Last week, there were several topics that felt too large for just one post. This week, I’d like to expand on a few of those, beginning with observation. In the course of writing “The Art of Observation” I realized that the topic could easily be its own blog because at its core, observation is a kind of learning. Learning is such an involved matter that here in the US, it’s the law that you have to soak up a sizable portion of your developmental years doing it.
Because most people think of learning in terms of school, it’s kind of a dirty word in some circles. Even those of us who are more academically inclined likely suffered through more than one class that we did not enjoy. The very word “learning” can conjure up PTSD of late nights writing papers, physical headaches trying to bend one’s mind around developmentally inappropriate math, sleepily trying to stay awake through lectures by the sorts of professors who only read their PowerPoint, or suffering the defeat of a failed class. I find it tragic that this is the case. There are a number of good reasons why school is compulsory. There are certain skills that everyone needs to master up to a point, like reading, writing, and just enough math to understand one’s finances. These three skills alone are worth the trouble. I would also throw in there enough of a working knowledge of history and government to make well-reasoned choices while voting and enough of a knowledge of human physiology not to make dangerous mistakes with one’s health. On the other hand, making it compulsory can make it harder for some kids to keep their natural curiosity alive. Every child is born curious; their baby brains take in vast amounts of information, learning the world. A child’s brain is a marvel; it soaks up so much more information so much more quickly than an adult’s with only its lack of prior knowledge getting in the way. In the arms race for structured academic achievement, it’s easy to miss the miracle and, in some cases, to shut it down. For curiosity to flourish, it needs to be encouraged. Because everyone is motivated by different things, that encouragement looks different for each person. The traditional academic setup, by its very nature, has to be standardized to some degree even when that standardization can leave some kids to fall between the cracks. To catch those kids, more help is needed. Moving all of this stuff online in our current crisis uncovers some of the systemic issues with formalized learning. Because I am the daughter and grand-daughter of teachers, I’m in a unique place to see what the classroom can and cannot do. I have watched the multigenerational struggle to provide a good learning environment for all students even as all students do not easily fit into an assembly line model. The current situation only exacerbates it: there is a greater touch of individualized humanity in a classroom than behind a computer screen. I have nothing bad to say about the teachers who are heroically trying to do their jobs with one arm tied behind their backs or the parents who are desperately trying to fit in full time work and supervising their kids’ education into the narrow confines of the day. This is a difficult time for all parties involved, including the children whose brains simply aren’t built to learn this way. “It takes a village to raise a child.” Outside the formal school setting, there is so much that others who are not professional educators can do to keep a child’s natural curiosity alive. Even patiently answering a child’s questions about the world, occasionally admitting that you don’t know the answer, can make a huge difference. Even better, tell them that while you don’t know, there are places they can look to find out. It has never been easier for a naturally curious person to learn things if they have a good guide to help them use and sort it all out. Informal learning is just as important as what our (legitimately heroic) professional educators teach. Classrooms favor certain kinds of learners no matter how hard the teachers work to overcome the limitations of the format. I once tutored someone who could barely string a coherent sentence together, yet managed to produce a commercially viable documentary before finishing undergrad. Given the state of his writing skills at that stage, I can only imagine how terrible his grades were growing up. Somewhere, someone had taught him enough curiosity and given him the right tools to thrive at a skill set that is too far off the beaten track to be taught at that level in a standardized classroom. Meanwhile, no one formally taught preaching or how to do ministry in school per se, but a collection of adults—youth pastors, mostly—informally taught me vital skills that are now the backbone of my current profession. A good deal of what I know about event planning wasn’t even from them, but from listening to my dad process his own slate of school activities to put together. It interested me, so he fed that interest. With formal education moving online, such relationships matter more now than ever. Even if you don’t have any contact with children because of the unique circumstances, there is still something you can do: rekindle your own curiosity. If you are, in fact, carrying PTSD from your own school experience, find just one thing you’re interested in and learn about it. Observe and experiment. When this season of social distancing thaws and you can see the kids again, you’ll have so much more to share.
1 Comment
Ezekiel Robinson-Meeks
4/21/2020 08:47:48 am
That was exquisite, and amazing. It does “take a village to raise a child” I have heard that saying before. It is very true I liked what you had to say.
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AuthorJillian Lutes is the youth pastor at West Covina Hills Seventh-day Adventist Church. Archives
May 2020
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