Rambunctious.
That’s what we’re told on our way to the main entrance, a day of teaching with aSTEAM Village in Kansas City waiting for us in the Missouri heat. Rambunctious, the woman in the car tells us as we pass—followed by a knowing laugh.
A past that doesn’t matter until it does.
I’m a History major, I say. What do you think of when you see the word history? Answers I receive: boring (x3), being lectured at in a classroom, dinosaurs, everything after the first human came into existence, the nuclear bomb, museums, a past that doesn’t matter until it does.
I don’t hear truth (or Truth). I wonder now if I should have brought it up—asked students what they thought, explained how the idea of truth, or seeking truth, has shaped my own understanding of history. Or would that have been too heavy-handed, especially this early on in the lesson? Maybe.
What’s the name on the base of the statue? Was he racist?
I ask a question (what do you think is happening in this photo?)—and the students respond with questions of their own. Good questions.
Agassiz after the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake
Source: Stanford Historical Photograph Collection
Louis Agassiz was a Swiss-born natural scientist and Harvard professor. He was also, according to the Harvard Department of Earth and Planetary Sciences website, “a prominent supporter of racial segregation and white supremacy.” Some students conclude that protests for racial justice uprooted Agassiz and planted him upside down in ostrich-esque ignominy. Others—especially after I show the second Agassiz photo—argue that this was not an intentional act. A flood, maybe, or a hurricane. Then again, if the statue fell from its perch, what are the chances it would end up so perfectly headfirst into the ground? Wouldn’t it shatter—or if the cement was wet, wouldn’t it slump? What if the photos were not taken at the same time? What if the photos are fake?
The students are invested. They search for evidence of what happened and debate the merits of the historical photos I show; they observe with precision and imagine with ease; they ask question after question. I keep experiencing moments of discovery about my own lesson—each a gentle surprise, like a tap on the shoulder.
I challenge the students to take photos of their own, bringing in different perspectives they have on an object they care about.
I can never predict what they’ll come up with, and that’s the joy of it.
My new friend (a gift from a student)
Safe biking :)
Are we really biking across the country? In this heat? Do we camp? Do we carry all our gear on us when we bike?
Cool.
Life isn’t fair.
A lesson transmitted from parent to child to me. 1 photo per instant camera, I tell the students—I’m trying to keep things fair. They’re unimpressed with my reasoning; I can’t help but be amused by theirs.
To be fair, there are weaknesses in my workshop design that create openings for chaos—I’m continuously revising. Goals: I want to scale the workshop down even further for elementary school students; improve my time management so we have more time for discussion; and facilitate student-student dialogue in place of teacher-student dialogue.
Energy…it’s innate!
I was born with energy!
After an entire day of Spokes workshops, we gather for a group photo. One student is messing around with his friends, buoyant as ever; I ask where he gets all his energy. (Naps, he informs me.)
I know teaching can drain people—that trying to navigate students’ attention spans and engagement levels while also gauging understanding for hours on end can quickly lead to burnout. But—at least after these 1-hour workshops—teaching leaves me buzzing with energy.
Anna
P.S. Shout-out to the aSTEAM Village staff—we immensely appreciated your support and the grace with which you handled the bumps we encountered! Thank you for having us. :)