(What follows is the text–more or less, since it was a speech and hence had improvised comments–of a talk I gave in Middle School Chapel today.)
In spite of that wonderful introduction, most of you have no idea who I am. Except for a young man whom I hit in the head with a book one day while I was visiting his English class. Purely in the interests of education, of course. No, seriously.
Now, my topic for today is not hitting people–it’s asking questions. What does hitting someone with a book have to do with questions? Well, Ms. Fabriz was asking why students kept messing up the difference between the word “novel” and the word “book.” Apparently, a bunch of kids were discussing Animal Farm and they kept saying “book” when they should have said “novel.” Ms. Fabriz asked how she could get them to use the right word (that was a question), and I said, “I can show them the difference!” So, I held up a book and asked, “Does anyone know the difference between a book and a novel?” Then I tapped the kid sitting next to me on the head, and said, “You can only hit someone with a book, not a novel.” My point was that a book is a physical object, whereas a novel or poem or text is a collection of words–they may be printed in a book, they may show up on a computer screen, but the words and the thing on which they show up are different.
So, see, Ms. Fabriz asked a question. I asked a question. And the class had a demonstration that should have been entertaining, if not memorable.
So, yeah. Questions. What else can you do with them?
Well, you can ask questions of fellow students (in case it’s your goal to be different, to stand out from the crowd instead of being a sheep–because sheep just go along with stuff without questioning, right? I mean, who ever heard of a sheep asking questions? They just go “baaah, baaaah”…). It works with teachers (in case your goal is to try to look cool by being rebellious). As long as you don’t push it too far–and I have to say that hitting someone with a book probably *is* pushing it too far–it won’t actually get you in trouble, but it will still stir things up. And you’re mavericks, right? You know, St. John’s Mavericks? So you’re supposed to like to stir things up.
So, yeah. Ask questions. It’s better if they’re good questions. So, unfortunately, you might have to learn something first. Like how to ask good questions. Which involves knowing what a good question is. Wait, though. Learning? That sounds like…school. Damn. (Oh wait, I bet “damn” is a school-inappropriate word, isn’t it? Sorry Mr. Lombardi. You guys can tell I teach in the Upper School, right?)
So, learning? Thinking about stuff so you can ask good questions? You’d think a school (which is theoretically a place of learning) would encourage that, right? Don’t you believe it.
For instance, your friends very often don’t want you to ask questions. Especially questions like “Why are you going out with *him*?” Or “Why do you want to do *that*?” Or “Why didn’t you make that goal?”
Still, it’s a school, right? So at least the *teachers* would encourage questions, right, since that’s how you learn? I have bad news for you.
One of the things I tell my students is that education is the process of successive disillusionment. What does that mean?
Like, you start off believing in the tooth fairy.
Then, you learn that it’s your mom.
Then, you learn that you’re too old to get money for a tooth any more.
Then, you learn that your little brother still gets money for his teeth even though you don’t any more.
Yeah, with each new thing you learn, it just gets worse, right? That’s successive disillusionment. You start off believing something all warm and happy, and you learn more and more and it gets less happy.
Well, a lot of education is not just learning new things, but *unlearning* things you used to think were true–like the tooth fairy. Successive disillusionment. So, let me educate you. A lot of teachers do not want you asking questions. It’s pretty easy to tell when they don’t like it. I mean apart from their saying “Sit down and shut up!” That one’s kinda obvious. Although, I think my students have told me your teachers aren’t supposed to say “shut up” in Middle School because it’s unkind. So I guess they have a euphemism for it. (What does “euphemism” mean?)
Anyway, when you ask a question that starts with “Why…” and you get the “it just does” answer, you know they’re not happy with you. Score one for you.
Anyway, the teachers in the audience are no doubt getting really nervous or annoyed by now. Who is this guy spreading sedition, they’re asking. (Do you know what “sedition” means?) It’s ok, they can relax a bit, because while it’s true that I make some teachers uncomfortable, I also annoy the he..ck (good save, eh?) out of students, not just teachers. Because I ask them questions, too!
For instance, a kid in my math class comes up and says, “Is this answer right?” And I answer, “I don’t know. Is it?” So she says, “How am I supposed to know if you don’t?” And I say, “There are fifteen really bright people in this room. Are you really telling me that out of all those bright people, you can’t get together, checking one another’s work, to tell if an answer is right? Cmon, I know you’re smarter than that.”
Or another student will come up to me and say, “I can’t do this problem.” Now when a student comes up to a teacher and says that, what does he want? Cmon, what does he want? <pause>
Exactly! He wants me to tell him how to do the problem. Do I? <pause>
Of course not. I say, “Have you tried thinking about it *this* way?” And he either goes back and tries something different, or he starts whining. Do you ever have kids in your class who whine? He’ll say, “I just can’t do it.” And I say, “Well, what have you tried?” And then I try to find a question that suggests something else for him to try without just telling him how to do it.
And that’s harder than you think. Because, even though you might not believe it, it’s a lot easier just to tell someone what to do than it is to lead them to figure it out on their own.
Now, sometimes, all these questions get them frustrated, and if they get too frustrated, I let students write on my white board a list with the title “Things that irk me about Dr. Raulston” or even “Things I Hate about Dr. Raulston” (that’s me, in case you’ve forgotten).
One day, a frustrated student came into class early, saw the list was on the board already and wrote, “Unlike Dumbledore, answers are not there for the asking.” I think the person who wrote that meant it as an insult. But when I saw it, I just said, “Of course not. Why should I answer questions just so you don’t have to think? I’ll only answer questions if you’ve tried hard for a long time and still can’t get it, not just because you’re lazy.” BAM.
Why don’t I just tell kids the answer to a question when they ask? <pause>
Right! Because you usually remember things better when you figure the answer out for yourself. So, if teachers want you to learn, why do they answer your questions? Why do they not encourage you to ask questions and then to figure out the answers yourselves? <pause>
Yes! Because it takes a lot longer. First, you have to figure out good questions. That takes time. Then, you almost never get “the right answer” the first time you think about something. So you have to allow time for wrong answers. And then sometimes wrong answers lead you to other good questions or interesting ideas. Wow. This whole questioning and thinking thing is clearly dangerous. It upsets the schedule. It might mean you leave out some problems from the math book! You may even come up with questions your teacher can’t answer right away. And then what happens?
Well, that depends on your teacher. You might get thrown out of class. Or you might get one who says, “That’s a really good question. We need to think about that.” And when you have a teacher like that, hold on to them. Because not everyone is. Especially college professors. They tend to lecture a lot, and they do NOT like to be interrupted with questions.
So, ask questions. Preferably good questions. How can you tell good questions from bad questions? If I ever get asked back here, I’ll let you in on the secret of that. If I don’t, maybe I’ll see some of you in Upper School and we can continue the conversation there.
Until then, thanks for listening if you did. If you didn’t, and you just slept or daydreamed, I’M FINISHED NOW. WAKE UP.
And what should you be doing when you leave? <pause> What should you be doing when you leave?
Right. Asking good questions!