At the high school where I used to teach, there was a widely-believed (sub)urban legend that the school was built from a remodeled prison. Despite any evidence to the contrary (“I grew up here in the 80s, kids, and this used to be an empty field. I promise.”), students held steadfast to their belief in the school’s origins. To them, the idea that the school was once a prison was completely sensible. It used to be a prison. Now it just feels like one.
The school-prison connection is a logical one. Prisons are places where people are kept for long periods of time against their will and are forced to do things that aren’t particularly enjoyable. When you’re in prison—and when you’re in school—someone else decides where you go, where you don’t go, and when you go (or don’t go) there. You adhere to a daily schedule that is punctuated by bells or other audible signals. Bathroom use and other privileges are metered out and limited. The inmates are kept under control by fear, intimidation, strict rules, and harsh punishments doled out by tyrannical authority figures. The worst offenders are separated from the masses and forced to spend time in solitary confinement. There aren’t many windows, recess occurs infrequently, and the cafeteria food isn’t anything to rave about.
Interestingly, the students who were the most adamant about the prison-turned-school theory were also the ones who were most vocal about their dislike for school itself. It’s also interesting that these same students were often the ones whose choices were most limited during their time at school.
I’ve taught all levels of students, and I confess to being guilty of inequity. Though I freely offered choices to my gifted and honors students, I frequently limited the options available to the students in my on-level classes. I chose what they read and the pace at which they read it. I only provided one option for classwork and homework. I chose their groups for them, yet I often made them work alone since I didn’t think they could handle the freedom of working with others. Looking back, I’ll admit I sometimes adopted a me vs. them mentality, rather than trying to build strong relationships and to meet them where they were. To many of those students, I was probably just another guard keeping the status quo in the prison.
In retrospect, there are two changes I would have made to make my students feel less like they were serving time in a prison: connect with them more intentionally and give them choices.
Connecting with students isn’t that hard, but it does require a shift in the way you view yourself as an educator. It takes letting go of some control, stepping out of the authoritarian role, and taking a risk to venture into the students’ realm. In my current position, I visit many campuses and interact with all levels of students. I have yet to encounter a student who doesn’t respond favorably when I treat him as if he is a person worthy of respect instead of a subordinate or, worse, a nonhuman. Young people love to be seen. Teenagers like to feel someone is taking an interest in them. They need to have their voices heard and to be listened to. The students who loathe the time they spend in school are often the hardest to approach. Many have built substantial walls around themselves and may be guarded in their dealings with others, especially adults. In my interactions now, I try to be the adult who proves them wrong, the one who doesn’t treat recalcitrant kids as they expect to be treated and who tries to see them for who they are. Kids are interesting. Kids have opinions. Even the most reluctant learner has something to say if given a chance.
Providing choices also requires letting go of some control and trusting that the majority of students, when given the freedom, will make decent decisions—and if not, that they will learn from the poor decisions they make. If we never ask young people to make choices and decide everything for them as they grow up, two things will likely occur: they won’t learn how to make choices and think for themselves, and they will resent the restrictions we place upon them.
By providing four acceptable options for in-class reading selections, I have given my students the opportunity to control some aspect of their learning. By allowing them to choose from three possible ways to demonstrate mastery of the content, I have put my students in control of their own learning and, perhaps, differentiated the assignment (because more often than not, students will select the option that is an appropriate challenge for their cognitive level). By letting them choose a partner to work with, I acknowledge the social component of learning and honor their desires to engage with friends. By not micromanaging every decision, I show my students that I trust them and dispel the myth that they’re in a place where the grown-ups are wholly in charge because students’ opinions and desires don’t matter.
Everyone deserves to have choices. In schools, the ones who need choices the most are often the ones who receive them the least. Todd Whitaker, in his book What Great Teachers Do Differently, suggests that educators should make decisions with the best people in mind. In other words, we shouldn’t limit choices because of the few students who can’t handle the freedom or the ambiguity. Instead, we should think about the best students—the ones who thrive on choices and autonomy—and structure our instruction to provide them chances to guide their own learning, to steer their own course, and to determine how to manage their time, their materials, and their interactions. By doing this, we are making schools seem less like prisons and more like places of opportunity and possibility. We are making our schools enjoyable environments for our clients, the students, those whom we hope will shape the future. Giving them choices today will help them make the best choices down the road. Let’s unlock the shackles we’ve been placing on our students and set them free to learn.
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