Learning is Fun by Nature

Many of the blogs I read and workshops I attend use the same phrase when describing various teaching techniques; they call them ways to "make learning fun." However lately, I've come to the conclusion that learning, by nature, is fun. Example: While at my parent's house over Thanksgiving, I must have run the battery on my smartphone dead 3 times simply looking up random facts and answers to various questions. (For the record, that is meant to be a testament to how many things I researched, not to my poor battery life.) I learned that there are different genus of plants known as "mistletoe" and how to identify the species that were poisonous. I also learned that difference between sweet potatoes and yams, that Butler University is in Indianapolis (Who's Butler, you ask? Ask UNC. They'll tell you) and that Tim Tebow is a month and a half younger than me (yet makes so much more money.) Why was I looking for all this information? Because it was fun.

I think that it is human nature to want to learn. To want to know more about the world and how it works. And so by nature, learning is fun. So the key in education is not to make learning fun. If your students are truly learning they should be having fun by default. The key, then, is to make sure that your students are truly learning. Encourage them to ask questions and then go find the answers. Sell your subject matter, whatever it is. Even if it is the worst topic ever (*cough*cough*soil science*cough*) if your students believe that it is something you appreciate and that it is important in this world, they will want to know what it is. They will want to know, want to learn, want to understand. Why? Because it's fun!

They are why we teach...

The past three weeks have been THE most challenging weeks of my teaching career so far. Granted, that's only about a year and a half, but I always thought that the first year was the hardest. But the happenings of the last couple of weeks have been things that no college class, no student teaching experience, no workshop, and no text book could have ever prepared me for.

Let's back up to two weeks ago; I have learned that "Teacher Work Days" and "Professional Development" is teacher code for paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork. As I sat in our "Professional Development" session listening to all the stuff that was expected of me I became more and more discouraged. This was not what I signed up for. I'm here to teach, to coach, to mentor, to work with students. Not to write papers and sit through meetings that won't have an impact on my ability to teach in any way. But as the "stuff" piled up, so did the discouragement and for the first time in my entire life I started wondering, "what could I do besides teach?" (And for those of you who know me, you know that when I say "my entire life" I mean, my entire life. All I've wanted to do since I learned what a teacher was is to be a teacher.)

As the weeks went on, so did the assignments, paperwork, needless meetings, and flaming hoops to jump through. I'd had all I could take. I stayed late on Friday night doing all the things I needed to get done so that I could go home and spend Saturday and Sunday thinking about anything besides school.

Boy, was I wrong.

Around 1:30am on Saturday I received a call that the unthinkable had happened. Four of our students were in a very serious car accident, and one of them didn't make it. His name was Ronald. He was a proud FFA member and fire fighter. He was on our Hunter Safety Team. He was on our Tool ID team. He was at every meeting causing roars of laughter everywhere he went. He was a hard worker, probably the hardest working student I've ever taught. He was mischievous, and silly, and funny, and caring... and now he was gone.

This is the hardest thing about teaching that I have ever experienced. Harder than any assignment or duty or workshop or professional development. And it took me until Saturday afternoon when I was talking to my teaching partner understand why exactly this was so hard: because this was meaningful.

I realized in that moment that I don't teach because I think it is absolutely imperative that every student in the world be able to calculate board feet or remember the formula for photosynthesis or remember what comes between the gizzard and the cloaca in a chicken. I teach because I like helping students. And in 30 years, no matter if I'm teaching or if I've moved on to another calling in life, I won't remember what his grade was or what he scored on the final. I won't remember if he was able to demonstrate higher order thinking skills during our Paideia. But I will remember how he found a hand full of zip ties and attached them to everything he could in my classroom (there's still one on my door knob that I can't get off.) And I will remember how he taped his initials on the wall and when I made him take it down he took the paint down with it. And I will remember how he looked so goofy with his Wranglers tucked inside his cowboy boots and how he didn't care that he looked goofy.

And those are the things I will remember because those are the things that are meaningful, the things that mattered.

I have spent the last 3 days worrying, not over my lesson plans, but over my students. I haven't been very good at attendance and I haven't done a great job getting my purchase orders to the bookkeeper or signing in and out, but I have tried to be there for my students every possible moment because they are what matters. They are all that matters. They are why we teach. And if we neglect them, then we negate our entire purpose for being here. If we allow the paperwork, and the politics, and the stuff to take priority over them, then we have failed them.

They are what matters. They are all that matters. They are why. we. teach.

A picture's worth a thousand words? Enough said.

For quite a while a print out of this picture has hung on various bulletin boards at my workstations from my office in Patterson to my office at home to my classroom for a couple of reasons. First, it’s just a funny picture. And who doesn’t need some comic relief every once in a while?

But my real attraction to this picture goes beyond hilarity of that poor little donkey’s woes. When I look at this picture, I see more than a few laughs… I see a thousand words.

I see that every creature on earth, even teachers and donkeys, have a limit to the amount of life they can take one at one time. They can only pull so much weight before they start to become overwhelmed by the staggering weight of all the tasks and responsibilities that they take upon themselves or that are thrust upon them.

I see that once a person reaches this point of being totally overwhelmed they cease to make progress; they no longer can move forward. Instead, the weight of life overcomes even the greatest strength, the strongest will, and the deepest passion.

I see that when the weight of life manages to finally throw its carrier off balance, it is not a pleasant experience for that carrier. It is obvious that this donkey, known for his stubbornness but not his intelligence, is highly displeased with the situation. He dangles helplessly; ears pinned back and ready to come down kicking. And he’s just a donkey. Imagine how amplified his poor donkey feelings would be if they belonged to a human: one with a full understanding of how important each responsibility is and who would be let down when the carrier of that responsibility failed.

I see that the problem now is that the likelihood that our donkey will be able to get himself down without some assistance or without a change in his load is very small. And if he can’t get down, he can’t move forward at all. Even if he could handle pulling the weight, he would never be able to get his feet on the ground to begin with. He can’t even unload anything from the cart himself because he’s stuck in the air! So now not only is he ashamed that he has failed to complete the tasks, and angry with himself to have let down those who were counting on him, he’s also frustrated because, unless something changes, there is nothing he can do about it.

I see that the only solution to this problem is to ask for help. For humans, who can often be very donkey-esque, overcoming our stubborn pride to ask for help can often be one of the hardest things we could ever have to do. But it is necessary to realize it is necessary. We may have the benefit of opposable thumbs, but in a situation where we have been outweighed and defeated, we have no more chance of overcoming the challenge along than that donkey.

I see that, although a donkey suspended in mid-air seems unnatural and problematic to me, the people around him and his cart seem totally unfazed by the sight. They don’t have alarmed expressions on their faces, nor do they seem to be hurrying to unload the cart or pull the poor beast down. Was it a human, I’d say it was because we are so expert in hiding our struggles that it is often difficult to spot. Which once again reminds me: help won’t show up unless you ask for it.  Ask and ye shall receive, don’t ask and ye shall suffer, suspended eternally in midair with the shame and anger and frustration and (surely) sadness of the situation.

I see that we are not donkeys. This donkey, a prized work animal, stood obediently by as his owner no doubt piled all of those boxes on the cart he was to pull. We however have the luxury of the word “no.” Though so rarely we use it, we have the choice to take on projects or to say “No, thanks. I can’t.” We have the ability to judge how full our plates are and if we can in fact handle another package. The key is learning that it is okay to say “no.” That it doesn’t make us an “ass” if we say “no.” In fact, it makes us quite the opposite. It makes us the anti-ass. We aren’t standing idly by letting someone pile tasks on us that we can’t possibly do a quality job completing because we are spread so thin. We are learning what we can do and when we can do it and having the strength to say when enough is enough.

I see that from the opposite end of the spectrum, it is important to be aware of how we load the carts of others. Even if the person pulling the load says they can handle it, it’s important to be aware of the weight they’ve been given and to be there to help them pull if the load becomes too heavy and starts to lift them into ineffectiveness. As leaders, it’s our job to delegate responsibly and monitor progress. If we are doing our jobs correctly, no one gets weighed down, everyone makes progress, and everyone benefits from that progress.

I see that it’s important to tie on our responsibilities with the right type of material. In the picture, the rope that is attempting to hold the boxes on the cart is tattered, torn, and weak. It is limp, not pulled tight, and the knots that have been tied with it are unraveling. This reminds me of the way we can take on responsibilities that don’t fall into our passions. We should be taking on different aspects of life because we care about them, because we love them and we know what good can come from them. We should be taking on areas of life that we are passionate about because if we feel even the least bit of apathy toward it, we will not produce quality results. That responsibility will get put on the bottom of the pile, crushed and battered and abused; and someone, somewhere down the line will suffer because of it. My dad always said, “If it’s not worth doing right, why do it?” We have to choose things that we feel are worth doing right. Then that passion will help bind that responsibility. And the results produced will be the quality that everyone involved deserves.

Wow. That was exactly 1000 words. But 1000 words later, what does it all really mean? Well, to be frank…

Don’t be an ass.

YOU might be an Ag Teacher

In the early 90's, southern comedian and redneck enthusiast Jeff Foxworthy popularized the saying, "You might be a redneck...." Since then, we have learned the many tell-tale signs that indicate that we too might be rednecks, including (but not limited to):

• You ever cut your grass and found a car.
• There are more than five McDonald's bags in your car.
• You think a subdivision is part of a math problem.
• Someone asks to see your ID and you show them your belt buckle.
• You consider a good tan to be the back of of your neck and the left arm below the shirt sleeve.

I could go on, but I digress. My point here is, there are some tell-tale signs for all of us that allude to our quirks, our habits, our lifestyles, and our jobs. And the Agriculture Teacher is not excluded from having such identifying characteristics. Observe.

YOU might be an Ag Teacher if...

• You use the botanical name of a plant to try to guess a correct answer on the game "Draw Something."
• Your students think you are a livestock sex-ed teacher.
• There is potting soil stuck between the keys on your keyboard.
• You teach mathematical concepts that cause students to exclaim, "Wow! I might actually use this one day!"
• You are busier in the summer than you are during the school year.
• Your students mimic secret service agents and give you the code name "Gray Owl" while touring Washington, D.C.
• A student cries in your classroom on the first day of school because she just learned her leather Coach bag is made of a moo-cow.
• You give your family members Florida Farm Bureau fruit for Christmas.
• You get antsy in workshops and meetings if you aren't doing hands on activities.
• Your officers expect you to end all your text messages to them with the words "and a goat."
• You recite the FFA Creed in the shower every so often so your can show your students just how EASY it is.
• You love seeing kids in that beautiful blue corduroy (and you're secretly a little sad you don't get to wear that 1933 fashion statement anymore.)
• In-Service meetings, conferences, and conventions are like college class reunions.

Any of this sound familiar to anyone? Maybe it's just me :-P

Have any of your own? Share!

Green and growing

It has been raining for three whole days. The sky is gray. The ground is squishy and covered in mud. But today on my drive to work I noticed something. Even though the sky is dark and gray and dreary as ever, even though the fog and steam bring an eerie presence to every landscape, somehow the world around the sadness seems brighter. After 3 days, the grass is greener than I’ve seen it all year. The crape myrtles are blooming in vibrant and beautiful pinks and whites and lavenders. The annuals are happy and healthy, the cotton is beginning to blossom; everything that has waited through the heat and the drought all summer has somehow managed to capture every nourishing drop of this monsoon and use it for good. In fact, it’s the best “good” I’ve seen all summer.

When it rains like this it’s not uncommon that I begin to equate the rain with sadness. I begin to remember challenges and pain and sadness. I think of those droughts: times when I kept waiting and waiting and hoping for things to turn around and all that happened was something that, at the time, just seemed even worse. But today I realize that each of those times taught me something. Each of those challenges encouraged me to grow. Every heartache made me appreciate and be grateful for all I have. But without those experiences, without those dreary days of rain, I would never have grown, never have learned… I would just be sitting in a drought, drying up and waiting.

The truth is we need rain in our lives. And we all hate to admit it; just ask any child who ever missed out on a day at the pool because it rained. But we as humans need the storms of life so that we too can grow and blossom. And while the storms are raging, our struggles seem so much greater than any good that could come from them. But if we can remember that we need the storms, not that we just need to get through them but we need them, then when the time is right we will be ready to endure the rain and learn to use it—grow from it and do things greater than ourselves. There is purpose in everything that happens. There is good in every storm. And if we can keep from drying out while we're waiting, when the storm comes we’ll see the good, and we’ll be better, greener, for it.