The wheels, not the engine

It's 7:40 AM and I'm sitting in my classroom waiting. My 9th grade girls are taking a test today on the Middle Ages through the end of the Crusades. Several promised they would be here at 7:30 for a last minute review before the test this afternoon. No one has come.

Yesterday, in the middle of test review, one of my 9th grade boys raised his hand and asked, "Miss Richardson, what happens if the students revolt?"

Not at all desiring to get into a futile conversation in which I explain that they don't have a choice, furthering his feeling of powerlessness (i.e. encouraging the whole revolt idea), I chose to answer the question in a more round about way.

I began by bringing up a few revolts that we had already studied in Western Civilization. I asked this student what some distinctive characteristics of revolt were (i.e. a group of people who feel oppressed and powerless standing up against those who are doing the oppressing or taking the power). Essentially, to revolt, you need an enemy to revolt against - someone whose goals are in direct opposition to your own.

We then progressed to discussing the goals of students and the goals of teachers... and what do you know? Students and teachers are working toward a common end. Therefore, the teacher cannot be the enemy of the student, and therefore the student can not revolt against the teacher.

So, if the revolt thing doesn't work out because no one is doing the oppressing, what is the more accurate representation of the student teacher relationship (by this time, this student, who was just protesting homework and had definitely not realized what he has gotten himself into is really regretting having opened his mouth in the first place)? A car.

The car is the means of reaching education (the end goal of both student and teacher relates to the student receiving a well-rounded education and being adequately prepared for life). The student is the engine. The teacher is the wheels. An engine without wheels works. An engine without wheels cannot propel a car forward. Wheels cannot do the driving, they must be driven.

This, I believe, adequately expresses the reason I frequently feel powerless as a teacher. When my students learn to see me as being a tool that will lead to success, rather than an authority that is the cause of misery, inevitably they enjoy both school and me more. Yet, because I inevitably require discomfort or hard work on their part, I am initially seen as the enemy.

Conversations like this are not merely for the benefit of the student. I have repeated conversations with students, both in the academic setting and informally, in which we end up discussing our sin nature. When I lose sight of my own sin nature that I lose my patience and feel frustrated with my kids. When I realize that I am no better than them, just maybe a little more experienced in making choices, I can connect with my students and can love them in a way that will help them succeed.