The Art of Questioning (and Observation)

The class calendars in my education courses are jam packed.  They’re laid out with 16 weeks at a glance, planned to the day, with my days off and theirs, when assignments will be introduced, when they’re due, and detailed with what we are discussing on any given class meeting.  There is hardly any wavering.  I like having a plan as a teacher, and as a student, I craved one from my college professors.  I teach the classes I wish I would have had.  That class calendar…it’s filled with witty topics-of-the-day like “Education According to Oprah” or “I Don’t Wanna Be Like Mary Kay Laterno” or “How to Teach the Kid You Can’t Stand.”

One of those days…it’s called “The Art of Questioning.”  I think this is one of the most difficult things to master in front of a classroom, and beginning teachers only get better at it with experience.  When I teach, I always have this thought in the back of my mind:

“Never leave the drive in window without checking the contents of the bag.”

You’ve been there.  You’ve done it and had it done to you.  You pull away without what you intended.

And in too many classrooms, that’s what happens on a day to day basis.

It’s my job to gauge my student’s understanding.  Innately, every pupil can nod their head up and down when the person they’re barely listening to in the front of the room beckons “Everyone understand?”  (a horrible question to ask a student, by the way, and they’ll often nod yes even if they don’t understand, and often it’s just because they want to “go”).  There are ideas like wait time and using non-judgmental language and framing a question to promote the best responses.  I’m no expert, but it’s something that’s always on my mind.

About those best responses…I often will ask “What questions do you have for me?”

After the past few weeks of inquiring, I really think I need to start asking:

“What questions do you have for me ABOUT MATH?”

You see, I teach those students who will ask me anything, regardless of it’s context or appropriateness.

You can only imagine…

On observing:

I have this one student in a Tuesday/Thursday class who is totally crushing on a girl.  Who’s name I’m sure he doesn’t know.  But who, unbeknownst to her, makes his day by just showing up.  I’m always at class early, and I often just chit chat and watch the hubbub of action as the final minutes before class pass.

And yesterday, Mr. Crusher, with each passing minute, kept looking towards the door, in hopes that his Juliet would arrive.  You could just sense his anticipation as four minutes before class turned into a minute after we had started, and his desires for seeing his Miss Make-My-Day began to fade.  The last student arrived about 9 minutes late.  He knew.  He knew at that point his dreams were dashed and dared not to be realized on this afternoon.  I could feel his disappointment.  His longing. His now-I’m-depressed-because-I-only-came-today-because-I-was-hoping-she’d-be-here-and-maybe-this-would-be-the-one-day-she’d-ask-me-to-borrow-a-pen-or-our-eyes-would-meet-when-we’d-laugh-at-one-of-Doc’s-jokes-or-she’d-recognize-she-needed-a-study-partner-and-would-waltz-over-to-me-and-ask-if-I-wanted-to-study-or-she’d-choke-on-those-almonds-she-always-eats-and-would-need-a-hero-and-I’d-Heimlich-her-and-I-know-how-to-cause-I-googled-it-just-in-case-she’d-ever-need-me-to-do-it-to-her-and-I’d-and-save-her-life-and-we’d-live-happily-ever-after-forever state was noticeable for the briefest of moments.  I’m rooting for Mr. Rose-are-Red to work it up enough to just talk to his Dream Girl.  He’s got 8 weeks.

Perhaps, until, happily ever after.