A few weeks ago, my 13 year-old son was playing indoor soccer (his first, and possibly only, love, if you hear him talk about the sport). Only one parent per child was allowed in the stadium, so I happened to be the parent attending this game to support him and his team. I have noticed, as is wont to happen, that as the kids on the teams have aged and matured, that the play has become that much more intense. Nothing was different about this game. But, it is important to note that watching kid between the ages of twelve and fourteen play together and against one another means that there are noticeable size discrepancies. Some kids are in the throes of puberty and have clearly hit multiple growth spurts, both with regard to height and muscles, and others have barely begun. I only say this to give context to the situation that arises on this particular Saturday morning.

The game is probably seven minutes into the first half, and my son, one of those who happens to have gone through a few growth spurts is running after the ball along with a player on the other team, one who has not had as many growth spurts. To be totally fair, my son is a rather assertive player, and we have talked about him learning his own strength as he grows and being aware of it on the field. As they two are running after the ball, my son and the other boy tangle and my son jumps. The other boy falls, but he is okay. As an aside, the ball ends up going over the end line and goes to the other team.

As this happens, a parent from the other team next to me shouts, “What a *******!” It was very clear that this comment was made in reference to my son, so my eyes immediately fill with tears, and I turn to him. I am completely unsure of what I am going to say, as I am horrifically horrible in situations that demand savvy responses without preparation. He looks over at me and says, “Is that your kid?” I nod and I say, “He’s learning.” The man’s response to me is, “You don’t need to learn to play by the rules!” At this, I turn away, thankful for COVID mask policies so I can hide my inability to manage my emotions. After about thirty seconds, the man turns back and says, “I shouldn’t have said what I said, though. It was a knee-jerk reaction. It doesn’t help that it was my kid who went down.”

We left it at that, but I have spent a lot of time revisiting that situation and thinking about his last statement and how as educators, we make knee-jerk reactions or responses all the time. Sometimes, we feel we are forced to do so! Think about classroom management. While, at the heart of it all, is relationships, sometimes there are days where something a student does just hits a teacher at the wrong time, and the teacher’s knee-jerk reaction can set a tone for the remainder of the class, the day, and sometimes longer; sometimes, it can have a lasting impact on the relationship between that child and the teacher. The same can happen in reverse. A teacher may say something that strikes a student in the wrong manner, and the same consequences could follow.

But, it is tough. The entire day of an administrator, an educator in any capacity, and probably many other careers, is filled with knee-jerk reactions and in-the-moment decisions. Sometimes, there just isn’t time for a lot of preparation when thinking through a response or a change in direction. Let’s focus on instruction for a moment, from both a teacher’s experience and an administrator’s experience.

In a lesson, a good teacher has a previously-planned outcome (or perhaps more than one), a sequential path, mechanisms to achieve that sequence, and focused formative assessments that give insight into student progress related to the planned outcome(s). The students walk in to the classroom, and as mentioned above, one interaction gone awry can change the rollout of this lesson pathway. Or, let’s say all social interactions are smooth and go as anticipated. The outcome is a goal and the sequence to getting there may not go smoothly. In fact, depending on students’ prior knowledge or skills, there are permutational variances in how this outcome may be met or missed. The hook might fall flat, the initial entry point of conceptual knowledge might confuse some students, or the formative assessment might show that there is a large disparity in student understanding or ability to perform. In any of these scenarios, a teacher’s knee-jerk response tees up the ball, so to speak, to the rest of the sequence.

For an administrator, one might walk in to a classroom to perform an observation of a teacher. In most cases, there is a rubric of sorts that the administrator is using, particularly if it is a formal observation. At other times it is an informal process. Either way, the way the administrator perceives the classroom environment, the teacher’s placement in the classroom when the administrator walks in, the head tilt of a student, really any interaction or internalization of a moment, can result in a knee-jerk reaction and impact the tenor of the observation from that moment forward. It is difficult to isolate one moment in time and not have it pervade our perceptions of several moments thereafter.

We also live these moments as teachers when opportunity arises, and we often look at these moments as “teachable moments.” I recall a time in my teaching career when my students were so into Lord of the Flies and the discussion of why boys were on the island and not girls. They had so many questions, and one very astute student made some connections to other stories and books we had read and the selection of characters in those. I had to make a decision, a knee-jerk reaction, if you will, and choose the path: start discussing all the stories and how gender plays a role in these stories and why that is? or focus on the novel at hand and bring it back to the author’s choice and how it impacted this particular story. Either way, there could be value to the students. Upon reflection, compliance would encourage me to focus on what “needs” to get done. But, I would advocate that it is more important to read our audiences.

This is where we really get at reflection, both before and after instruction. After instruction is emphasized heavily in instructional work. After the lesson, take time to notate what students “got” and what they didn’t. How will this change the outcome for tomorrow’s lesson or the next unit? How will this shift the sequence, or pathway? But, the before reflection is so often a missed opportunity. When we lay out the scope of a lesson and the anticipated outcome, we really should be thinking about what offshoots might occur, what windows and doors might open to students (and us) as a result. It isn’t anything that needs to be written out, unless it helps someone to do so. But it is something that requires thought and study. To consider the insights that students might have and the conversational flow, the questions, even the lack thereof. This is no different in professional development or in working with staff. It is so critical that we think about the potential impact and how we might handle our knee-jerk reactions in the moment. It determines the path forward from there and that…that can make all the difference.

And, yes, my son is still assertively playing soccer…now outdoor. 🙂

I recently stumbled across a feed on social media where parents and educators were drawing conclusions about the value (or lack thereof) of certain activities in school. At first, I was intrigued by the comments and what people felt had an impact on their future and what they felt was absolutely unnecessary in the educational landscape. Here are some of the things they listed as having absolutely no value:

-Playing the recorder in elementary school

-Cursive writing

-Physical education (all of it!)

-Memorizing the state capitals

-Making dioramas

-Spelling

The list went on, and these are some of the ones that I remember. When I really started digging in to the comments, I came away with a feeling that we, as educators, don’t do a very good job of explaining the “why” of some things to our students or our parents/community. That seems almost inexcusable in today’s world, given that teacher preparation programs and professional learning experiences across the board that asks teacher candidates and current teachers/administrators to focus on relevance and authenticity in the real world. Yet, if we really dissect the aforementioned activities and their relevance, we just might be missing the boat on educational value.

Surface level explorations of learning to play the recorder certainly might lead one to believe that there is only value in introducing instrumental music to students and, if one is not interested, there is little value after this realization occurs. Further, there are some who follow that basic musical skills do contribute to mathematical abilities, and, indeed, the research supports this. But, authenticity? Relevance? Not unless the child is going to pursue music in intermediate, middle, or high school, and possibly beyond.

Skimming the top layer of authenticity, we could find meaning that unless something is to correlate directly to day-to-day operations, or life outside of the school walls, there is no authenticity to be had. If we examine the definition of the word “authentic” closely, we will find that it has both practical and philosophical meanings. The first, the practical, defines something as authentic if it is genuine, or based on facts; reliable. While we can speak to education as being genuine, especially in its efforts with children (and adults), we cannot really apply this practical definition in discussing the benefits of playing a recorder, or in the requirement for physical education. The philosophical definition offers that something is relating to an emotionally appropriate, significant, purposive, and responsible mode of human life. This definition makes me think this is far more relatable to the struggles we have in finding value in certain educational activities. But, it takes a process of discussion and thought to get to a “why” that really explicates on how playing a recorder is purposive, significant, or part of a responsible mode of human life. Let’s go deeper.

Take all of the components of playing the recorder into account: the finger placements necessary to yield a note and the dexterity to swap placements in a time set by an external force (the teacher/conductor, metronome, or other source); the posture, breath, and support needed to extend a note, or play one of quality and/or in tone; the synchronization of playing notes and beats with others around you who need to play the same notes and beats, or at least follow at the same pace; the hand-eye coordination needed to watch the teacher/conductor and, at the same time, focus on the finger placement; and the knowledge of music, possibly reading music or memorizing the tune and requisite finger placements, rhythms, etc., including dynamics and types of rhythms. There is so much that goes into one so-called useless task of what constitutes school for our children. But, let’s continue examining this in depth.

While playing the recorder might not, at first glance, fit the mold for authenticity, it is clear that the skills embedded within the process of playing the recorder are absolutely entrenched in authentic facets of the world external to school. We can take any number of career focuses and hone in on how these skills contribute to, if not success, at least an entry level of performance that, with practice, can enhance any student’s ultimate performance in their future path. Take the dexterity of learning different finger placements and fast forward to 10 key-stroke skills for an accountant, or a financial auditor, or a bank teller. Or, compare it to a potter’s ability to mold clay while spinning on the wheel and deftly focus in on a small piece of the larger work and hone it to the slope or curve desired. Or, how about a surgeon wielding a small tool in the maxillary facial bone during a reconstructive surgery? What about cabinet makers etching shape into the face of the wood?

We could dive into all of these skills and really address their authentic value and their relevance for students. Sure, it would be easy for schools to eliminate the required playing of a recorder in elementary school and have students only build dexterity within their career choice, either by waiting, or by having them start that particular choice young. And, for dabbling in it at a young age, not a problem. But imagine what thirteen years of school would be like focusing on developing skills like dexterity in only one lens. It seems more appropriate skills like dexterity be developed using a variety of activities, such as playing the recorder to cursive writing to trying out a sport in physical education class to making a dustpan in technology class to becoming a really quick typist in either library media class or keyboarding.

The authenticity of some of these activities is more readily seen than others, but it is how we share this with our students, with our families, with the community at large, that will garner us buy in at the end.