First off, the word pedagogy is weird. Generously, it sounds like "ped" meaning foot (like in the word pedigree) and "gogy" meaning "baby talk for 'doggy'". It doesn't mean either of those things. My favorite etymology website says that the word comes from the Greek and Latin meaning "education of boys". The way it's used nowadays, however, is the method of instruction--that is, the choices that an educator makes in her classroom, whether it be classroom management, assignments, or interaction with the students, all wrap into the broadest sense of pedagogy.
I'm becoming increasingly unsure of how I approach things from a pedagogical standpoint, however. I've been teaching for nine years straight, to say nothing of the student teaching and substitute teaching I have under my size 34 belt. Existential crises are pretty common for me--paralyzing moments of crippling doubt that make me puzzle over almost every decision* I've made--and generally I push past them by lowering my head, telling my inner critic to shut up, and plowing onward.
There's likely been a lot of collateral damage as a result of that modus operandi. Whom I've injured or insulted, alienated or offended I can never fully know. Students are the most plausible "victims" of my refusal to change my ways or heed the potential warning cries of my crises. Because I "plow onward" with what I do, I'm confident that there are relationships that fail to form, classes that don't feel safe, or lessons that aren't learned.
Today begins the fourth and final quarter for this school year. My Shakespeare class has shifted gears from the theatrical to the literary, and, as a result, I am again in charge (my co-teacher having finished his term last week). On the whole, I'm grateful for the students in that class. They're hardworking, friendly, and happy students.
They also have no capacity to quell their conversations and focus what's going on in class. They're such good friends that they feel the need to constantly feed that friendship, and my patience with their inattentiveness is rapidly fraying. My impulse is to do what I've done in the past: Directly confront the behavior--usually with a heavy dose of sarcasm--with the expectation that they straighten up and fly right.
They don't get it.
No matter what I say, they don't seem to understand that I'm computing and receiving the behavior differently than they intend it. They are committed to punchlines over purpose; without some sort of motivator, it likely will be a struggle for the rest of the year. I don't look forward to that. And it's hard for me to admit that I don't look forward to teaching my Shakespeare class.
My pedagogical instinct says that I should do what I've done in the past--take the students firmly in hand, explain the deficiencies in what is going on, and brainstorm a solution. But I did that with them already. Though we course corrected at the time, whatever strides we made during the first semester have been diverted, and the class is back to where it defaults to.
My frustration with this situation is seeping into me as I write this, and that worries me. I can have an extremely sharp tongue, particularly when I have an expectation that a student isn't meeting, and that can cause create painful results. I don't want to burst on the students. I've done that--my first five years or so, I couldn't go through the whole calendar without exploding on students. Sometimes it was their insipid comments coming at the wrong moment, other times it was a cavalier attitude toward something that deserved greater thought or respect. Whatever it was, I've let loose with the types of verbal tirades that scar a relationship and cause the negative memories that spoil entire classes--or even schooling.
My instinct says to do something with these kids to get them back on track.
I don't know what to do if my instinct is wrong.
---
* The one decision that has never passed through my head is if I made the right choice in marrying my wife. I've doubted basically every other major life choice, but that one doesn't really register. And, no, writing that I've never thought that does not mean I've now thought that, because it isn't a genuine doubt I've harbored. So stop trying to be tricksy.
I'm becoming increasingly unsure of how I approach things from a pedagogical standpoint, however. I've been teaching for nine years straight, to say nothing of the student teaching and substitute teaching I have under my size 34 belt. Existential crises are pretty common for me--paralyzing moments of crippling doubt that make me puzzle over almost every decision* I've made--and generally I push past them by lowering my head, telling my inner critic to shut up, and plowing onward.
There's likely been a lot of collateral damage as a result of that modus operandi. Whom I've injured or insulted, alienated or offended I can never fully know. Students are the most plausible "victims" of my refusal to change my ways or heed the potential warning cries of my crises. Because I "plow onward" with what I do, I'm confident that there are relationships that fail to form, classes that don't feel safe, or lessons that aren't learned.
Today begins the fourth and final quarter for this school year. My Shakespeare class has shifted gears from the theatrical to the literary, and, as a result, I am again in charge (my co-teacher having finished his term last week). On the whole, I'm grateful for the students in that class. They're hardworking, friendly, and happy students.
They also have no capacity to quell their conversations and focus what's going on in class. They're such good friends that they feel the need to constantly feed that friendship, and my patience with their inattentiveness is rapidly fraying. My impulse is to do what I've done in the past: Directly confront the behavior--usually with a heavy dose of sarcasm--with the expectation that they straighten up and fly right.
They don't get it.
No matter what I say, they don't seem to understand that I'm computing and receiving the behavior differently than they intend it. They are committed to punchlines over purpose; without some sort of motivator, it likely will be a struggle for the rest of the year. I don't look forward to that. And it's hard for me to admit that I don't look forward to teaching my Shakespeare class.
My pedagogical instinct says that I should do what I've done in the past--take the students firmly in hand, explain the deficiencies in what is going on, and brainstorm a solution. But I did that with them already. Though we course corrected at the time, whatever strides we made during the first semester have been diverted, and the class is back to where it defaults to.
My frustration with this situation is seeping into me as I write this, and that worries me. I can have an extremely sharp tongue, particularly when I have an expectation that a student isn't meeting, and that can cause create painful results. I don't want to burst on the students. I've done that--my first five years or so, I couldn't go through the whole calendar without exploding on students. Sometimes it was their insipid comments coming at the wrong moment, other times it was a cavalier attitude toward something that deserved greater thought or respect. Whatever it was, I've let loose with the types of verbal tirades that scar a relationship and cause the negative memories that spoil entire classes--or even schooling.
My instinct says to do something with these kids to get them back on track.
I don't know what to do if my instinct is wrong.
---
* The one decision that has never passed through my head is if I made the right choice in marrying my wife. I've doubted basically every other major life choice, but that one doesn't really register. And, no, writing that I've never thought that does not mean I've now thought that, because it isn't a genuine doubt I've harbored. So stop trying to be tricksy.