8th grade: I don’t know what I don’t know

I don’t know what I don’t know. I think that’s what freaked me out so much about teaching “theme” to my 8th-graders. I know what theme is, but I don’t really know how to teach it.

I read all of the advice online. It was … fine. But none of it was concrete, and I hate teaching when there’s nothing concrete to attach it to.

I already knew that theme was subjective. It’s dependent upon the experience, background knowledge, and perception of the reader. I also knew that most online sources recommended framing theme as the message the WRITER wants the reader to take away from the work. But as a writer, I can tell you that I never once considered theme while writing. It’s all very confusing.

I’d been advised by teachers to let students identify the themes on their own. I’d also been advised to give them a few themes that I found in the book and let them provide proof that these were themes. I was told to give them scaffolding, but also told to let them seek their own truth. No matter what I did, there was no real answer.

The best tip? “Theme is very difficult for students to understand. Expect to teach if repeatedly through the year.” Thanks to my principal for that.

That’s the funny thing about teaching English — the hard, fast rules are few. The soft, fuzzy guidelines are many. There are exceptions, of course, particularly when it comes to grammar, where we have specific RULES that are simply not intended to be broken, which is what made it so ironic that in the same week that I struggled to find a formula for my students to determine theme, I watched two of my fellow soon-to-be English teacher butcher some of the only rules the language actually has. The first involved word choice (“upmost” instead of “utmost” — seriously, how is that a thing?); the second didn’t know the proper placement of quotes relative to end punctuation.

Uptight? Yes. But here’s the deal: education IS uptight. That’s how we all land on universally accepted truths. Without these, we can’t possibly do our jobs as teachers. There absolutely must be universal rules that we accept and follow. For example, if you’re a U.S. history teacher, you should teach that the Civil War was steeped in racism and slavery,  not northern aggression. If you’re a science teacher, you must teach evolution and global warming, not some creation myth (unless you’re looking specifically at myths and how people used these to make sense of things they didn’t understand prior to having access to accepted truths). And, if you’re an English teacher, you should teach — and model — some of the only truths we know: word choice and grammar. And if you can’t remember them, just do a quick internet search to find them!

Society currently has a problem with trying to find the easiest way out. Let someone else give us the answers, and we’ll just repeat them. As teachers, that means our job is two-fold: first, we need to encourage students to think critically before they accept information as fact; second we need to ensure we’re providing accurate information up front. I can’t teach you not to smoke if I have a cigarette hanging out of my mouth. I can’t teach you not to say things like “upmost” if I’m writing it all over my white board and on social media.

I’m all for encouraging students to find the truth on their, but only to a point. When a truth is universally accepted, like word choice and punctuation in American English, I’m still old-fashioned enough to believe that truth should be handed to students. Study it, learn it, know it, and use it. There are plenty of other things to mess around with in English education, like theme. Conventions, on the other hand, simply aren’t open to debate.

 

 

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8th grade paranoia

I remember 8th grade. It was 40 years ago, so 1979. I hated my math class, which is probably the only time in my life I ever said that about a subject I still cherish. I adored civics, which I believe is now called government or political science and definitely not approached in junior high. My science teacher was … well I don’t remember who that was. And homework, yeah, I think we had some.

What I remember most about 8th grade, however, wasn’t the subjects I was taught. It was me. What it was like to be 13. It’s like … nothing. Teenage angst was still a few years away. You had some responsibility that you needed to wield during babysitting gigs mostly. Physical appearance was important but you could only fight it so much (face it, middle school years aren’t pretty for most folks). I think I read a lot, at least when I wasn’t playing some sport or participating in another extracurricular activity. Eighth grade was full of staying occupied.

What I don’t remember was malice or anything that went beyond the surface level. If I seemed happy, I was. If I didn’t, I wasn’t. If I was confused, I was genuinely confused. If I was tired, I just needed sleep.

All of this comes back to mind whenever I encounter an 8th grade teacher who’s, hmm, how do I say this … MEAN.

We work with kids — kids with their own lives and their own self-centered existences.  They’re pretty surface. The distracting ones are simply distracting, not because they’re trying to get back at you or ruin your career. They simply have no abilty to focus. The ones who don’t have their homework either genuinely forgot it or genuinely didn’t do it (even if they lie about it, it’s just to save their own skin, not make you look stupid in yours). There’s nothing to see here that you don’t really see when you look head-on at a 13 year old. They wear their heart, brain, and everything else on their sleeve. That’s what they’re capable of.

Yet I still, at least a few times each week, hear about the 8th graders who are trying to pull a fast one on me. And all I can do is wonder, really? I remember exactly two of my 8t grade teachers, one because she was so terrible that they disbanded 8th grade algebra that year, the other because she was amazing and cared about us as people. Honestly I don’t think I ever gave enough of a damn about a teacher to actually connive against him or her.

Still, encounter teachers in the profession frequently trying to convince me that their students are doing just that. They’re out to get me.

Maybe times have changed and 13 year olds are full of retribution but I don’t really believe that. I think it’s more likely that a 13 year old occasionally gets lucky and the stars align to cover something up and the world positions itself squarely on his/her/their side. Maybe…

Or maybe it’s that a teacher like me — someone who’s new and wants to fast-track my learning by consuming the experiences of others — catches wind of the criticism simply because I asked a question or made a comment. Yeah, I get it, that kid doesn’t turn in his homework or sits in class and plays video games all day and I should be on him like stink on shit to ensure he can’t find the time. But if I do that, I’m pretty sure I’ll lose track of all of the other students, so I ask if other teachers have found a good way to handle junior in the classroom. That’s when I hear how it’s junior’s goal to thwart any progress I might make. “Watch that one,” they tell me.

I’m not buying it, at least not at this age.

K, in all fairness, there are plenty of veteran teachers who will take my question and give me a real answer and help me figure out ways to work with  a student who isn’t engaged and directly or indirectly takes the rest of the class down with him or her. Those are the teachers I love talking to. I can learn so much from them, like how to accept the fact that I’m not perfect, how to try new techniques and strategies to improve engagement, clues to watch for that might make my task more effective and easier.

The others? The ones who are convinced they’re the subject of some 13 year old’s evil plan? I can probably do without them. While I’m sure they bring amazing insight into their own classes, I can’t possibly imagine spending my days believing my audience is out to get me. Even a 13 year old has PLENTY of better things to do. I say this because I DO remember life 40 years ago. And I also remember never thinking twice about the person at the front of the room and how I could make his or her life miserable.

 

8th grade: The one with the socratic seminar

I tried a socratic seminar today. Not sure why — I’ve never been impressed with the idea of a socratic seminar before since they always look/seem so incredibly dull, but we had a topic that I really wanted to discuss and it felt very appropriate. So I said “why not,” and did it.

It was scary. Actually, the scariest part was getting up the nerve to try it. But I’m cool with making myself uncomfortable or I wouldn’t spend five days a week with 13 year olds.

My classes range in size from 21 to 30 students. Behavior ranges from asleep in my first hour to a complete zoo in 6th hour. The others are somewhere in between. I decided that for this first socratic seminar, I would blend the concept with a group discussion. Rather than have the whole class contribute, which I see doesn’t work for some of the students in each class who would rather I jam toothpicks under their fingernails than call on them to speak (I have no toothpicks, so don’t worry), I decided I would split each class into three large discussion tables. I assigned a group leader and provided a set of questions for the group leader to ask. I created my rules and explanation — what students could do and what they couldn’t. I also, at the last minute, decided that students should spend 5-10 minutes before the seminar preparing themselves for the discussion by filling out some guided notes on the topic. This was the best thing I did all day (that shows you how novice I am, BTW; a veteran teacher would know that students need this type of preparation before any discussion).

Our topic was pretty focused. It stemmed from something that happened in the book we’re reading at this point, where a 13 year old sports phenom is suspended from play by his mother. I chose this as the topic because my wildest class — the zoo — is full of kids who play sports. I figured this was one of the few ways we’d get a valuable, focused discussion into the mix that these kids would engage with.

We started with my 1st hour class, which is small and unbelievably quiet. I went over the rules, assigned leaders, let them go at their own pace, and allotted 15 minutes for the discussion, although I decided I’d go to 20, if they needed it. I walked from table to table as they spoke and listened in. They used about 18 minutes, interrupted each other frequently but mostly stayed on task. In fact, it was the first time I think I heard some of the students in that class willingly say a word about school. Overall, I was okay with it but we didn’t have as much time left in the class as I had hoped so when I tried to start out instructional section on “theme,” it fell apart. I made a note of that.

Second hour — my 30-person class. We started quickly and the students focused pretty fast. It’s an incredibly diverse class with different learning styles, abilities, lexile levels, and more, and each group required a full 10 students, but most experiments like this work with them. The seminar was no exceptions. My takeaway from this class was that the pacing was off and that I still wasn’t doing a good job of getting each student to contribute, but overall I was happy with how it went. I chalked it up as a success.

Third hour. This is normally a really big class but there were a lot of missing students today. For this class, I required each question be discussed for two minutes with no exceptions. It took longer, so I gave up on the “theme” instruction we were planning after the seminar. Still the two-minute requirement meant everyone participated. Everyone. No question. Even students who I didn’t think were doing anything more than going through the motion of reading the book actively engaged in the conversation. Students questioned each other, and conversation felt natural.

Fourth hour went well, too. They’re a high achieving class, but can frequently get sidetracked when they’re moved into casual conversation environments. This was no exception — a few of the best and brightest were distracted to the point of incapacitation. We did, however, finish early so we ended the hour with a group discussion.

Finally, we got to sixth hour, the one I fondly refer to as my “zoo” class. Everything about this class points to distraction. This is the class that I hate testing new ideas on because so many of them shut down at the thought of change. They were the only class to complain when they learned they’d be doing work in my class on computer rather than paper, the only class to be happy when I switched things up one week and asked for a paper reading log, even though it meant the students would need to complete the assignment a full day early. They’re the only class that wants everything to be familiar.

The class is also so full of “watch-me, look-at-me” types that I couldn’t separate the distract-ers and I had no fewer than three at each table of eight. Incidentally, creating a seating chart for this class is impossible. Even some of the really great students are incapable of remaining focused in here.

The experiment was meh at best for this class. It worked surprising well for one of the groups, possibly because their leader was this incredibly strong girl who is very capable of shutting down the clowns in the class. This exercise was no exception. Her group stayed on task the entire time. She is my hero.

The other two groups? Eh, not so much, but I can’t blame the leaders. It was an uphill battle that no one was going to win.

Overall, however, I never regretted trying the experiment, and we’ll keep working with the idea of the socratic seminar and ultimately build to a real one on a class-by-class basis. Some classes will be ready to try quickly. Others may take until May.

I felt like students got more out of this discussion than any other discussion we’ve had in class thus far. As I listened to each group, I had to restrain myself (not so effectively at times) from telling students how fantastic his/her/their answer was and how impressed I was by the depth of their thought. This, btw, NEVER happens when I’m running the show (depth of thought? Oh that’s out of the window).

Some students had incredible evidence from the book that they recalled to prove a point; one of my SPED students even grabbed a book to show other students the page he was referring to. Students who wouldn’t normally share a “why” were defending their ideas and beliefs publicly. I had one class about to start fighting, which I reminded them wasn’t allowed since this wasn’t a debate, but I was happy they were so truly engaged that they cared to sling empty threats.

The experiment worked far better than I would have ever imagined.

I also learned, however, that in some classes, I need to take a more active role in the discussion until we’re a bit more versed at respect. In my sixth hour class, for example, we’ll work with assigned seats during the discussion (it became weirdly handsy by the end for some of the students — all male, which I guess is what 8th-grade boys do. Hmmm.). I want to move to a bigger group, especially in that class, but my wallflowers aren’t going to have that, so I’ll need to determine how to make this work. Still, it’s only October, so there’s plenty of time.

Lessons learned (because I don’t want to forget):

  1. Add “don’t interrupt” to the rules. Bad oversight on my part.
  2. Ensure I’m overseeing each groups (if only there were three of me).
  3. Always have guided notes to work with.
  4. Pick topics that have a little controversy. That’ll be easy.
  5. Continue with timed questions — but bring a buzzer rather than rely on me shouting it’s time for the next question (a few groups moved on whenever they wanted to and it didn’t work so well).
  6. Hand pick the groups. That’s for 6th hour only.
  7. Work harder to find the right group leaders. Again, 6th hour. I can’t have my rockstar leader do everything every time, sadly.
  8. Try again in about two or three weeks … I think. If I can find the right topic.

 

Week 2: 8th grade

View from a 1st-year teacher.

Just one thought: why are teachers paid so little? Why are they poked and prodded and judged and scrutinized so much with virtually no “thank you”? Why are teachers trained so rigorously but put into positions where they’re almost destined to fail? Why are teachers the first to be blamed and the last to be credited? And why doesn’t the public listen to someone who knows — A TEACHER — and find out what’s really wrong with our education system?

Trust me, we don’t have failing teachers. We have a system built on a century-old framework that doesn’t fit the needs of society any more. Teachers, who have never been given the power to fix the system, are simply doing what they can to work within that framework and succeed. That a teacher can still accomplish anything within a flawed system built by people who haven’t occupied a seat in a classroom in decades is utterly amazing.

I’m forever in awe of what I see around me.

 

Day 1: face-to-face with destiny in English 8

I realize the night before the first day of school that I’m completely unprepared. I don’t know the names of my students, unsure what they even know about English. Last year’s 7th grade teacher retired and left town ASAP before I ever knew that I’d be interning, so I can’t really ask her what to expect. I’m the sole 8th-grade English teacher in the school. Tomorrow there will be 130-ish students expecting me to teach them something – or trying really hard to do anything but learn — I’m not even sure about that.

I know when I was in 8th grade, I hated English. It was the single most boring class I had. For the life of me today I can’t tell you who my teacher was. I can name other teachers — the ones who had an effect on me, the ones I liked, the ones I probably, inadvertently learned something from — but no clue as to who taught me English. It was 40 years ago, so maybe it’s all for the best.

I’m in bed before 1 a.m., which I think is late. Deep down I know that pretty soon this will seem super early.

School starts at 7:40a. I arrive around 7:10a and realize that I have no way to get into my classroom because it’s locked and I don’t have a key. Are there keys? I don’t even know. It’s not my real classroom; I’m unsure when I’ll be able to get into that one because of summer construction delays that are preventing occupancy of the entire 8th-grade wing. I’m in the art class, which sounds fun, but really it’s just dark and dirty.

I’ve decorated little — just a few borrowed posters for inspiration and to add life to rust- and brown-colored walls. I don’t want to get too attached, especially since I’m sharing this room with other teachers who will be teaching during my prep and the elective I recently learned I would be teaching. None of us wants to really claim these walls and we’re all hoping we’ll depart quickly. BTW, the elective I’m teaching — creative writing – I’ve spent far too little time planning for it. I know this will bite me in the ass soon, but hopefully not today.

Students start to pop into and out of the class around 7:30. They’re taller than me, with a few exceptions, but I already knew that this would be the case. I’m pretty sure the students don’t want to learn and would rather be doing anything other than sit in class. Right now I kind of agree.

I’ve seen the social media posts of some of my fellow education students who are also interning this semester.Some of them are completely mum about their impending plans. For all I know, they changed their minds and decided to wait tables this fall instead. Others have spent what seems like 100s of hours in the classroom prepping, decorating, being prepared.

I, on the other hand, have just been kind of wandering around confused and more concerned about personal stuff. My college coursework finished in May for last years, and by the end of that month, I was thinking seriously about delaying my student teaching gig until spring semester so I could either amass a stockpile of cash, which would give me one less thing to worry about or delay the inevitable decision that I didn’t really want to move into a public school classroom. Then, sometime in late June, the person who I would soon discover would be my new principal asked me to come in to talk to her. She and I formerly shared a fence when she lived in the house behind mine, or vice versa, depending on where you were standing. She was always lovely and nice but I never really had a discussion with her before.

When I got to her office, we talked. I learned the previous principal decided to retire unannounced at the end of the school year, and she, my former neighbor, had been tapped to take his place. In lieu of a new assistant principal, she wanted to add instructional support positions, one of which was a literacy coach and interventionist — the 8th grade English teacher. Would I want to do an internship and teach the 8th grade English class instead of simply student teaching?

I hadn’t really expected this. And, because I’m horrible at saying no to almost anything, I thought for a few minutes and said “yes.” It seemed like the right idea at the time. But on day 1 of school, I’m no longer certain.

The day, however, goes by pretty smoothly. Okay, that’s not actually true. It’s probably better described as a shit show, which I fear is how I’ll label year one, too. The students seem great … I think. My head spins so quickly, I really don’t know. We have an unannounced assembly, so all classes are super short. By the end of the day, I know maybe one student’s name. I feel like I talked at my students all day instead of with them. Bells weren’t programmed and never ring that day. I know students didn’t learn anything other than that my email wasn’t working, which has been the on-again-off-again problem since I took this job. Did I remember to tell them my name? At the end of the day, the school goes on lockdown because there’s a police chase through our sleepy little town, which is something that never ever happens. I have no idea which classes covered what, but I know I’m still holding the full stack of disclosures that I meant to distribute.

I make it out alive, which I guess is as much as I can hope for. But the questions race through my head. Why am I doing this? Am I actually the best person for this role? Do I really want to be teaching? Would students be better served by the former 8th grade teacher who has 16 years of experience and an incredibly calm demeanor when the best analogy I can muster for myself these day is “rabid badger”? Am I prepared for tomorrow because I’m pretty sure I already need to change directions…? Is 8th grade English really where I should be?

Alabama, where abortion is just another team sport

I spent a large portion of my childhood in Alabama. Birmingham to be exact. It’s called the Magic City, but I never figured out why because there’s was nothing magical about it.

There were some great parts about living in Alabama. You could ride a new bike on Christmas morning. You were only a few hours away from a beautiful coastline, although the beach never seemed warm enough during spring break, at least not for people who lived in the South. The trees and flowers and greenery in Alabama were beautiful. As a child, there was no shortage of “woods” to get lost in. Plus, foods like monkey bread, boiled peanuts, and moonpies tasted great (yes, I do love boiled peanuts but I accept that it’s an acquired taste). Oh, and people were incredibly nice. Really nice. Unbelievably nice. Frequently with an emphasis on the unbelievable part.

See, what I remember most is that everything in the Deep South centered around outward appearances. You looked like you were being sweet, so obviously you were sweet. You looked sincere, therefore you were. You looked put together and in control (that’s why you put on lipstick and fixed your hair before running to the Winn-Dixie to pick up tampons and toilet paper), so you must be. You looked like you cared, so you did, right?

Probably not.

That’s why it didn’t surprise me when I heard about this week’s bullshit abortion legislation in Alabama. It’s a show. Legislators in the state have even admitted as much. In this case, it’s an empty effort to try to get some high court to overturn Roe v. Wade. But I’d argue that the show is actually deeper than Roe v. Wade. I’d argue that these people don’t give the tiniest rat’s ass about the 1973 decision that deemed restrictive rules prohibiting abortion as unconstitutional. Their goal instead is to show that they have power. And for some reason, abortion has always been caught of this political pissing match.

Look, if any of the Alabama legislators (or any pro-life activist) actually gave a shit about babies that weren’t their own, they’d be equally as focused on what happens outside of the womb. Our healthcare system would be accessible by everyone. There would be no poverty. Hunger would be eradicated (and healthy food choices would be available and accessible to everyone). Gun violence wouldn’t exist. Children would be guaranteed at least one parent who was supportive and gave a damn. Homeless would be nothing more than a literary concept. Acceptance and tolerance would extend to every child and every person, regardless of religion, gender identity, color of skin, ethnic background, who they fell in love with, or what they wanted to do with their own bodies. Our education system would be incredibly well-funded rather than weak and anemic, and it would provide equal opportunities and access for all, no matter how much wealth a family had or hadn’t accumulated. And every child who exited the womb would honestly have a chance to do something amazing — a real chance at success, not some bullshit one filled with societal hurdles that are easily maneuvered only by light-skinned, native English speakers with a wallet full of cash.

That, however, isn’t what’s driving any of these legislators. What is driving them is the opportunity to show that they can effect change through their attempts to turn the clock back almost 50 years, which, 46 years ago, was at least 50 years too late.

These are the same legislators and Alabamians who were also obsessed with football and team sports when I lived there. It’s something I never really understood either, especially since it was college football and the state then and now has a lower-than-average percent of residents who even attend college. They’ve applied this same my-team v. your-team approach to social justice. The right-wing team has the ball and is doing its damnedest to get it into the endzone, which is now overseen by fresh, new referees (or judges) who might be willing to let some sketchy maneuver through.

It’s not sincere. But if the moves they’re making to overturn abortion rights work, these team-players will finish the game looking like winners. No, they won’t do anything that would actually ensure the lives they claim to be protecting have the “chance” that they also like to claim all babies (more accurately, fetuses) deserve, but that doesn’t matter. Deep down, what appears to matter most to anyone who’s trying to eliminate abortion access is that they’re finally on the winning side, and that their team is able to go the distance and surmount a 46-year losing streak. The impact of the game? Well, it really doesn’t matter now does it.

 

 

Make America Skeptical Again (Or Why Am I Still Doing This)

I’ve spent the last nine months, give or take some vacation time, in school taking classes to become a teacher. Yes, a teacher. Something that will pay about one-third of what I have been making in marketing, will likely be twice as frustrating, and frequently be less fulfilling than helping useless companies make money off of other useless companies. But I think teaching is what I want to do.

“Think” is the operative term here. I don’t know yet for sure. I’m a skeptic, you know?

While the skepticism likely started the day I was born, the teaching-people idea stems back to a very dark day in 2016, somewhere around November 10, by which time I’d had a day and a half to realize that everything happening around me wasn’t some really bad joke. That’s when I finally had to accept that Trump had really been elected president. By people. Who share a country of residence with me. Who were my age (and older and younger). Who shared my bland-ass skin tone. Who should know better than to vote for a racist, homophobic, sexist assclown.

It was less about the person elected than the act of electing him that really bothered me. We had embarked upon a complete shift in direction from a stalwart, progressive society to an anti-intellectual time-out corner.

I tried to understand the people who flip the knob for Trump. Turns out I regularly try to figure people out, quite unsuccessfully I might add. Somehow I was sure this time would be different. I knew these people must be getting their bizarro info about Hillary’s child-sex-trafficking pizza ring from somewhere, but I didn’t know where. I mean Fox News was/is crazy AF but even they’re not that batshit, right?

I turned to Alex Jones. I’d learned about him previously from my son, when my son revealed that he and other teen gamers were regularly targeted by alt-right messaging in gamer chat rooms and on message boards. I also learned about Milo Yiannopoulos, Paul Joseph Watson, Infowars, and a bunch of other whack-ass sites I try to keep out of my brain that way. Oddly, Alex Jones seemed like the most mainstream of the bunch. I found his podcast and tuned in during my daily run.

I lasted four days before admitting defeat, knowing that I had learned nothing about his audience except that they had the patience of Gandhi to be able to listen to the same toad croak on for four hours at a stretch about nonsense that was pretty obviously bullshit. Alien lizard people? Lefties stealing children out of backyards and sucking out their souls? People actually believed this?

Plus, Alex Jones’ anger was infectious. I would finish my run really pissed off for no reason, which is the exact opposite of what running usually does for me. I tried a few other podcasts, like Michael Savage’s, someone whom I knew my mother listened to and she was all over that Trump bandwagon (and parents wonder why their children never call), but I didn’t even last a day with him because he was so intensely dull. Apparently people who listen to the drivel vomited by right-wingers possessing a microphone have low expectations in terms of entertainment. That probably explains the popularity of a lot of television shows, too.

I was quickly realizing I wouldn’t be able to think like a Trump voter (something to be proud of), and walking a mile in their shoes was beyond my capacity to reason. This was more apparent when my boss at the time informed me that he was tired of people calling him a racist because he voted for Trump. He followed this proclamation by showing me a handful of texts from a friend of his that justified his vote. One was a link to a video in which Hillary Clinton was said to be laughing at her defense of a child rapist. Another was information about Evan McMullin, the savior candidate for Utahns who couldn’t bear to vote for a woman and weren’t so keen about that pussy-grabbing stuff either. According to my then-boss, McMullin was working for the Clinton campaign to divert votes from Trump so Clinton would be the state’s winner.

Now here’s the thing. I’m pretty aware of what’s going on in politics, and both of these seemed like they should have been big big big big big news (plus, everyone knows a democrat can’t win Utah, not to mention a WOMAN, why would someone bother paying a third-party candidate just in case?). So why hadn’t I heard of either? In less than three minutes online, I learned from reputable sources that both “facts” were complete bullshit. I also had time to cross-check and fact-check, that’s how little effort it took.

Why hadn’t my soon-to-be former boss done the same? He was a grown adult — do adults just accept what they’re told now?

This became the singular idea that drove me for the next year and a half as I tried to figure out how to Make America Skeptical Again. For a long time, I’ve defended the rights of anyone to say any dumbass thing they want to. Freedom of speech ROCKS! Freedom to believe, however, doesn’t. We all have the responsibility to find the facts before accepting anything hook, line, and sinker. And for some reason, people had stopped doing this.

When I was a kid, almost everyone I knew had two newspapers delivered to their home daily. Usually, the a.m. and p.m. papers had different political bents, but people (a.k.a., adults) read both anyway. In my house, my dad would read them cover to cover, do the crossword puzzle, take the sports section into the bathroom, etc. We all knew the drill. He’d complain about something he read in one paper and deem one of the editorial writers a clown. But what mattered most was that he was trying to see at least two sides to an issue.

In short, no one believed anything back then. Whether it was in print or broadcast, it deserved to be questioned.

Eventually, however, this changed. Most towns lost their second newspaper in the early 2000s. And most papers that survived are still existing by a thread. The message today from most news sources, and I use the term “news” loosely when personal blogs and social media platforms are seen as forms of news, says that no one bothers looking for the full story any more. A one-sided, biased opinion is good enough, thank you.

But as the Internet took hold, something else happened — people became too busy to look at the facts. Google and Facebook and other ad platforms started feeding us info that spoke to our exhibited biases, and in return, those platforms were rewarded with higher click thru and ad rates. Real news outlets, which have always been whores for cash, took notice and also started publishing stories that people WANTED to read, watch, or hear, rather than the ones people NEEDED to hear. A super-objective piece? BORING. Lizard people is where it’s at.

Anyway, back to November 2016 … or maybe by this time, it was December or 2017. I have two teens in my house so I know for a fact that we all reach adulthood as skeptics. I question why people have lost their natural skepticism and drive to prove authority figures wrong, why we read headlines and 140-character sound bites. Is it that we’ve become too comfortable and complacent? Do we have so much more Netflix to watch that we can only be bothered to pay attention if someone pre-chews the information for us?

Somehow society needed to change. Somehow I decided it was up to me to fix it. It took me a year and a half to figure out how. My decision: maybe I’d become a teacher. I could try to help the next generation to fix all the shit my generation and the ones that preceded us keep getting wrong.

Will it work? I have no idea, but I’ve finished my coursework and have only student teaching left before someone unleashes me on a class full of students and I get to find out. I think. I’m a little skeptical so I really don’t know if this will work or if I’ll be able to engage single mind or if this could be the single dumbest idea I’ve ever had.