On Mess, Process, and Learning

Very recently, I had a chance to learn how to make fire.¹ And when I say, "make fire," I don't mean using matches or coals or even flint and steel. I mean, make a fire using nothing but three pieces of wood and a length of rope.

It was awesome. And hard. I have the sore arm and back muscles to prove it.

I worked on learning how to do this with several of my colleagues - all of us with higher degrees, a few of us even sporting Ph.Ds after our names. In spite of our credentials (or maybe because of?), it took over an hour - and the collective efforts of eight very educated people - to start two fires.

We began well. We figured out that we'd need to fit the spindle-shaped piece of wood between the two flat boards, and then turn the spindle to create friction. In order to spin the spindle fast enough, we'd need to wrap the rope around it and pull back and forth on the ends to gain better leverage. We managed to get some smoke going, which excited us. But then, there were set-backs. We somehow dulled the ends of the spindle to the point that it wasn't really spinning that well. Also, we were getting smoke from the wrong end of the spindle. Our rhythm for pulling on the rope was poor - the strokes too short to get good flow on the spindle-turns.

We made adjustments. We discussed and asked questions of each other and tried working in silence. We tried again. And again. And again. And again. We got really, really tired.

image source

I admit that after the third time we'd got an ember going but failed to light the tinder we'd made from some pieces of frayed rope, I felt pretty darn frustrated. Just getting to the point where we could get the wooden spindle smoking against another board to build up some "coal dust" (what I was calling it in my head) and then the ember from that, was hard work. But then, having to ratchet up to the next step and figure out how to get that ember to actually catch on the kindling and transform into a flame felt like another beast altogether. Learning to build a fire took multiple attempts (I lost count after the fifth failed ember), lots of adjustments, some discussion, and no insignificant amount of teamwork.

And when we finally did it? It was exhilarating, gratifying, and satisfying like few things I've ever done.

I tell you this story because it reminds me that learning is messy. It's non-linear, inconsistent, and has ebbs and flows. It required a lot of effort, a good deal of determination and persistence, and considerable flexibility - both of mind and manner. There were little triumphs, many "failures," and definite frustration. We needed not only the time and the room to figure things out and try various strategies, but the opportunity to work at it until it felt right. Part of the "feeling right," had to do with finding out who was good at what, which role was best assigned to which team member. And then, really ramping up on each individual's strengths to contribute to accomplishing the objective: starting a fire.

I know now, that were I ever in a situation that called for it, I have the rudimentary knowledge and ability to get a fire going. I know that it might take me a really long time, but that if I keep working at it, applying what I learned today, I could get it to happen. I feel fairly confident about that, despite - or maybe because of - the amount of time and the many attempts and iterations we made at getting that first fire started - that I can be successful at this venture. And knowing this, I also know, I learned it. I really understood and internalized that process.

All of this makes me wonder, how often does this happen with and for our students in school classrooms?  How often do our education systems give students the space, time, and opportunity, to have and experience truly authentic, messy, engrossing, exhausting, exhilarating learning? Where and when do we find the place in schools, to teach our young people that learning is a process and that "failure" and frustration are integral steps in that process? Chances are the answers to these questions run along the lines of, "rarely," in best case scenarios, and "never" on average.

So, all of that being said, I will also say this: we generally agree that we need to reform and transform our education system. It is and will be a process, much like learning to start a fire. It is and will continue to be a hell of a learning experience for all involved. And here's what I'd like to remind us of, as we develop, iterate, challenge, discuss, adjust, and adapt during and through all of this - let's give ourselves room and time to figure things out and try various strategies - let's provide opportunities to work at it until it feels right.² And as we do that - let's remember what this has been, is, and will be for us - and provide those things for our students and young people as well. Learning is a process and it's a messy one. Accepting and embracing that as learners will make us far more powerful as educatorsAnd in the end, that is really far more than okay.


¹Thanks to Michael Trotta of Sagefire Institute for teaching us how to build fires - and some other very important lessons.
²As I write this, I feel the need to clarify that I am concerned that if we wait too long, we might end up losing an entire generation of students while we figure things out. Timely action and thought is required. But hopefully, not at the expense of necessary time and very necessary thought, if that makes any sense. 

What Grown-Ups Can Learn From Phineas and Ferb

Have you ever watched an episode of the Disney Channel cartoon, Phineas and Ferb? If not, I highly recommend it. It's smart, funny, and manages to tell engaging stories within pretty much the same plot-framework episode after episode - which is indicative, I think, of the creativity and brilliance of the writers. I was introduced to it by my six-year-old son, who asked if he could watch it, and as I often like to work within eye-and-ear shot of my kids, whenever possible, I slowly got exposed - and sucked in - to this clever television show.

I also realized that despite it being an animated series, and therefore able to exaggerate and push the boundaries of "reality" in ways that live-action shows and "real life" obviously can't, there were some very real lessons that we as educators and adults could bear to learn regarding children and learning.

Phineas and Ferb ©Disney

1. Address a Need: At the start of each new "day," or episode, the two title characters look around themselves and ask, "So, what are we gonna do today?" This query is always answered by the identification of some immediate need in their environment or community - a teenaged sister who needs to learn to drive, a challenge to play soccer by some rival peer group, the desire to cool the heat of a summer day with a beach party (even though they're nowhere near a beach), the hope of having something "exciting" to report about their summer vacation once they're back in school, the need to retrieve their mother's lucky guitar pick that has slid beneath the wall, etc. The point is, of course, that each day's endeavor has context. Whatever it is that Phineas and Ferb are working on/playing with, there's always a reason and a point. No one ever asks, "Why do we have to do this," because everyone knows. Even if the answer is simply, "so we can have the best day ever" --> code for "have enormous amounts of fun doing stuff with our friends."

2. Play can also be an opportunity to learn and create: Phineas and Ferb isn't an educational show. Children who are watching it will not learn quantum mechanics, advanced mathematics, or even the finer points of papier-mache (all things that are utilized in various episodes). However, what they may learn is that if you happen to know how to do or make things, endless amounts of fun and adventure are at your fingertips. Educators and adults (excepting those who work with children between the ages of 0-5) are too quick to overlook the relationships between play and learning. The two types of activities often go hand in hand - but educators have long lost the art of integrating learning effectively with play in structured learning environments like classrooms. Why is this, when we all know that play will motivate student participation in ways that no class lecture or homework assignment ever will? Why does education need to feel difficult? The answer, of course, is that it doesn't. It's just how we've made it. The good news is, this is absolutely something we can unmake, if we have the will to do it.

Here are a couple other things to mull over - I truly believe that learning can and should be, in large part, fun. It's not easy, however, to design instruction in that way. It's much easier for teachers to deliver instruction through methods such as lectures, non-contextualized demonstrations, and verbal explanations of abstract theories, concepts, and facts - all methods that have low rates of transmission to students and create situations in which students - and educators! -  start to believe they're not good learners. Who should education be easy for? The students? Or the educators? (I should also add that there are some incredibly gifted educators out there who are already doing this more challenging type of teaching. It's the sad truth, however, that what I described in this paragraph is more indicative of what actually happens in classrooms all over this country.)

Which leads to the next lesson...

3. Fun only happens outside of school: Okay, I admit, this is the message that I'm hoping we can eventually debunk, on a large scale. The entire opening theme song is all about the fact that there are just "104 days of summer vacation," and how the characters have to make the most of them. The entire series takes place outside the context of school, because fun happens outside of school. There are certainly references to school in the series. For instance, the character of Baljeet, a young mathematical wizard, is particularly tied to the rating and reward structures provided by traditional education models, which is played upon to great effect in the episode, "The Baljeatles," when Baljeet has a breakthrough in self-expression, only to use it to express his desire to conform closely to the requirements of the establishment. It's funny, but also jarring. You can listen to the song here [video] (lyrics can be read here).

Again, I wholeheartedly believe that we can and must change these paradigms about school and learning. With millions of children locked inside institutions that may be actively working to make at least thousands of them believe they're bad at learning, maintaining the status quo seems simply unacceptable.

4. Project-based Learning engages diverse learners and brings them together for collaboration: One of the most striking things about this show is its cast of characters. Phineas (the show's charismatic and visionary leader) and Ferb (his introverted and brilliant brother) have a core group of friends who work and play with them daily. This group includes the aforementioned "nerd" Baljeet, a "Fireside Girl," (this world's version of the Girl Scouts) named Isabella, and Buford, the resident bully who regularly harasses Baljeet. Other children come and go, but generally it's these five who carry out whatever project happens to make up the day's adventure. And despite their divergent interests and the way they approach  things according to their own somewhat archetypal world-views, they manage to collaborate positively together in nearly every episode. It's not a real stretch of the imagination, either. The stuff they do (and albeit, these things aren't really possible in the real world) is so interesting and engaging, I'd gladly help work on them. I'm betting you would too.

This is our challenge as educators - to create and design relevant, authentic, project-based learning opportunities and environments that engage all learners and meaningfully build on the individual contributions of each.

5. Age is no obstacle: Phineas and Ferb are constantly being asked (at a rate of almost once an episode - it's a repeated bit) if they aren't too young to be taking on whatever endeavor that day's project happens to be. Their pat answer is, "Yes. Yes, we are." But this answer is 1) obviously incorrect as it's disproved by their successes, and 2) it's an effective strategy to get the "concerned" adults out of the way, by affirming their world view (you know, the one in which kids are incapable of inventing, developing, constructing, designing, or executing anything real) within the context of...well, that world view. We grown-ups have a lot of ideas about what children are or are not capable of doing and learning. Once we sweep aside these preconceptions and assumptions, we may realize that they're less to do with what kids can or can't do, and more to do with how our own thinking limits us as educators - and our kids as learners.

6. Don't forget the autonomy: An important component in all of this, of course, is choice. The kids in this show play and work and create together because they choose to - it is, after all, summer vacation, and this isn't school. There's a whole reservoir of motivation and agency educators could dip into if we could just do a better job of creating learning environments where students feel that they have some voice in what they learn and how they learn. I don't advocate creating a "wild west" situation in the classroom, but it is possible to provide more choices and allow students to engage with material on their own terms, especially if we're able to develop instructional models which focus more on experiential, contextualized learning.

7. Time is of the essence: Not only is summer vacation limited, each day comes to an end. The Phineas and Ferb crew wrap up each project in a day. This is not to say we should do the same with our students. But there's an important lesson in this. Momentum and timing matter. Don't let projects drag on indefinitely without authentic, outcomes-based feedback points and milestones.

Futhermore, with every month and year that ticks by, we continue to lose kids to the drop-out epidemic and the graduation crisis (about 7,200 kids per school day which equals roughly 1.3 million 12th graders not graduating with the rest of their class per year¹). It's untenable to have so many young people without employable skills, knowledge, or credentials accruing between the cracks of our school systems.

So, keeping all these valuable lessons in mind, perhaps it's time that we educators and grown-ups of the world try applying them to our own efforts. What better project is there, after all, than figuring out how to make every day of school, "the best day ever," for every one of our students? There's a definite need, and who knows, maybe turning learning into play could be fun. I ask you, "So, what are we gonna do today?"