“Come into my parlor,” said the spider to the fly.
Obediently, I enter.
“What are your objectives?”
“How will you measure them?”
“Did you follow the ITIP model?”
“How will you assess student learning?”
“How does this lesson relate to your yearly goals?”
My yearly goals?
Say rather my purpose in teaching.
For students
To see that there is life outside of their self-imposed confines
Of clothes, music, and partying,
To understand that the past is what they are creating
And that the future is theirs to claim
To realize that old dead white men (along with many others) can connect with their lives
And that, in turn, they too can connect with others
But I say what needs to be said
What fits into confining boxes
On clean, white paper
And I escape
Alive.
The clean, white paper comes
And I give my beautifully contrived performance.
I return to the parlor.
“Do you realize that 21% of the students were not involved in the discussion?”
“You called on girls twice as often as boys.”
“You forgot your anticipatory set. Do you think the students understood your objectives?”
“You should keep the blinds closed. Students are distracted by sunshine.”
“How could you improve this lesson next time you teach it?”
I would improve my lesson by
Touching students where they are and giving them hope
Showing them that they can be successful and that an education matters
Teaching them how to truly live
And by always keeping the blinds fully open.
But I say what needs to be said
What fits into confining boxes
On clean, white paper,
And I escape
With my life
Though slightly less
Alive.
Then, I walk slowly, demurely, determinedly
To my classroom and
Shut
The
Door.