I Didn't Expect That

After you have taught for a while, you get a sense of what questions are going to be asked about certain topics, and you plan for them.  When I'm teaching about sound waves, for example, I do one day on how the human ear works.  Because it is responsible for more than just sound processing, I work time into the period for questions about tubes, ears popping on planes, dizziness, ringing in the ears, etc.  If, by some chance, they don't ask about these things, I say something like, "Sometimes, people wonder about ear infections, and . . ." After a few years, it would be easy to think you know what is coming but occasionally, something you didn't expect derails your planned lesson.

When I teach about the atom, it is important for students to know that the standard model we all learn is an oversimplification of the real thing, so we do a little imagining of what it would be like if protons were the size of bowling balls.  If they were, electrons would be roughly the size of a thumbtack, and the first one away from the nucleus would be across the street.  I'm used to them being surprised by that and a little taken aback by the idea that there can be empty space in the atom.  It bothers them that there is nothing there.  But once, a girl was floored by the idea that 99% of the atom is empty space.  "It can't be empty," she said.  "There's got to be air or something."  When I explained that air was made of atoms and, therefore, could not fill the space inside atoms, she got very quiet.  Then she started saying, "Wait . . . wait . . . wait."  I waited.  She finally said, kind of slowly, "So, you are telling me . . . that everything . . .  is mostly made of nothing."  I had never thought of it that way before, but yes.  Everything is mostly made of nothing.  They were so floored that I didn't get to move on for about five minutes.  I wasn't expecting that.  This doesn't happen very often, but you know when it does, and it stops the show.

When moments like these happen, it is my obligation as a science teacher to let them play out.  I can finish tomorrow or leave something out, but it would be educational malpractice to halt these moments of awe.  It is also a good idea in those moments to think about further implications of the realization the student has had.  While we were marveling over the idea that everything is mostly made of nothing, I said, "That 1% that is something is just really important."  That's an important consequence of the idea, and it comes up when talking about electrons as well.  (Just because they are small doesn't mean they don't matter, given that they are almost completely responsible for chemistry.)  It's also a good opportunity to imagine what it would be like if it weren't that way.  If all that nothing were something, even small objects would be too dense to lift.  As a Christian school teacher, that will lead to an opportunity to naturally discuss how wisely designed creation is, right down to the smallest level.

Science, by its nature, is obviously replete with opportunities like this, but I'm betting your subject has them as well.  One day a student came out of my friend Jenny's math class and started pacing back and forth.  She came out and said, "It's okay.  Just walk it off."  A gave her a strange look, and she said, "He's just had his mind blown by the concept of limited infinity."  (In case you don't know what that is, think of something like all odd numbers.  It is limited because there are no even numbers in the set, but there is still an infinite number of them.)  He just kept muttering to himself, "Infinity can be limited.  That's crazy.  It's infinity, but it can be limited."  She had not planned for this to be a show-stopping concept, but it definitely was, and those students left with an awe for math they would not have otherwise had.  You never know who it will come from either.  This boy was not a future math major; he didn't even like math.  He was just someone for whom the words "limited infinity" became magical and had a teacher who pulled back the curtain.

We spend a lot of our time equipping and challenging our students, but these are the moments where we inspire them to love learning.   It's not about a test or a state standard or what job they might have in the future.  It is about noticing something amazing in the world and pausing to be amazed.  We should model that.  That's our primary job.

Is there something in your discipline that you were surprised by when you first learned it?  Share that with your students, and give them a second to realize how cool it is.  You can plan some of these, but there will be some you don't expect.  Keep your eyes and ears open for them, and take full advantage when they happen.