Troubleshooting (online reflection #2)

Walking into my second lesson for my unit over Lord of The Flies (1954), by William Golding, I couldn’t have been more excited. Riding off a pedagogical high of excitement and energy from my last lesson, I expected this one to keep that same momentum. The morning started off great. Students still had my last lesson resonating in their heads as we conferred, and some were ready to jump right into the text—their eyes feasting on the island. However, as I situated the class dynamic for the reading of this novel, a whole-class read, I slowly realized an error in my instruction. Now, sitting by my laptop days later, and having my “teacher of the year” mug glower at me, I realize that I made a boring lesson.

            Yeah, that’s right. It was a boring lesson. Essentially, I made all of the students follow along with the help of an audiobook as I had them sit in their small, compartmentalized desks. Going into the class, I figured the accompanying worksheet, with guiding questions, would be enough to keep them energized and actively immersed with Golding’s world, but, it seems my hubris got the best of me. Watching my students sit isolated from their peers, listening to the droning cadence of a semi-enthused British voice (and trust me, this was no David Attenborough), I myself felt a wave of comatose place a pall over my excitement. Finally, after 53 excruciatingly long minutes of the audiobook, I was finally able to exhale. Trying my best to keep their heads afloat throughout the reading, the sleepers (or as they coin themselves “the head-resters”) finally sprang back to life with a sigh of relief. One student of mine, attuned to the sound of his projected commentary, exclaimed to his other “survivors” that “this book is boring.” Understanding this feeling, and putting away any notion of pride, I told him something that many teachers today would dismiss with a passive hand. I told my student “you’re right.”

Most teachers, from my recollected history, were too proud to admit that they had constructed a boring lesson. If anything, the blame was always put upon the students for not being engaged. However, in order to fully grow as an intentional and humble educator, you must be able to admit mistaken foresight when it happens.

What I mean by mistaken foresight implies an educator neglecting the various outcomes of their intended lesson; an educator who doesn’t factor in the potential failures. With that notion coalescing my neurons, the idea of mistaken foresight allowed me to ponder on my not-so impressive lesson involving the whole-class read. Reflecting over this experience, I wonder what I could have done differently to spark engagement, sustain excitement, and pique critical thinking and collaboration. Essentially, what could I have done to enhance my whole-class read?

Starting with the whole-class read in general, there are many risks a teacher can run into when having students follow along a singular voice. A whole-class read can waste time, further confuse students who have their own reading practices, and forever sour students on a valued text (Bomer, 2011, p. 85). As I read over that last point, thinking back to my “resting” students, I feel the urge to apologize to Mr. Golding. However, it wasn’t just that I made the students listen to an audiobook that was the problem, the real problem came from my ability to mediate and construct moments of meaningful engagement and reflection with the book.  Now, another question is, how do we do that?

Something I realized during my lesson was that I didn’t stop to confer with my students as we read and followed along. I didn’t give them moments to open up—breathe—with the text. In my head, I rationalized with myself that it’s important for them to experience the novel, straight through, with no interruptions.  However, I realized short after that I was hindering their understanding by not allocating time for pauses during the reading.  As Kylene Beers writes, “it is more critical...to talk about texts during the reading experience than after it” (2003, p. 104). By making sure to stop at points in the reading, and gage student understanding, comprehension, focus, and enrichment will bloom. Thinking back to my high school years, I myself remembered those moments of levity where the instructor stopped the story to pose thinking. It was during those moments that I felt motivated to think about the story, never letting my mind deviate to what my weekend plans were (...well, most of the time). And equally important is what to say or do during those breaks. Personally, breaks in a whole-class read should never entail superfluous conversations. In fact, these breaks should encourage deeper engagement with reading. Just like Bomer states in his writing, “[teaches should] teach practices to the whole class that we want to become habits...” (2011, p. 86). With those habits, we want to make sure we are employing effective strategies such as “Think, Pair, And Share” and “Say Something” to our students (for more information on these, refer to the Beers’ text).  These aforementioned strategies are important when dealing with reading in the class because they promote an important reading habit: the habit of literary conversation. This was something that was devoid of in my lesson. If I could go back in time, get the DeLorean to 88, I would incorporate moments where my students could stop reading for a second and actually take into consideration the narrative around them. As Beers’ states succinctly: “we need to give students a chance to think about what they read” (2003, p. 105).  

Although I consider my lesson a dud, it is still something which I value immensely. This lesson made me realize that whatever I do as a teacher, I should always maintain the virtue of reflection and the necessity to troubleshoot when needed. Going forward, I’ll know when a whole-class read could be better dealt in smaller, sustained groups.

Thanks for reading.

References:

Beers, K. (2003). When kids can’t read: What teachers can do. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann.

Bomer, R. (2011). Building Adolescent Literacy in Today’s English Classrooms. Heinemann: Portsmouth, NH

 Golding, William. Lord of the Flies. A Novel. New York: Perigee, 1954.