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by Joshua A. Taton, Ph.D. | July 31, 2023 | 2 min read

Classrooms should be volleyball matches, not table-tennis games.

A sheepish grin. A half-raised hand.

“Yes?” Anthony hadn’t spoken much in class, so I was eager to call on him.

“So…it’s not a function when x is cheating on a y with another y?” he asked. Knowing, muffled laughter.

“What do the rest of you think? Does that work with all of the graphs we’ve been looking at?” My eyebrow was, I'm sure, raised.

At least—if I had to do it over again—I know that’s what I would have wanted to say. The truth is, though, I don’t remember how I responded. 

I do remember feeling excitement at the connections Anthony was making.

“Yeah. So functions don’t cheat. But not-functions are two-timing.” This was another student, chiming-in. More laughter.

This was a classroom of juniors, who had struggled—for years—in math classes. Due to arcane, inflexible laws in my state, they were learning Algebra I content in what was labeled a Pre-Calculus class. 

Truthfully, would I have been comfortable having this discussion with younger students? Definitely not. Looking back, I'm not sure I was comfortable having it with 17 year-olds.

But that didn’t really matter, as long as they were driving the conversation and as long as we kept the focus on the math. They were getting it.

And so was I. What I learned that day, about teaching, hit me like a lightning bolt. It forever changed me.

Classrooms—with many students and only one teacher—were, originally, economic necessities. I’d like to believe that, at some point in our history, classrooms became entrenched (rather than the aristocratic tutoring model from oversees), because we saw the power of building community over individuality.

It may seem obvious, but even in today’s “me-first” world—where teachers are told to “personalize instruction” and to put students in front of online multiple-choice tutoring machines—it remains true that more heads are better than one.

I could never have predicted that—on that day—Anthony would offer a key contribution that would unlock a previously-vexing idea for his classmates.

I don’t know—and can’t know—the day-to-day experiences, backgrounds, and motivations of all of my students. Personally, I don't believe I could have made the connection, or developed the metaphor for functions, rather, the way Anthony had.

I learned that day, vividly, concretely that my main purpose, my role as a teacher, should involve creating the conditions, priming the soil, to allow such moments—such teamwork, such synergy—to sprout and to grow.

There's an energy among groups, among teams, that is somehow different than the energy between a pair of individuals. Teams are simply necessary for addressing many of our most important tasks. 

Only at the dawn of civilization are we able to say that an individual or two built a functional bridge. Today, modern bridges are built by massive teams—with a lot of collective planning and collaborative effort underneath.

I can enjoy a game of table-tennis, occasionally watching or playing. The rapid back-and-forth can be mesmerizing.

But the lengthy volleys, the outstretched saves, the tandem blocks, the strategy, the positioning, the communication in volleyball...the teamwork? It just hits different.

I welcome your thoughts.