#79 Teaching, learning, knowing 4/09

I love learning. It’s exciting to go places and learn everything about a new
environment—-the culture, the history, the land. I love languages--the
process of decoding an unfamiliar alphabet is a thrill. I can’t imagine any
craft that I wouldn’t feel privileged to master more thoroughly. I’m
passionate about understanding how social, natural and economic systems
work—-and how they could work better under different conditions. What makes
people tick is endlessly fascinating, and the more I learn about how to play
a useful role with other human beings, the happier I am.

Yet if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s being taught. Having to listen
while somebody expounds on something in my direction is torture. I’ve never
attended a training that hasn’t made me impatient. Being confined to a desk
with an authority in the front of the room is a sure recipe for irritation.
Of course there are explanations—-bad school experiences from the past
rearing their ugly heads, poorly designed lessons, expounders who don’t
really know that much. But being taught is not always the best way to
learn.

I’ve been struggling with questions of learning and knowledge as the group
of people I work with—-early childhood educators-–are being required to go
back to school in order for their programs to be rated of adequate quality
to receive state subsidies. Many of these women are gifted in their work
with children, yet that gift has no easy way of being acknowledged, so it is
without value in this developing system. I rail against the injustice of
it, against the incredible burdens of extra time and work that are being
placed on skilled, hard-working and already-overstretched women. Why can’t
their competence just be recognized?

Yet some of these women speak of the value of the experience, the sense of
accomplishment and pride that they feel, their excitement about taking new
ideas back to their programs. Am I wrong?

I go to a conference on prior learning assessment, higher education’s
attempt to attract older workers with skills and experience by giving credit
for some of the things they have learned on the job. It’s a good step, but
I’m still mad. What about the core of this job that makes all the difference
yet cannot be taught in even the most advanced early childhood course—-a
loving heart?

As I make my way through this conference, however, stories from all over
begin to form a pattern. Over and over again I hear that it is not easy for
many people who have had no higher education experience to articulate what
they have learned in life, to tease out what they know and how they apply
that knowledge. Many struggle to think in terms outside of what it takes to
get the job done. But when they understand that they possess complex bodies
of knowledge that can be applied in a variety of settings, a new world opens
up. They see themselves differently; they stand a little straighter; they
can imagine that more is possible.

Ah. Self knowledge. Reflection on one’s role in the world. Now those are
things I would want for everybody—-even if it means some sacrifice. I’m
still opposed to a belief that more classroom hours logged measures greater
mastery of a skill. And I’m still passionate about having a system that
recognizes and appreciates those who are gifted, skilled, and
knowledgeable—-regardless of how they got that way. But I’m ready to support
efforts that help anyone reflect on what they know, widen their horizons,
identify what they want to learn, and get access to opportunities to learn
it.



Reach

Married for seventy years
she stood by her man
grieved his loss.

Afterward
eating with her son
she poured coffee
looked across the table
wondered aloud
what would it taste like with sugar?

And she reached.