Objects in the Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear

 Objects in mirror are closer than they appear. Somehow I find that statement--one that is etched on the passenger side mirror on every car in the US--the perfect metaphor for my life right now. I often don't realize what others are saying or the important things in my life, and yet, they quite often are right under my nose, waiting for me to peer down and notice them. Sometimes the choice is in front of me, much closer than it appears.  Like the phrase, which may cause someone to misjudge the distance between his vehicle and another car, we often misjudge the impact of others on our lives until we come near collison. As a teacher, I recently have come close to colliding. Yes, I have learned to judge my surroundings carefully and be precarious of those around me. Yet, the distance I seem to have placed between myself and the objects behind me (my students) is closer than I thought. Allow me to explain.

       This distance is in the voices of every young person in our nation who spoke at a rally against gun violence recently. It's in every sign a young person held. It's in kids standing up for what they believe is right. And it's right here in the four walls of my classroom, Room 211. My students' voices, their beliefs, their ideas are closer and louder than we, adults, realize. Objects in our mirrors are closer than they appear.

     This metaphor surfaced with the most recent assignment I gave my English classes--a mock trial after reading Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. In my nineteen years of teaching, I've conducted many mock trials. It's always been a favorite lesson for students because there's some real world application--especially for those aspiring attorneys who like to argue. I have always had control and order over the trial by serving as the judge. No one could mess with Judge Pace. I even have been known to order the bailiff to throw an unruly member of the court out of the courtroom from time to time. I held the gavel; I delivered the sentence. Even last year when my student teacher did a mock trial as the culminating activity for her In Cold Blood  unit, I was the judge. So when I introduced the idea of the mock trial to my classes, suggesting that we would put Victor Frankenstein on trial, one of the first questions one student asked was "Who gets to be the judge?" I started to respond with "I do," but I didn't say a word. You see, a few days prior to this conversation, Dr. MIchael Gill, Hanover County Public School Superintendent, published his montly blog post that encouraged teachers to allow students to have voice and choice in the classroom. I've always prided myself on asking students to evaluate an activity or give me feedback and even have designed papers and projects where they have significant choice, but never have I given up the title role of judge or "teacher" for that matter. After all, I went to graduate school and have a teaching license and get paid the "big" bucks; I should be in control, driving the car, right? 

   This past month, I realized how incredibly wrong that idea is; I became a mere passenger in my classroom. The attorneys decided Victor's charges, the order they would call their witnesses, and what legal jargon they would use to try to hoodwink the other side. The jury deliberated--some classes taking far longer than others to come to a consensus. The bailiff swore in each witness on the holy book of Frankenstein. The court reporters took photographs of the trial and documented everything in newspaper articles. The court recorder typed the entire trial as it was unfolding just in case we needed to go back to what was stated. And a student wore my black graduation robe and held the gavel to have full command of the classroom....I mean, courtroom. That left me to....well, watch. I had no role in my classroom except that of a mere spectator. And it probably was the most fun that I've had in 19 years of teaching. One version of Victor Frankenstein came donned in a lab coat and goggles, pleading insanity. Another monster was so lonely he cried. Attorneys were passionate, questioning and sometimes even leading the witnesses. Not one student in the room looked bored, unethused, or pained. A 200 year-old book came to life in a way that was inspiring, and I was a mere bystander in my own classroom.

The Attorneys

Court Reporters

Witnesses

The Judges and Jury

 

And Me, as a Mere Spectator (Photo Credit: Kathryn Super)

      In a similar vein, my senior Theory of Knowledge students were discussing what we would be doing after Spring Break, as they are finished with the curriculum, including all IB assessments. They voted to teach the class some kind of new knowledge and the theory behind that knowledge. Students started to ask me about their ideas. "So, I could teach yoga?" Of course. "We could learn sign language?" Absolutely. "Can I teach you to play Mario Kart, Mrs. Pace?" Sigh. While that last one might not be the kind of teaching I had in mind and may need some guidance, I am going to relinquish control and allow the seniors to teach. Again, I will be a mere spectator in my classroom. More than likely, I will learn something, and it won't be because I am front and center in my classroom. And perhaps my Mario Kart skills will now be able to compete with those of my son!

  I went home the day of those mock trials and realized how much classrooms have changed. In the nineteen years I've been in the classroom, the role of the teacher is far different than it used to be. As students. you need a voice in the classroom. Had I been the one to maintain order of that court, the trial may have had a different outcome and your voices may have been suppressed. Yet, I heard your voices that day, and I want to tell you I am listening. The world is listening to you right now. Quite frankly, I never will stop listening. You have the power to change the world for the better. You already have changed my classroom.

     One of my favorite poems is Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night." In the poem, Thomas encourages us to "Rage, rage against the dying of the light." It so often reminds me of the students I teach and those I have taught.

May you continue to be bold.  Don't go softly; take risks in life. Maybe this final nine weeks is the time you take that risk, express your ideas, challenge yourself. May you continue to rage and let your voices be heard. May you shout your ideas to the world so that everyone can hear them. Don't be afraid to stand up for what you believe is right. Your generation is not the passive one who is going to let everything happen; you're going to make things happen. I've been talking to people of my generation and those older for years that we need to listen to this new generation--our future. After all, your voices are far closer in the mirror than they appear.  Thank you, my students, for helping me recognize that I need to continue to give you more of a voice in my classroom, even if that means I have to give up the coveted role as judge or play Mario Kart. Keep on driving and speaking and expressing your voices. I'm watching you from my mirror, and I now recognize what's closer in my mirror is hope--hope for the future.