HS #3 2015.10.6
The necessity of
waiting
This seems like an odd question, but bear with me: What does “5” mean? Of course it can be spelled “five,” but if
checked in a dictionary, there is no definition that gives the meaning we all
understand. (Try it!)
So how did we learn what “five” means? It obviously does no good to say, “one more
than four” or “one less than six” since that just raises new questions. Similarly,
it does not even work to say, “It’s the number of pennies in my hand” because
the word “number” doesn’t make sense until one understands what numbers are.
So how did we learn?
I think I remember. Back in
kindergarten, we were shown a page with pictures. One picture showed five
butterflies. Another was of five quarters. Yet another portrayed five
trees. The question at the bottom of the
page asked, “What do these pictures have in common?” The answer, of course, is “five.”
The important thing to notice here is that the teacher never
actually explains “five.” Instead, she can only continue giving examples of
five objects, and wait for the spark of understanding to eventually occur in
the students’ minds.
A celebrated example of waiting for the spark of inspiration
is found in the life of Helen Keller.
When she was nineteen months old, Helen was struck both deaf and blind,
probably by scarlet fever. Going through
her childhood years without the usual tools of communication, Helen lived an
isolated existence. Imagine the frustration of being helpless and dependent, knowing
that others were experiencing so much more. Imagine the loneliness and fury of an
intelligent six year old who could not communicate her thoughts and feelings,
could not ask questions. How could she
learn? How could she learn to learn?
Anne Sullivan came to
live with the Kellers when Helen was six.
Without Helen’s ability to see or hear, Anne was forced to
improvise. She used sign language, but since Helen couldn’t see, she pressed
her hand symbol onto Helen’s palm. But
how does one explain to a young, strong willed girl that this strange new
routine was the key to unlocking the world?
Just as in teaching the meaning of “five”, Anne could do nothing
but patiently wait. As described in the well-known play, “The Miracle Worker,”
the miracle occurred a month later when, after Helen had thrown a jug of water
at her mentor, Anne forced her to the pump to refill the jug. Then, as the jug
was filling, Anne did as she had habitually done countless times before - she
spelled, “w-a-t-e-r” on Helen’s palm.
For whatever reason, this was when the spark of insight
ignited. Helen, transfixed, dropped the jug in wonder. It was a personal opening of her mind every
bit as dramatic as the gospel writer’s description, “And, behold, the veil of the temple was rent in twain from
the top to the bottom.” The veil of
darkness that had kept Helen isolated and despondent was ripped apart in an
instant. Grabbing her teacher’s hand,
Helen learned thirty words that day and began a great life of learning, adventure,
scholarship and most important – living in community with other humans.
As an
educator, I find it valuable to keep these examples in mind. Obviously,
teachers and mentors are indispensible. Anne Sullivan was proclaimed the Miracle
Worker. However, ultimately, even
educators can only wait patiently for the real miracle to happen - for the
spark of insight to ignite in the mind of the student.
Indeed,
even the student must learn to wait. A graduate school friend once remarked
that he did not consider himself to be a “thinker” but instead an “observer of
thoughts.” I knew exactly what he meant. Endeavoring to discover a new
mathematical theorem in pursuit of a Ph.D., the best I could do was to sit at
my desk, lay my head down on my folded arms, empty my mind of its cluttered
thoughts, and wait. Wait for a spark of insight and then quickly grab it before
it disappeared. I could identify with
the prophet Elijah who after three years of waiting, heard but a still small
voice.
Effective
teaching and learning at its core then seems to involve patient waiting. For a
teacher with a classroom of thirty or more students, this presents a challenge.
Each student’s light bulb ignites at its own time. But oh the joy and wonder of
witnessing it happen.
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I'm often tell my thankful parents, "Don't thank me; your kid did all the work. I can't really teach anyone anything; all I can do is show them how to teach themselves."
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