Can I Ask A Question?

Today, we did discussion circles as part of our study of Cormac McCarthy's The Road. The novel is written in a fairly unique style, and while some students struggle at the beginning, it has become a favorite of many of our students at BHS. As I placed students in their respective circles, one young person told me she could not be in the inner circle, the one that would drive the discussion. "I don't think I get a lot of what we were supposed to read," she said. She seemed perplexed by my response.

"That's fine," I told her. That means you will have to ask questions. Those are important to discussion too."

"Oh. You mean we can do that?" she said.

This a bright student.  She speaks well, and she is active in class. And she wants to be right. That, my friends, is rub.

So often, it seems as if our kids want more than anything to get the right answer. They want to be correct. That's it. How they get there is irrelevant. If they cannot be most definitely right, they feel as if they have done something, well, wrong.  That seems logical.  It is how we have taught them to be. The problem with that is, if someone's primary goal is to be right, then the best way to do that is never to stretch beyond what is comfortable, what you already know. That thought process seems to be "If I don't know that what I am thinking is right, and absolutely right, I will settle back and wait to find out, or at least find out what the right answer is." Not knowing for sure is uncomfortable, but it means one are in new territory, that one's mind is wrapping around or rolling about something different. That means learning. And that mean growth. But to take an active role in that means putting oneself out there, risking being (gasp) wrong, or worse, seeing something differently than everyone else did, or thought they did. That is scary. That is necessary.

And it is my job to create a classroom where they can feel vulnerable, where they can take the risk of being wrong once in a while.

In the previous hour, which is another talented group, but much smaller and therefore more willing to show more vulnerability, I noticed students in the discussion looking my way after each comment. They seemed to asking "Is this right? Did I say what you wanted?" As the discussion progressed, they quit looking my way and looked to one another.  Well, most of the time.  Sometimes I would squirm in my seat, wanting to speak but knowing that I needed to let them feed the conversation rather than be prodded by me. And feed it they did, and it grew.  They built off one another's comments. They found passages to support each other's thoughts. And they asked questions.  "Hey, did anyone else wonder why..." became a powerful tool not a sign of weakness or uncertainty..

At one point after a particularly insightful analysis that meandered through several of our discussion points for the day, a student turned to me and apologized. "I'm sorry. That might have been a little off topic."

I told the group that they had no idea how happy I was at that moment. They had gotten away from original starting point of the discussion, and in doing so, they had delved more deeply into the development of the two main characters, examining their changing relationship and questioning their motivations. I hadn't asked a question in 20 minutes or more, and the hour had flown by.  In addition, the outer circle was primed and chomping at the bit, ready for tomorrow, when they would be able to jump in with their ideas, commentary, and questions.

The young lady about whom I spoke at the beginning of this post did ask questions. So did her classmates.  They stopped worrying so much about if what they thought was right and started looking at why they thought it. They expressed ideas and made connections and drew parallels. The class bounced from point to point, and it was a little messy.  It was what I had hoped for. Even better, it is what I am looking forward to tomorrow.