Academics
On April 10, 2006 | 9 Comments | Uncategorized |

I’ve just spent some time surfing the web. I know this is an activity that many people engage in on a regular basis, but this is not something I am given to doing, so it is a bit of an adventure for me.

In fact, the only reason I surf the web is because I’m looking for something in particular. In which case, I suppose, one might say that I don’t surf the web. I’m not coasting along, going from site to site, as from wave to wave, looking for what interests me, for what might give me a good ride or, say, carry me to shore. No. I don’t surf, if that is what surfing means.

What I do is maybe dive the web. You know, I drift on the surface (Google) and peer down at the sandy bottom, and look for what I need. Then, when I see it (the shiny white pebble, the glittering stone), I dive down to get it.

And what was I diving for tonight, you ask? Grammar texts. Vocabulary texts. Books for my upcoming class.

Because, these days, these busy days, one of the things I am supposed to be about is writing curriculum. And the course I will be teaching (and so the course for which I am writing) is a humanities course, which means, in our context, Bible and intellectual history, western civilization and English.

The most delicious part of teaching English? Literature, hands down. The most difficult? Writing– again, hands down. The necessary evils (though I admit to loving them)? Grammar and vocabulary.

The whole course has real potential, and I am very exicted about it. I can’t imagine a better blend of subjects; I have great hopes for the dialogue, the writing, the discourse that this combination will render. And since it is a humanities course, I will also be including analysis of great works of art, both visual and musical. Really, this is going to be great.

So the other night I am talking about this with my dear friend Heidi who, after years of teaching English in China, has returned to teaching in the US in her field of training: high school math. We were comparing notes on teaching: she, who is in the throes, and I, who am anticipating it, crafting it, getting ready for the plunge.

Heidi, you must know, is honestly and truly One of the Very Best People I Know. She is, in fact, One of the Best People Ever. And she would never be jealous of me. She would never voice a complaint, because she trusts God like no one I know.

But still.

We were talking about English, we were talking about math. And she said something that my other-math-teaching-friend Karen has said about teaching math, especially as it compares to teaching English: math just doesn’t open students up to discussion about things that matter like English does. It really doesn’t.

Shakespeare can (and does) make you laugh out loud. A good conversation about Fitzgerald or Hemingway can broach subjects running deeper than the text; it can make students consider themselves, their culture, their perspectives on things in a whole new light.

Math? Not so much.

Heidi was considering the possibilities. “I could ask them,” she said. “I could ask, ‘How do you feel about “x”?'”

That was funny.

“Really,” she said. She wasn’t frustrated or annoyed, not the slightest bit exasperated. “I mean, it’s a variable.”

Comments 9
Karen DiRuggiero Posted April 10, 2006 at11:54 am   Reply

Heidi and I definitely need to meet!

Paul M. Posted April 10, 2006 at11:29 pm   Reply

I like that, “diving.” Suggests something about how the web can just suck you in (instead of lifting you above everything). Glad some of us (like yourself) have the lung power to dive deep, and the swimmin’ skills to come up for air at will.

Anonymous Posted April 11, 2006 at3:44 am   Reply

ah, but higher math is another story. as one historian put it: the most important task confronting mathematicians would therefore seem to be the construction of a satisfactory theory of the infinite. what is infinity after all? is it something really really big? or something really really really small?or, as bertrand russell has written about high-school math: in the beginning of algebra, even the most intelligent child finds, as a rule, very great difficulty. the use of letters is a mystery, which seems to have no purpose except mystification. it is almost impossible, at first, not to think that every letter stands for some particular number, if only the teacher would reveal <>what<> number it stands for. the fact is, that in algebra the mind is first taught to consider general truths, truths which are not asserted to hold only of this or that particular thing, but of any one of a whole group of things. it is in the power of understanding and discovering such truths that the mastery of the intellect over the whole world of things actual and possible resides; and ability to deal with the general as such is one of the gifts that a mathematical education should bestow.the key, as asserted by david foster wallace in his wonderful-but-challenging book “everything and more: a compact history of infinity” (from which all of the above quotes are taken), is finding a way to make the math beautiful…

Rebecca Posted April 11, 2006 at3:56 am   Reply

And so are these thoughts beautiful. Thank you for commenting in this way.I do find– as I know my friends mentioned here do– math to be beautiful. Perhaps they and I need to read Wallace’s book….Who Are You?I happily admit to finding real delight in imaginary numbers. When I made their acquaintance in high school (when was it?), I couldn’t get over their existence. What a splendid idea! Yes, perhaps I’ll post something on that subject someday. You’ve got me thinking….

Anonymous Posted April 11, 2006 at3:01 pm   Reply

as for who i am (poster of wallace), perhaps you’ll recognize me from this:Some are summer’ssons: fervid,Fired, love-Inspired, never tired.Wintry ones haveweary walks, seldomTalk – dullas stones, as bareAs bones. Some areSpring: bright and beaming,greenly leafing, whollyGrowing, goodness showing.Men of Seasons – all of these. No man for all am I –I am autumn – I Flame and freeze; I’m allergies;I change my leavesby slight degrees:Chromatic tohueless. Often I’mClueless . . . weathered, orNot. Climate –Bleak. Prone to speak.Slowto act – Spring’s loveI lack. I’m notquite incurable, butSubtly durable – a sleepytree – that’s Me…(11/4/91)

Anonymous Posted April 11, 2006 at4:25 pm   Reply

We probably all agree that solving for “x” isn’t a provocative experience. However, as you stated earlier, neither is trying to use clunky vocabulary words in a sentence or pointing out the dangling participle. Yet, in both cases it is a necessary experience to graduate to the level where Shakespeare IS funny, or math IS about things that matter. Math matters to meteorologists determining the path of a hurricane, or to inventors of the defibrillator, the statistician determining the sources of global warming . . . well, you get the point. It’s the application of knowledge that creates the insatiable desire to know and understand more about literature or math. I first became intrigued with math and science when I saw Sally Ride orbit the earth. How far can we go? How vast is God’s creation? Where do we fit in this universe? These are questions that can also invoke a student to “consider themselves, their culture their perspective on things, and their perspective on things in a whole new light.”Best of luck with your curriculum planning!

Anonymous Posted April 13, 2006 at2:22 pm   Reply

I do NOT agree that solving for x is not provocative. I mean, as Heidi said, it’s a variable. A VARIABLE!!! How many variables are there in English? When Shakespeare writes “What light from yonder window breaks” might we have figured out that the correct answer is “Rosamund?” No, it’s Juliet, and he comes out and tells us, and it’s ALWAYS Juliet, never Rosamund. What’s interesting about that?whs2

anonymous2 Posted April 13, 2006 at2:55 pm   Reply

I don’t think I’m communicating effectively. Not provocative would be something that doesn’t stimulate you. So, solving for x isn’t stimulating, hence NOT provocative.Something that is provocative would be fascinating and exciting, like the application of knowledge.

Anonymous Posted April 25, 2006 at5:54 pm   Reply

When one teaches literature to a group predisposed to be disinterested, or to a group without confidence in their abilities as readers/interpreters, or to a group for whom the particular text is a little beyond their reach, at least initially… one often must begin with the deep stuff and progress to the text. One might preceed a reading of OEDIPUS REX with a group of readers who might find it difficult by having a conversation about fate, destiny, choice, circumstances… One might begin a study of A DOLL’S HOUSE with a discussion about gender and societal expectations… These discussions of the deep stuff that are relevant and accessible to everyone are keys for these readers to become engaged and to care about the texts. I have witnessed math instructors who do the same thing. They begin with the application before they ask the learners to approach the math task to be tackled. When they introduce a real life problem that is interesting to the students, a real life reason why they would care what “X” equals, the students can approach learning to do math with more interest and energy. My calculus class was like this. We began with the word problems and worked our way to learning to do the math. Each word problem/project was culminated with a paper that explained the problem at hand, and the issues associated with it, and how we worked through the math and other real-life stuff to arrive at our answers. Those of us who were good at regular math found this type of math class a pain at first, but the students who disliked math found this way helped them to love, or at least value, math. They preferred the real problem to “Trust me; you’ll use this one day.” It definitely took more prep work on the math teacher’s part though.

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