Some kids moan and groan when they realize it's vocab. day. Other kids love it. To the kids that love it, it's a relaxed, fun, day to goof off and talk about words. We sit down, I write a word on the board, we then talk about what they think the word means. We discuss how to pronounce it, how to use it, antonyms and synonyms of the word, examples of the word, things that remind of us the word, etc. I find this method of learning words is more effective than simply drilling definitions, and so far most of my kids do smashingly on the quizzes.
Wanna know a quick way to tell the difference between a smart kid and a dumb kid? The smart kids will soak up new words like sponges. They're fascinated by the words, they are puzzled by the words, they use the words to be funny and sometimes throughout the year they'll use the words in class discussion when appropriate. They show me their books when they find the words, or tell me about how they heard our vocabulary word in a movie they saw, or on Grand Theft Auto. The dumb kids rail against the words. When presented with new words, they resent them, they fight against them, they find excuses to not learn them.
"If rancorous just means bitter and hateful, why don't we just SAY bitter and hateful?!" That's the argument I get all the time. If one word means another word, why don't we just SAY the other word? So time and time again I explain that no two words mean the exact same thing, but sometimes the meanings are similar. The example I use is feeling "sad" and feeling "depressed."
I ask them if there's a difference.
They say that depressed means "really sad."
I retort: why don't we just SAY "really sad," then?
At that point the kid is SUPPOSED to think, "Well... because depressed and really sad aren't exactly the same thing."
What the kids usually respond: "You're right! What's the point of even saying depressed? It's just easier to say really sad."
This is what I have to work with.
On my vocabulary quizzes, spelling counts. I think I am one of the few teachers that cares about spelling, but I stand by it. I know the history of English, and I know that spelling can be a very tricky thing. I know that sometimes spelling doesn't seem to make any kind of sense. I also know that correct spelling is, in many ways, totally subjective. Who decides what's right and wrong in English? Who is qualified to decide? Why should we listen to them? These are all questions I've considered myself, but I've come to the conclusion that spelling essentially follows understandable patterns and understanding spelling helps us to understand words and language and meaning. At the very least, forcing yourself to learn how to spell a word requires some mental effort, and making use of your brain is one of the goals of English class.
This brings us to "there" and "their."
I noticed one week that there were a lot of people around misusing "there" and "their." I wasn't even noticing kids misusing it, I saw adults using it incorrectly. It made me feel kind of sad, but then I realized I had the power to influence the future because I'm a teacher! So I decided to include "there," "their," and "they're" in my vocabulary words for the week. I teach tenth-graders, and so a lot of them knew how to use these words already. Did they complain, though? No, they did not. They didn't complain because they were smart kids, and smart kids don't usually complain much. They have the attitude that if a teacher is wanting to teach something I already know, then let him.
For 1, it makes it an easy A for me.
For 2, it will be a good review in case I've been doing it wrong.
For 3, since this teacher is a qualified and intelligent person, he must have some reason for covering this material which I believe he will explain to me.
(Where do the smart kids get their cooperative attitudes? More on that later...)
While I was standing at the board explaining that "they're" is a contracted form of "they are" I heard a kid scoff loudly. This kid, let's call him Peter, was in a tan Carhart jacket, long Wrangler legs stretched out from the front of his desk as he leaned back in his chair.
"Peter, something to add?" I said, addressing him.
"Mr. Laha, do you seriously think anybody cares about this stuff?"
"What stuff? There and they're?"
"Yeah. These words."
I looked at him, amused and annoyed by the question. "What do you think?" I asked.
"I think no."
"You don't think anyone will ever judge you based on the way you write?" I question.
"I'm never GOING to write," he responds.
I try to appeal to his practicality. "What about a resume for a job? Or a job application? I would bet any employer would choose a good speller over a bad speller, because people judge intelligence by your use of language."
"I'm never going to have a job that needs an application. I work in construction, and you just show up and ask for work and you get it. That's a real job."
I'm too cynical to even care at this point, so I just tell him that's fine, but he needs to learn it for the quiz.
I hate doing that, because it goes against everything I was taught in college about education. Doing homework for the sake of doing homework is total b.s. and everyone knows it. The kids know and I know it... But how do I get the kid to care? When the kid learns there is a third way of spelling "their," he blows up again. He laughs derisively and folds his arms.
"Mr. Laha, I'm NEVER going to use ANY of this in my life."
I try to appeal to his sense of pride. "Don't you at least want to spell the word the right way?"
"I've always spelled it 'there' and I'm always GOING to spell it 'there'! That's how I was taught to spell it, and NOBODY CARES!"
I kid you not, these quotes are real. I wrote them down shortly after the incident took place. Of course, the whole class got into it. They all started rebelling and hollering and high-fiving each other. What do I do at this point? It goes back to what I asked myself before: how do I get the kid to care? He obviously doesn't, but it's more than that. He not only not cares, but is comfortable enough with his apathy to voice it, loudly, in the middle of my class. When did it become ok to question teachers in the middle of class about the validity of the subject? He's not that bad of a kid, he's not on drugs and he hasn't (as far as I know) had a history of abuse. He just has an inflated sense of entitlement in regards to his opinion on English. Yes, most teenagers act like they are the smartest beings in the universe, (is it a stereotype if it's true?) but have they always been so brash about their own ignorance?
To me, the problem is not that the kids don't know the difference between there and their. The problem is that they don't know, and that they are PROUD of the fact. My students have a serious sense of pride in their ignorance. When I give them new words, instead of feeling a sense of humility at all the things they have yet to learn, they push in the opposite direction. They are happy with the words they know and they don't want more words. The new words are too fancy, useless, pointless, or make you sound like a fag. Don't think I'm just making this stuff up, either. I had several freshman last year who boldly proclaimed, "Reading is for fags."
I offered extra credit to any students who participated in National Novel Writing Month in November. Much to my surprise, one of my students actually participated and completed a novel! When I told my other classes about it, how did they react? Did they say, "Wow! That's incredible. I wish I could have that kind of skill!" Of course not. They said, "What a total loser! Anyone who actually sits down to write a novel obviously has NO life. I feel sorry for her."
Maybe there was a time when young people were taught that knowledge was a good thing, and that ignorance was shameful. Maybe they were also taught that education was the most important aspect of their lives, and to value it. Maybe things have always been this way and I just have not noticed, or am now realizing it. But I suspect that things have changed. In fact, I'm almost sure that things have changed.
One student told me he walked into his house with a new book under his arm. His father then asked him, "What are you doing with that thing? You know only faggots read books." Of course I'd never met the father because there's no way he would ever come to a parent-teacher conference, but I doubt the kid was smart enough to make the story up.What kind of an impact would that obviously have on the student?
to be continued.
This is the 1st article in a series. For more in this series, see:
What Holds the World Together: Interlude
