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The Goddess Speaks Christy Wong |
A ‘motor mouth’ can learn
a lot by pausing to listenAs an education student and teacher, I sometimes think I remember my own jan ken po days a little too well to do this job right. The sounds and smells of this classroom, cafeteria and playground take me right back to my own blue-carpeted second grade, and the memories play like my own mental version of "I Love the '80s": jelly shoes, Garbage Pail Kids, "Dukes of Hazzard" lunch can. The era was also cluttered with cursive and subtraction, and for me, "I will not talk in class" x 100 a couple of times a week.
I remember second grade so well that I seriously empathize with my students, the ones who hate subtraction and who love to talk in class. These days, I wonder two things: How much could I hock that "Dukes of Hazzard" lunch can for on eBay, if only I could find it, and, in my quest to be goddess of this classroom, are my students' days as endless as mine were?
In retrospect I know that for every convoluted word problem that made me cry with frustration in math, there must have been a song in music that made me laugh, and for every tofu tub of papier-mâché I spilled in art, there was a thoroughly rowdy game of kickball in PE.
But one of the things I remember most vividly about second grade is a nickname my teacher gave me: "Motor Mouth, I can hear you from all the way over here. Settle down and finish that subtraction worksheet."
"Motor Mouth, did you hear me? Stop talking!"
I was often in trouble because I would rather talk than learn to subtract, listen to the chatter surrounding me than listen to the teacher and "share" rather than keep good gossip to myself.
IT WASN'T UNTIL I entered college that I realized what a gift it was to always have something to say, and I only realized it because I didn't have the gift anymore. (I don't blame this on my second-grade teacher; I blame it mostly on not reading the assignment the night before.) When I found it hard to contribute to a small-group discussion, even when the talk turned to who got kicked off "Survivor" last night, I wondered what had happened to me. Talking used to be effortless! My teacher used to literally tape my mouth shut! Where did all those words go?
It was then that I realized that while it's not always prudent, talking without thinking about how you're going to sound is a gift you start out with and, as you mature, one you gradually lose.
Don't get me wrong -- I think that we should think before we talk, and I think it's our responsibility to teach kids how to do it. In these days of great need for nonviolent conflict resolution skills, talking is a fine art, and words, children's alternative to weapons, are precious tools. We want kids to know it's safe to talk to us about their complicated lives. The way to teach them how to talk is simply to let them.
Let them talk, and listen to what they say. Inviting my fourth-grade class to talk first thing in the morning, I learn so much about them: They love origami, "American Idol" and Stravinsky's "Firebird Suite." They are funny, talented and tenacious, and expert homework dodgers, but unquestionably helpful toward me and each other.
Some of them only see their parents on the weekend; some of them are lonelier than they appear. Knowing these things helps me figure out not only how to reach them in a math lesson, but to know when to be gentle or unwavering in matters of discipline.
So, how do you do this job "right," and am I getting it at all? I confess I don't know. I'm 25 and still a student myself (it delights the kids to know that their teacher is just as tortured by homework as they are). I just know there's more to it than a quiet classroom. Talking and listening every morning helps me to remember that I was once a kid who not only wanted to talk all the time, but really would have loved for the teacher to listen.
Christy Wong is a substitute teacher with the Department of Education and a masters of education student at Chaminade.
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