Good Order and Discipline

     My IPad chimed softly announcing the arrival of a new email. Grunting a bit, I leaned over the arm of the couch and fished it out of the wicker basket where I dump electronics when I’m finished with them. Opening the cover I quickly swiped through various screens until the new message glowed in front of me. “Dear Mr. Robinson,” it began, “My son failed to turn in an assignment and is now failing your class.” As I scrolled through the short email, a loving parent’s anguish poured across my device. In short it said, my son, whom I love, struggles and I don’t know what to do. Please help me help my son achieve the life I dreamed for them.

     Parents regularly send me such emails. They love their son or daughter and their hearts ache when they grapple with what seems so basic. Though I do not have empirical data to support this; boys seem to struggle with learning more than girls. Many, like this mother, fret far too early and far too often. Barely two weeks into the semester and already she felt panic. Again, I do not have good data to support my conclusion; however, much of what we as educators worry about, and foist off on parents, is a function of the normal maturation process.

     As a teacher I love a calm orderly classroom. I never know when one of the principals I work for will show up. I want them to see me in full control of the educational process. But, in reality, I run a messy classroom. For example, last week I started an assignment which required the students to draw a map of Lubbock from memory. I allowed them to work together, but each one had to turn in a finished project. As they settled down…got organized really…to work one of them casually mentioned, “Mr. Robinson, too bad we don’t have poster-board. This would have been good to work on as a group.”

     Well, as it happened, I had plenty of poster-board behind a filing cabinet and the idea was just too good to pass up. So I reoriented the class around group projects, with each group working together to build a map of Lubbock from memory; no computers or roadmaps allowed. Naturally, due to the shift in plans chaos reigned in my room for about ten minutes. Lucky for me, none of the administration picked that time to peek in my room. Education, at all levels, is frequently messy. Some students love a project, others despise the concept. Students mature at different rates. Often questions lead us into unplanned places with unanticipated results. As the “responsible adult” somehow I’ve got to exercise a modicum of control, keeping bedlam at bay. As part of the process I must bring everyone in the room along; no matter their level of interest or ability.

     If a student shows up with organizational challenges, part of my job is to help them learn some sort of system and acquire some history in the process. A few students bring behavioral challenges with them. They blurt out answers or editorial comments at inappropriate times. They disrupt my already tenuous control of the classroom. I must train them in self-control. Like our students, we teachers rebel at this additional assignment and the system responded with various medications designed to moderate undesirable behaviors.

     Each day a small parade of medicated students pass through my classroom. I often wonder if we rob these young people of a key aspect of the maturation process; the discipline of developing self-control. Instead of learning how to control their impulses we take a pharmaceutical shortcut in the name of classroom management. Learning takes time and effort. Learning to curb impulsive behaviors takes even more and requires great patience and wisdom; both qualities I need in abundance and often find lacking. The parents of one of my students decided to try having their child go without meds for a while. I applaud their decision as I pull what little hair I have out. It makes my job harder, but now I can help teach their child skills they need for success in life, and history is only one of the things I teach.

     All of this brings me back to the email which started these musings. What do I tell a distraught parent, especially at the beginning of the school year? I tell them not to worry. It may take a while, but their child and I will figure this out. It is too early to panic. We’ve got all year to practice and develop good habits. Habits their child will carry with them through life. This is my job. It’s what I’m supposed to do. I help children learn how to function. After all, that’s why we call them children, don’t let them drive cars, get married, or enter into binding contracts. I’m a teacher, I help them discover the keys to being an adult and along the way we have fun and learn some history, geography, or English.