The Average Classroom

It's cold and Friday. In 7th grade, this means education is at least a double digit underdog.

Today I handed out copies of Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech. Today, we're learning about author's purpose and viewpoint. All my students have, by either some form of learning or prolonged osmosis of their histories, learned about Martin Luther King Jr. and all of them are familiar with his famous dream.

This is what happens when you give a class copies of those resonant, powerful words.

First, the student in the front will collect his four sheets and pass them back. This is not always consistent though. Every other row or so, one student will decide to dangle the sheet in front of the student behind him, only to yank it away at the last second. The chances of this happening doubles if the students are of a different gender.

Actually, it triples.

Secondly, some students will purposely drop their papers, letting them scatter to the floor. They will look embarrassed, but in reality they are quite happy for the hard-earned collection of seconds to get out of their seats and not have to be in them.

Once all students are appropriately situated with their speeches, some will have them upside down.

Once all students are appropriately situated with their speeches and properly aligned, the lesson can start. The teacher can say something remarkably insightful and even eloquent (depending on who is listening), for instance: "I know that living in Prince George's County, which is the largest predominantly African American county in the entire country, it's easy to hear about figures in black history like Martin Luther King, Jr. I wanted, though, to not just tell you about how great black men like him ended segregation, but I wanted to be sure that you not only understood who he was, but I want you to leave this classroom being able to understand what he said--how he thought, what he wrote, and why it was that when words came out of this man's mouth, people listened as if it was thunder. I want you to know what it looks like when words become power."

At this point, these things are going on, all simultaneously, and very few of them involve listening:

Some students will be slightly entranced because when a teacher speaks for more than 2 minutes, they are familiar with feigning attention and letting their mind wander.

Some students will be looking out of the corner of their eyes, trying to catch the corner of another student's eye, hoping that they can give a quick middle finger before the teacher turns towards that side of the room.

Several will be doing something utterly ridiculous. For example, one will be using his keys to maniacally lash at his forearm with a contorted expression on his face, hoping that someone will witness this and think it absurdly hilarious.

About two will be ready to read the first paragraph once the teacher begins.

Some will be looking at the clock and realize to their dismay that it is not yet lunch.

Some will be holding pencils in their hand ready to underline whatever the teacher tells them to underline because they have read handouts before and that is what they have done before so they have their pencils sharpened and ready and they are ready to do as they are told.

Many will be asking for pencils.

The remaining will be asking to have them sharpened.

Some will have already begun their 72 minute long quest to fill the handout with doodles and their esoteric conceptions of geometry--and some, if they are truly good at this, have already filled in all the enclosed white space created by the letters within the first paragraph. To illustrate--this means all letters that somehow create a bubble of white space will have these said bubbles darkened in with pencil lead or blue or black or red ink. Examples of these letters are a, b, and d and so on and so forth but not c, i, and k and so on and so forth.

Some will have their heads down.

Three will be rolling their eyes.

Two will be asleep.

Some will be whispering to their neighbor, thinking that they are being too quiet to be heard.

Some will be talking to their neighbor, completely unconcerned that they are being heard.

A couple will be grumbling at the prospect of work.

Some will be throwing paper balls, rubber bands, anything--today, in fact, a shard of a Pop Tart--across the room.

And today, one, her eyes glowing like curiosity, held the xeroxed paper in her hand and asked, earnest as the world and her eyes like stars or if not, then something else significantly bright and remarkable in their clarity, held the photocopy in her hand and asked, with the reverent tone of a supplicant who has been granted an answer that she cannot quite decipher but at a very conscious level, knows is imperatively and thrillingly relevant and crucially pivotal to her place and position in all of history and its consequence, she held that sheet of paper in her hand and asked, with what I think I detected was a blend of muted awe and realization that gratitude, in this moment, before these words, would be apropos.

"Can I keep this?"