to dig in to the disagreements – how are we different? Little differences become a big, big deal.

I know of a school district whom embarked on a venture to be one of the foremost districts in Michigan for implementation of the Common Core. They brought in a national expert and committed significant funds to involving their teachers, at all levels, in “unpacking” the standards. There was a week-long professional development each summer and monthly meetings for each sub-committee (i.e., middle school Math).

It was “a red hot mess” as my aunt would say. They didn’t even live it to fruition. Committees couldn’t agree on language, departments couldn’t agree on much of anything. Everybody dug in their heels. I heard one story of a committee who spent all day on ONE standard. They couldn’t get past it because there were two warring definitions of the verb in the standard. The whole project just died.

When this happens, nobody benefits (except maybe the natural debaters). Nobody really enjoys it (save those drama fanatics). It’s stressful, and tiring, and it feels like a big old waste of time, because it (usually) is. So we stop talking about it. Teachers get manuals handed to them by their district, districts are given directives from the state. We complain, but we don’t do much to buck the system because it’s SO BIG. We find fault, but we carry on, because what can one person really do? Ah! Teachers are in the habit of defying the laws of what one person can conceivably do! We are, indeed, the gatekeepers (fabulous post on the topic).

My school district can’t agree on a spelling curriculum, so we more or less have nothing (this is a point of disagreement – technically we have a list of words, which is “something”). But it only took one year of watching terrible spellers remain terrible for me to realize I was uncomfortable with the status quo. I expanded upon what existed, just as I do for dear Evan who can’t divide fractions.

It’s like wearing a tight pair of jeans: with every wiggle, there’s an initial pinch, but then they stretch out a bit. Even in today’s skinny-jean world and skinny-jean climate of educational reform, we always have a little wiggle room. The best teachers rock it.

Although they also know not to rock skinny jeans at work.