Curriculum Isn't Everything

For the past two weeks, I have been teaching my middle students about the Apollo era, the causes of NASA's fatal missions, and discussing what it would take to put people on Mars.  It is my favorite thing to teach, and I have been doing so for 25 years.  However, if you open any published physical science textbook, you will not find this chapter.  It is not part of any physical science curriculum.  I added it during my first year because I had students who didn't know anything about the space program, and I wanted them to.  I asked the history teachers if they covered the space race, and they said that, because the '60s were covered so late in the school year, they were doing well to cover the Civil Rights Movement and the Vietnam War.  Knowing I wouldn't be stepping on anyone's toes, I developed a short unit so I could share my passion for space exploration with physical science students.  It has become everyone's favorite unit, including mine.

This takes me back to my own middle school years and a history teacher I have written about before on this blog, Mr. Danny Watkins.  History was not my subject.  I didn't perform badly in it; I just didn't care that much about what I was learning.  There are excellent history teachers out there, but I had precious few of them.  My experience with history was mostly men with the first name "coach" assigning reading and questions and then sitting down at their desk to create plays for their teams.  Mr. Watkins was the opposite of that.  He absolutely loved sharing the stories of history and the people who made it.  There were specific people he was particularly inspired by, like Winston Churchill, Booker T. Washington, George Washington Carver, and Frank Boyden.  One story he particularly loved sharing was that of Tsar Nicholas I and his family.  I read the book Nicholas and Alexandra during my 8th-grade year, a book far above my level, for no other reason than Mr. Watkins loves it so much.  Nine years later, I was in an art museum in Tulsa, where a traveling exhibit of imperial art was being shown.  I had seen portraits of Catherine the Great, Faberge eggs, and cloisonne pieces.  It was all beautiful, but I hadn't really responded to much until we reached the last room of the exhibit.  There was a desk that had belonged to Tsar Nicholas on one wall.  On the other, was a large painting of the coronation of Alexandra and her crown.  I stood in that room, thinking about the letters Nicholas wrote from that desk and the grief Alexandra felt because of her only son's hemophilia and how desperate she had to be to allow Rasputin into her home.  Before long, I found that I had tears running down my face.  This was not a response to a piece of furniture and a jeweled hat; it was a response to the story that Mr. Watkins had shared and the depth with which it had stuck in my heart.  By the way, the name of the class I had Mr. Watkins for was North Carolina History.  Other than the reason we are called Tarheels and the fact that the governor's mansion used to be in New Bern, I really cannot tell you much about the history of NC.  The tests I took in Mr. Watkins' class were about NC History, but I studied the book for those and quickly forgot them.  The stories that stuck with me were those that Mr.Watkins told in class, and he didn't much care if they were part of the curriculum or not.

I'm not sure a teacher these days can be a Mr. Watkins.  If an administrator observed his class, I'm sure he would be dinged for not having an objective posted and not remaining focused on the standard for the day, ignoring the enraptured faces of students like me.  We have become so committed to covering curriculum and meeting standards that we have forgotten that one of our most important jobs as teachers is to inspire.  

Listen, curriculum matters.  Of course, it does, but it is not the only thing that matters.  It is entirely possible my students could solve Doppler Effect problems but not recognize it when an ambulance passes them on a street.  It is possible for them to state the definition of refraction but not notice its effects on a straw in glass.  I want my students to meet the standards and objectives I have for the course, or I wouldn't have chosen them.  But more than that, I want my students to see science in the world.  I want them to ride a roller coaster and know why they feel lifted from their seat at the top of the hill.  I want them to watch curling during the Winter Olympics and remember things like momentum and friction.  Even more importantly, I want them to ask questions for their entire lives.  Why can we see through glass windows and not wooden doors?  Why is it so hard for a gymnast to stick the landing?  How do we feel so light in a swimming pool?  That won't happen if I focus ONLY on curriculum.  

While you are making lesson plans, think about standards and curriculum, but also think about how you are going to make something matter.  Think about what made you love the thing you teach and how you might show them that.  It's easy in science because we can blow things up, but most of the inspirational teacher movies are about English, History, and Music teachers.  Stand and Deliver is about an AP Calculus teacher and the difference that was made in the lives of students because of a passionate teacher.  No matter what you teach, you can bring the awe and wonder of your subject to your students.  I hope my students will be excited by a rocket launch or marvel at the oxidation of pottery glaze in a kiln.  To do that, they have to see my excitement in those things too.