Left with the Chaff

I find myself with a backlog of would-be posts here, so let's get started. Things got shaken up quite a bit at the semester break, with all the freshmen who passed their first semester of algebra departing for greener pastures, and those who failed sticking around for round 2 with Mr. Lancaster.

I'm a tad skeptical of the wisdom of taking all the students who failed this class the first time around and hoping for better results by trying the same thing over again en masse. Who was it that said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over again and expecting different results? Ah, right, Einstein. The same bright chap who assured us that, whatever our "difficulties in mathematics... mine are still greater," and noted that "it is a miracle that curiosity survives formal education."

What kills me is that, given the right environment, I feel like there isn't a kid anywhere I couldn't help have fun with math. Math is a game, one that challenges you to shift the pieces around like those blacksmith's puzzles to get the piece you want to come free. But even at this point, these kids are so convinced that math is boring and stupid (in some cases, substitute school for math) that they don't even want to play. And I don't blame them -- I'm bored, going over textbook problems by rote, doing the same thing over and over again: come in, everybody sit down, turn in homework, go over homework, get lectured at about more problems in preparation for more homework, get assigned said homework, leave.

But part of the environment problem is getting a critical mass of kids interested, willing to play along with what you're saying. When I give a presentation, whether on the space shuttle, or Fibonacci numbers, or how car engines work, I can keep a class' attention by sheer charisma if the number of really disinterested or unhappy students is small enough. From that perspective, I can't begrudge all the teachers whose lives are easier this semester because their failing students have left the class, freeing them to devote their attention to better students. From my perspective, on the other hand, I'm now working with all the kids they left behind, and sheer force of charisma often isn't enough. It's tough to blow a kid's hair back when they're wishing they weren't even there in the first place.

It's tough to come up with material to enrich the class beyond the book, too. I only do it about once a week, and I spend probably a good deal more time than the nominal 6 hours including prep time that we've enlisted for. The book, for all its flaws, is a recipe to follow when you don't have the luxury of that time, when you've got to be prepared to come in every day of the week. But man, the book is boring. That's the problem with all the frustration of doing things the same way -- it takes resources to change, whether time or money, that you usually don't have. What if the kids who had failed were in classes of 6, instead of 26? Suddenly the dynamic switches from a crowded lecture you can hide in to a conversation where involvement is difficult to avoid. Unfortunately, you also need 3 more teachers for that scenario.

Complicating matters is that I don't even really know most of these kids yet. I've got most of their names, sure, but the bonds of familiarity and affection that I made with all the students who were struggling but not failing last semester aren't there for all these kids. I'm still a stranger, and I've got to lay all that groundwork again to become someone they think has something worthwhile to tell them.