Academic Perspectives
The Meaning of a New “C” Phrase
Shellie Banks teaches Spanish and French at the Bay School
I’ve spent the past 16 years of my life teaching in independent schools that consider themselves to be prestigious competitive college prep schools. Each of their mission statements proclaimed their individuality and uniqueness and singled out the differences that distinguished them from their competitors. As distinctive as they were, one similarity that seemingly appeared in each school’s mission statement was the use of one or both of the following words—"competitive and challenging"—and indeed they were!
Arguably the biggest competition amongst and within these independent schools did not take place on the mud-covered fields of their stadiums, nor did it take place behind the closed doors of their well-structured classrooms.
This mighty skirmish occurred in a place that gave each student that well-deserved home court advantage, the bedroom. That’s right, it was the battle of the homework assignments, and it appeared that the championship always went to the school, academic division, or teacher whose students bragged (and moaned) relentlessly about the number of hours that they had spent in their rooms preparing for tests, completing assignments, and reading chapters of literature that would keep them up well into the wee hours of the morning. After all, this is what they signed up for—a good school with a rigorous and challenging curriculum that would give students that competitive edge over their peers, and surely guarantee them entrance into one of those prestigious universities whose mission statement and school philosophy also included the big “C”: challenging and competitive.
I must admit that even I had become a homework cheerleader. Encouraged by my fellow department members, we had a reputation to uphold. I would assign an hour’s worth of homework every night. Why? Because they said so, because the other departments did, because that’s what the parents expected, because that’s what makes you a “good” school, a “good” teacher, right? Well, let’s see. Five hours of homework coupled with about three and one half hours of class work per week, or two hours of homework coupled with roughly five and one half hours of class work. You do the math!
When I arrived to teach at the Bay School more than a year ago, I was not surprised that they had chosen to implement the big “C” into their mission statement. I quickly learned that the Bay School would indeed have a challenging curriculum to deal with the equally challenging issues of today’s society, and, like all schools, hoped that their students would gain that competitive edge that would allow them to be successful in their endeavors.
However, there was an extra twist to the Bay School mission statement and philosophy that I didn’t understand: “Careful Stewardship of Time.” The Bay School wasn’t looking for the home court advantage, nor were they looking for the homework advantage. According to their philosophy, the big showdown should take place during the school day, in the classroom, under the vigilant eyes of teachers who would closely observe, guide, instruct and evaluate the progress of each individual student between the hours of 8:15 am and 3:30 pm, not 8:15 pm and 3:30 am.
Hey, wait a minute—isn’t that when we all do our best learning and our most productive work, when we’re alert and engaged? As an effective teacher, if I spend 80 minutes in class with a student four days a week what need is there to send him/her home with another hour’s worth of work every night? One major assignment per week with short follow-up assignments or reviews has proven to be more productive, more effective, and more valuable in terms of teaching and learning. During our 80 minutes of class we are able to complete and fully discuss a lesson as well as begin our longer assignments which may require research, brainstorming, or just some teacher guidance. It also allows me to personally observe and evaluate how a student works independently and if his/her technique is both effective and time efficient—something that can not be done behind closed doors in his/her bedroom. As for the simple problem above, mathematically they’re both roughly the same but the outcome is different. One produces a massive amount of paperwork for both students and faculty alike with very little enjoyment or fulfillment in the process; the other, an enormous amount of accomplishment and success in terms of learning, teaching, and receiving pleasure from practice. After one full year of teaching at the Bay School I am now an advocate for the new “C” phrase: Careful Stewardship of Time.
Time for Learning – Re-Flections on a Re-Discovery
Bill Brown teaches Humanities and Writing Workshop at the Bay School.
Some years ago, at another school, I presented a paper called “Time in Learning, Learning in Time.” The paper addressed the value of time in formal educational settings, such as schools. The project taught me that, specifically, we need time for three activities that I now see as central to successful learning. We need time to observe, time to consider, and time to create.
This past year, at the Bay School, I was unexpectedly, yet quite powerfully reminded of this idea. Our school community had planned to see the final Star Wars movie together. To accommodate this adventure, all classes had been halved in length. We ended up with 40-minute sessions, rather than the regular 80. I was thoroughly surprised by the effect that this reduction had on our work that day. No sooner had we greeted each other, reviewed yesterday's activities and the new day's agenda, as well as begun our discussion, than it was time to pack up. After nine months of the longer rhythm at the Bay School, I discovered a dramatic difference between it and the class length to which I had grown accustomed during years of teaching. This difference, I should add, is clearly qualitative in nature, and the improved quality corresponds elegantly to the school's mission and precepts.
On this particular day in Humanities, we were scheduled to continue work with Chinua Achebe's novel, Things Fall Apart—set in traditional Nigerian villages in the 1880s. Our theme was justice. After greetings, reviews and introductions, each student wrote (in a journal) an answer to one of four questions about a trial scene in the novel. Afterwards, individuals began sharing their responses with the group. Each question was keyed to a different learning style. For example, one asked for a physical description of the trial itself, while another asked how you would have decided the case. Still another asked what beliefs underlie the court's traditions, and so on. Students had the chance to address the question that best fit their inclinations—or, they would have, had the class run its usual length. The plan had been to develop a holistic understanding of the trial by allowing an open and respectful exchange of different views on the subject. This takes time. Shorter classes place a premium on fast answers and confident talkers. Genuinely full discussions, actually productive exchanges—these require time. That's simply the way it is.
Accept no substitutes. When, through trial and error, people are genuinely trying to construct meaning with speech, and when others are authentically listening to these attempts, time passes. Schools need to provide safe arenas for these activities.
When such exchanges occur, several of the Bay School's precepts become evident. Consider just one of them here: “We value patience with ourselves and others; we don't rush to judgment.” A school's social architecture, which includes class length and other scheduling elements, can contribute to rushing. On the other hand, when everyone in the class knows that we have time to let someone speak, our understanding of an issue becomes as rich as the diverse ideas expressed. Keep in mind that the true measurement of our diversity is not how many people speak, but how well we listen. To echo words from the school's mission, what matters most in the long run is the depth of the exchange rather than its breadth. In modern American spirituality and politics, we see significant examples of impatience and rushing to judgment. The same holds true for ancient societies, in the Near East and elsewhere. We have a responsibility to study such examples and learn from them.
Finally, patience and rushed judgment are not issues just in Humanities or Languages. Science and Math, for example, depend on close observation, postponed conclusions, and cooperative endeavor. Art, as another example, goes nowhere unless the artist has taken the time to see—unless that artist is present to his or her experience. The brain learns best when it can link new information to existing knowledge. I am grateful for my re-discovery, my learning, on the day we saw the movie together. While I know that other schools also have long classes, I am beginning to understand how the undeniable benefits of such sessions are woven into the fabric of the Bay School's mission and precepts. It's about time.