nextlevelsocrates

[nextlevelsocrates]

Don’t Try This At Home

The mid-morning can be hard for school students. The day is warming up, the sun is beginning to glare, and lunch seems just around the corner. Their minds may begin to drift to their Vegemite sandwich brought from home, the trans fat laden goulash pie from the canteen, or for terminally online teenagers, the video they watched recently of a small Korean woman ingurgitating seemingly unending piles of food. With this in mind, a hungry student without an ability to filter his thoughts is destined to call out in the middle of a lesson “How much food can a human stomach hold?” “About two litres,” I say, semi-confidently. “How do you know that?” asks the student.

When I was in university, I once participated in the overtly masculine activity of White Fear, a contest where participants try to drink four litres of milk as quickly as possible, in an act Aristotle would have described as “reserved for fuckwits.” The challenge with White Fear, apparently, has to do with that fact the human stomach can only hold two litres of fluid, requiring participants to continuously disgorge their digestive contents. This is also the sort of “fact” spewed by the kind of people who would convince their friends to participate in White Fear, so the validity of such a thing may be in question. Regardless, I have learnt the hard way that when a student asks a question whose answer reveal more information about your backstory that you would like to share, it is best just to respond “I don’t know. I just know things.”

As the discussion began to quiet down, a soft, sheepish voice asked out of the blue “can a racoon fit up your butthole?” Now this poses an especially difficult question, because was she talking about my butthole specifically? Is this something people are supposed to know about their orifices? This geography lesson was well and truly off the rails. “What made you ask this question?” I responded, quizzically. “I don’t know. Someone just said you could.” Again, I was wondering if this was a general statement, or if I had just been challenged to commit a heinous act against an innocent woodland creature.

“So, what did you say?” a colleague asked, hours later. “Obviously, I had to look it up.” According to a less than credible source, a human rectum can stretch up to seven inches (about 18 cm), while a racoon and fit in a whole that’s as tight as four inches (about 10 cm). Therefore, it is theoretically possible for a racoon to fit inside a human’s lower intestines. Obviously, this has nothing to do with topography, or whatever ever it was the students were supposed to be learning that day, but at least they walked away learning something.

[nextlevelsocrates]

The New World Order

As a science educator, you are the first line of defence against scientific mistruths. In a world inundated with misinformation and disinformation peddled by charlatans out to earn a quick buck by exploiting the fears and ignorance of the general public, it is more important than ever to be vigilant in quashing falsehoods that arise from someone’s lack of understanding. Conspiracy theories are on the rise and are being spread to young people through all manner of social media platforms. It is up to you to show your students the light. However, there is one major problem with this: conspiracy theories are fun.

I make no effort to hide my love of conspiracy theories. It can bring people peace thinking that the world isn’t the chaotic, uncaring mess of random chance and coincidence. That’s why the Year 12 Coordinator once walked into my classroom one afternoon only to find my so-called “Mathematics” lesson degenerate into a breakdown of the alien races in the Galactic Federation, which include the little grey aliens from popular culture, and the reptilian beings that make up the British royal family. I could also have chosen my words better when trying to defend my lesson contents because apparently “This is real” wasn’t the defence of my sanity and educational reputation I had hoped for.

Another such incident occurred during a Year 7 discussion on the Earth’s shape. The Earth isn’t perfectly round, and so it is my job to combat misconceptions about the world and explain the truth. However, it appears that having students read published materials from the Flat Earth Society isn’t the best way of doing that. When the class had to read the phrase “gravity isn’t real,” I began to doubt that this was the best way to explain that Earth is basically a lumpy ball. Another possible issue with this sort of material may be the way they phrase their arguments. It may be unwise to have students read such well thought out arguments, such as their response to the criticism But I can see the curvature of the Earth, they say “No you can’t.” Or Other planets are round. "Earth isn’t a planet." A masterful response.

Although I risk having a my students becoming actively less informed, it is worth it knowing that next year it will be another science teachers problem.

[nextlevelsocrates]

The Case of the Missing Card

One surprising part of my new role as a Wellbeing Coordinator is the responsibility of Detective. Before, when a 12-year-old student would come to me pale with shock and yelled “Someone drew a penis in the bathroom,” it would be someone else’s job to discover who illustrated a self-portrait on the wall. Now when a Year 8 comes up to me, tears in the eyes about stolen property, I can’t just handball it off to someone else.

He walked into my office early one Monday morning, nervous of what his father may think. He was only 13, fresh faced, his mullet well groomed, barely reaching his neck. “Mr. J” he squeaked, “Someone went into my locker and stole my bank card.” This seemed like a case for the world’s greatest detective, but he was fictional, so it was up to me. I asked if he had any enemies, anyone who may have wished to hurt him. “There was one boy who went into my locker and stole my yarn.” Some bastard broke into his locker and stole an entire ball of yarn! “No, just like, a single piece of yarn.” Oh. Ok. Some bastard broke into his locker and stole a piece of yarn. “He didn’t break in. My locker was unlocked. He just opened the door and found it.” …interesting.

What would the world’s greatest detective Columbo do, I thought to myself. Wear a tasteful trench coat and complain about his wife? But I’m not married, that would never work. Instead, I pulled our suspect out of class and sat him down for questioning. Apparently attaching a polygraph to a minor is considered “unethical” so I went with the next best thing, begging him to confess so I could get on with my day of ignoring emails and admiring my Lego spaceships. “I didn’t steal no back card” he said stereotypically. “Yeah I stole the yarn, but I’d never do anything so stupid as steal something of value. That’s a real crime.” I believed him unquestioningly. It appears that I was back to square one.

Time was running out, surely this criminal mastermind was mere minutes from spending the $15 on that bank card. I could think of only one more thing left to do, go back to the scene of the crime. The innocent victim and I open his locker to see if we can find any more clues. Things are looking bleak. I ask the boy what his bank card looks like. “It’s a plastic red rectangle,” he says. Like that plastic red rectangle sitting at the back of your locker. He’s silent for a second. Finally, he announces “I found my bank card! It turns out I didn’t need your help after all.” Perfect. At least it’s another case closed. I bet Columbo doesn’t have to put up with this.

[nextlevelsocrates]

The Unbearable Weight of Overwhelming Genius

Sometimes I feel sorry for my self-proclaimed gifted students who put so much forethought into each of their well-planned actions. It is hard to be the smartest person in the room, take it from me, a man who definitely doesn’t need to google the word “exercise” every time he writes a Year 12 Maths lesson.

In school, science can be a difficult subject. When designing an experiment there are a lot of factors to consider. You have variables to choose, materials to procure, a method to formulate, and above all it needs to be safe. One brave student took it upon himself to investigate how the point of a fulcrum changes the forces applied to each side of a lever. Sort of like how the position of the middle of a seesaw affects how easy it is for each side to go up and down. He spent an hour creating his design on a computer ensuring that it had different points on the lever to make changing the position on the fulcrum a breeze. He spent three hours 3D printing the design, a white monolithic structure of plastic, stretching a titanic 4cm into the air. He spent tens of minutes playing with his creation, ensuring it fit together exactly as intended.

On the day of the experiment, he lay the lever and fulcrum on flat ground. He placed a 3g marble in the specially designed holder on one end of the lever. After some careful calculations, he determines the perfect mass to drop on the other end of the lever to launch the marble. He laid out his measuring tape, opened a spreadsheet to record his data, and proceeded to drop a 2kg dumbbell on the lever, destroying it immediately.

Our hero then went on to use one of the many lever and fulcrum kits we have in the science labs, and proceeded to get a 7, because even a genius can forget to title his graph.

[nextlevelsocrates]

Howling at the Moon

Be prepared. When I was a Scout in South Africa in the early 2000s, I used to hear this a lot. It was the motto of the organisation, and it was supposed to be our motto. No matter the situation we were expected to be ready for it. Be prepared to tie your shoes by knowing the reef knot. Be prepared by having a neat scarf by earning the ironing badge. Be prepared to fight rabid baboons for your canned peaches by always carrying a knife. As a teacher, I have learnt just how unreasonable this motto is. Students are always finding new and exciting ways to confuse their curmudgeonly educators, making them truly face the existential dread that comes with learning about new Tik Tok trends. “Did you hear about the kids in America who are stealing toilets from their school,” asks one girl in your class. “I will die one day,” you respond, rapidly faced with your own mortality, knowing that your understanding of youth is well and truly gone.

As much fun as standing in the front of a class and lecturing at them for two hours is, it doesn’t always lead to the best lesson outcomes, like that time someone threw a stapler at me, probably to get me to stop talking for a few seconds. My new strategy is to get the students to share their ideas, which seems to be working, for the most part. Earlier in the year, we were discussing the phases of the moon, and a question was posed “Who do you think would find it important to know when the different phases of the moon happen each month?” An innocuous question, with expected answers like “Astronomers who study space,” or “Star gazers who want the best view of the sky.” Suddenly, a hand darts up from the front of the class. A girl who has been struggling with anxiety all year, and has not only found the courage to share with the class, but is so excited to do so she’s beaming. I was so touched. My amazing teaching inspired her to overcome her struggles and share what will inevitably be a beautiful and uplifting anecdote. I asked for her to go on, waiting with bated breath.“I care about the phases of the Moon,” she shared. “Wonderful,” I responded, full of anticipation. “Why?” I ask, invigorated. “Because the Full Moon recharges my Healing Crystals,” she exclaimed. It was at that exact moment I wanted to go back in time to my Scout Master and ask him just how exactly he expected me to Be prepared for this?

[nextlevelsocrates]

Dinosaurs

Looking back 65 millions years ago, but not necessarily to this day

Lived giant primordial lizards, imagine how many tons they must weigh

The terrible lizards that bring out childish glee

The mighty dinosaurs, rulers of the land and sea

We know of so many, their names fill us with wonder and dread

Like the mighty velociraptor, whose claws could rend and shred

Wait, no, that can’t be right, the velociraptor was very puny

To be trembling at the thought of them would be a little loony

But what about the tyrant king, the Tyrannosaurus rex

Well, he’d probably be covered in feathers, an idea that would perplex

What about the brontosaurus, the one with the long neck

Actually, they stuck a head on the wrong dinosaur and didn’t go back to check

What about the stegosaurs and ankylosaurus with armour all around

Well actually there aren’t many, because complete skeletons are never found

And these are just the dinosaurs you know

Have you ever stopped in a museum seen all the weird ones on show

Have you ever heard of the Anatotitan, whose name means giant duck

Or the gasosuraus whose name bring thoughts of flatulence, what terrible luck

What about the saltopus, minmi, shanag, or yinlong

What even is a Micropachycephalosaurus, surely a better name would come along

Or the one named by the irked researcher who named a dinosaur irritator to be prudent

Huh, you know that actually sounds like my average student

Dinosaurus are fantastic, and magical, and forever a wonder

Studying them is still a science, and will often come with a blunder

But I think it is still important to appreciate what they are

Parts of history, creation, imagination, and the bizarre

[nextlevelsocrates]

The Name of the Thing

A weakness I have found in many students is their use of descriptive language in asking questions. Asking a simple question a fact is easy but developing one that can help explain intricacies of concepts and ideas can be much harder. A constant series of feedback may be beneficial for some students as they develop an expanding vocabulary of terms and phrases to help explore  this foreign and beautiful world. However, it can be less effective than one may hope.

One habit I have always tried to stamp out of my Year 8s is getting out of their seat and following me around if they want to ask a question. I try to encourage them again and again to stay in their chair and raise their hand. Half way through the year I had seen some success, as now these students were getting out of their seats to find me, but were putting their hands up at the same time, almost to prove that they were at least partially listening. On this fatefully day, one such bastion of endless brilliance came to me and asked a simple question: “Mr J, what’s the name of the thing?” Flummoxed, I asked some probing questions, and eventually got a helpful addition. “The thing with the numbers.” Oh, of course. That narrows things down a lot. There are not many possible things it could be in Maths that have numbers, so we’d get down to the bottom of things in no time.

“Ah, a calculator!” I quickly surmised. Surely it must be. There were few objects in the class that are more number-y than a calculator. “Nah,” she responded with her mouth agape, staring vaguely into dead space. “Hmmm…” I thought to myself. “A ruler? They are covered in numbers.” “Nope,” she said, as her hand still stretched into the air.  Now, I am a fan of riddles, but this one was truly more of a challenge than I had originally suspected. I looked around the class, perplexed and desperate. “The clock?” I whimpered, pointing in the general direction of the old timepiece that has been stuck at 10:18 for the majority of its existence. “No Mister” she groaned, seemingly incensed and indigent that I didn’t immediately decipher her enigma-level conundrum.

“Why do you need the thing with the numbers” I sighed, defeated. “Because it’s dead,” she responded. Interesting, seeing as I don’t consider many things with numbers alive to begin with, this must be a clue. “Wait a second,” I asked realising something, “Is the thing with the numbers your laptop?” “Yeah,” she answered, her eyes gazing at the spinning fan, as she slowly forgot she even asked the question in the first place. I personally would not have considered the main feature of a laptop to be the ten numbers at the top of the keyboard, but fortunately the world is full of people with different perspectives, even though that perspective may be upside down, and coming from inside walnut.

[nextlevelsocrates]

On the Origin of Words

Imagine a day where you are sitting in a Middle School mathematics class, you are the teacher, and the lesson is coming to an end. You are filled with joy and inspiration as you look out at all your students whose minds are brimming with knowledge and curiosity. Soon, a young girl comes to you and asks “Are the words pen and pencil related?” What would you do? Well, for all new and aspiring teachers, I have one bit of advice: don’t do what I did.

Etymology is the study of the history of words, and a field that I find endlessly fascinating. As a native English speaker, I am constantly fascinated by the idea that our language is just a Frankensteinian amalgamation of words from other cultures that seemed to have been kidnapped by some drunken fools who couldn’t let other languages have nice things. I often have great fun looking up the history of different words, and discovering whether their origin is Greek, Latin, Middle English, French, or some new word beautiful people made up to describe their lives on social media. Naturally, when asked what the origin of pen and pencil were, it was my duty to investigate.

For those wondering, Pen comes from the Latin word for feather ‘penna,’ which makes sense, as it would have come from the use of sharpened feathers as quills. Pencil on the other hand, comes from a Latin word for tail, which seems to have to do with paint brushes, and doesn’t make as much sense, as I have never used a paint brush to write something in graphite. However, it does make more sense, if you imagine a man sitting in Ancient Rome giggling to himself as he thinks “Two thousand years from now, I am going to make a Middle School Maths teacher look like a real idiot for displaying the information from his laptop on the big screen, because for some reason I’m going to call a tail a penis.”

There I was, in front of a class of twenty-six students who first time in their lives have all decided now was the time to pay attention to what their teacher was doing as he started to display ORIGIN: Latin → Penis on a large, illuminated screen. For a second piece of advice for those learning from my mistakes, if you want to seem subtle, try not to slap your laptop closed with the might of a thousand suns, as it may bring about suspicion. It is especially important to have a good excuse ready to go, so say something a little more convincing than “Uh…Laptops flat.” On the Brightside, you learn something new every day.

[nextlevelsocrates]

Instructions are for Nerds

Circles are weird. If you want to measure the distance around a circle, you can’t just use a ruler. No, that would be too easy, and circles hate making your life easy. Instead you need to use a number called π. But what is π? Well, today my Year 8s were going to find that out themselves. To make their lives easier this activity would need instructions. Instructions that one student was indignant I did not supply. 

“How am I supposed to know what to do,” she exclaimed with huff. “No!” I gasped, disappointed at my own ineptitude. I had failed to prepare my set of instructions for them. How could I be so negligent to not give my class a step-by-step guide on how to find π? “My poor student,” I grimaced. “I have let you down. If only I had taken the time to write -’Measure the diameter of the circle’ on the whiteboard’,  I said pointing to where I wrote, ‘Measure the diameter of the circle’ on the whiteboard‘.  “Why did I not also show that you need to ‘Find circumference of the circle by rolling it one complete revolution’ and, measure the distance it travels’, I  wailed while pointing at ‘Find circumference of the circle by rolling it one complete revolution, and measure the distance it travels’ written in large red letters. How could you know you had to Divide the circumference by the diameter to find π?” I said, gesturing wildly at the words ‘Divide the circumference by the diameter to find π.’

I lay with my head on the desk, apoplectic at my shortcomings, crying out to the class that I had let down. I raised a hand to the girl who I had disappointed, begging for an apology, as she shrunk into her desk with her hand hiding her ever-reddening face. Then, out of the back of the classroom, another voice calling out to the girl: “Wow, you just got roasted.”

[nextlevelsocrates]

I Know Sh!t

As I child, I knew everything. Unfortunately, something awful happened to me. I grew up. My unparalleled omniscience was gone, and I was faced with the staggering abyss of ignorance. Existential dread enveloped me. How was I to go on? Thankfully, I became a teacher, and every day I am reminded by a room full of burgeoning adolescence just how stupid I really am.

It is natural for younger generations to see their elders as bumbling dotards, but I thought I was young enough to be considered cool and hip. Ok, maybe the fact I just described myself as ‘hip’ may not be helping my point. It was therefore jarring when I started teaching 12 year olds who had the exact same view towards me. I am, however, at least tenuously connected to pop culture enough to engage in discussions in class, and pretend I am not some aging curmudgeon who would rather be building the Hogwarts Great Hall out of Lego than hear one more thing about some silly social media trend.

I do not own the Hogwarts Great Hall Lego kit, so there I was talking about social media trends. Being the best teacher in the world, I would probably try engaging them with mathematics and away from whatever mindless drivel they were currently yammering on about. Instead, I joined in. Thinking, technically I am a teacher, so long as I am teaching something, I am doing my job. So I exploited my greatest curse: knowing too much about things that really aren’t worth knowing.

The history of dumb internet nonsense was just what I needed to win them over. Suddenly, they saw me as someone to look up to. This feeling lasted all of three quarters of the next second, as I elatedly squawked: “See! I know shit!”

I went cold. I was expected jeers, and threats of getting me in trouble, but instead I was greeted to the opposite, silence. I thought for a second, that maybe I had discovered the perfect method of getting a class to be quiet, swear at them. When they did start talking again, the room was full of jeers and threats of getting me in trouble. At least for that short period, I was cool and hip again.

[nextlevelsocrates]

No Stupid Questions

“There is no such thing as a stupid question.” In the pursuit of knowledge, all questions are valid, even seemingly stupid ones may unveil something interesting, or help those who strive for the truth uncover new mysteries. As a teacher, it is especially important to foster the thirst for knowledge. This can be tough when you are presented with a question phrased in such a way, you feel as if your brain short circuited.

 “Does ducks have eyebrows?” An interesting question, especially when posed in the middle of a mathematics lesson about the addition and subtraction of integers, a decidedly non-duck topic. My instinctual response would be to break down into hysterical laughter at the pure absurdity of the subject, but I am a professional, despite what the students who have seen me hit myself in the face with a whiteboard marker may have you believe. Instead I chose to tackle the conundrum from a more philosophical standpoint: what exactly do we mean when we say ‘eyebrow?’ Anatomically speaking all ducks have a brow above their eyes, and some of the more flamboyant species have colouration above their eyes that could be seen as eyebrows. Traditionally, however, eyebrows are thought of as the delicate hair above the eyes that keep sweat out of the eyes. Ducks do not sweat like us, and therefore would have no need for such a body part. Also, ducks don’t have hair.

 It was at this point, fifteen minutes into my lecture on the frontal cranial structures of waterfowl, that I realise my mathematics lesson had gone completely off the rails. The poor girl who had accidentally blurted out a question of dubious grammatical structure was left perplexed. All she needed was a simple ‘No’ to help her complete the doodle in the back of her book as accurately as possible. It was then that I learnt that even though there may not be stupid questions, there may very well be stupid answers.

[nextlevelsocrates]

Who Lives in a Pineapple Under the Sea?

Usually I try to use my background as a maths and science teacher to convince others of my influence, and my unparalleled ability to mould young minds. It becomes a lot harder to do so when people learn that I take every potential opportunity to sit my students down to marathon through various episodes of SpongeBob SquarePants.

The more diligent students may ask “What does this have to do with learning?” Luckily, as I feebly try to explain my way out of it by talking about the ecological diversity of the marine life in Bikini Bottom, and how technically they could count all the fish on screen which is by its very definition mathematics, the rest of the class tells them to be quiet so everyone can watch a yellow rectangle psychologically torture a depressed cephalopod.

Maths and science can be dry, resulting in dozens of bored little minds, including your own. You can only write out the quadratic formula a few times before you begin to lose all will to live. It is therefore imperative to find a way to engage them through other means. It could be a flashy quiz, or a practical activity. Or maybe sometimes you just want to watch a sponge from your childhood go on adventures with a intellectually disabled starfish. Teaching can be a power trip when you realise just how much sway you have over your students. For that same reason it can be anxiety inducing, as you try to come up with something, anything to engage two dozen of the them. Maybe we should take a step back and do something that we can all enjoy, something that if you squint hard enough could almost be seen as educational.

I may not be an especially good teacher, but I very well could be the best teacher.

[nextlevelsocrates]

Have You Ever Touched a Cloud?

When I was growing up, my father always took pleasure in repeating the age-old adage “when you assume, it makes you an ass.” I’m not quite sure that is how the saying goes, but I have never felt these words ring more true than when dealing with children. Kids are smart, a lot smarter than most people expect. They have grown up in a world of enlightenment, with the entirety of human knowledge and achievement trapped in a small glass rectangle they keep not-so-subtly glued to their eye-balls.  Yet, this doesn’t mean that they have developed a way to filter out this information, and discern whether something is factual, or the textual equivalent of saying the word ‘gullible’ really slowly, trying to figure out when it will start sounding like ‘fish.’  

One day, standing happily in class, taking pride in the fact I was able to trick a room full of 11-year-olds into thinking they were just making posters, and not actually learning about volcanoes, knowing that I am amazing, and that my funky socks with chickens on them were indeed funky. This was when two girls came up to me to ask about science. As luck should have it, I have a degree in science, a three-year degree that I completely in a record five years. I was the perfect person for the job. “Mr. J,” the question started, “Did you know clouds aren’t real.” It was at this time I think my brain stopped processing words, because I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what was being asked. I found this revelation especially revealing, seeing as we live in the tropics, where almost half the year involved the sun being blotted out by hell-clouds that try their hardest to drown all those stupid enough to live on the ground. I stood silently in front of them, racing to come up with a wise, and witting remark. “Huh?” I blurted. Perfect.

It’s not to say there wasn’t an especially well thought out reason for this revelation: have you ever touched a cloud? Well, no. I suppose I had not. I also have never physically touched the existential dread one might feel when you watch your extra-thick chocolate milkshake topple over, as you curse God for ever bringing you into the cold, dark world, but I know it exists, almost too well. On the bright side, this experience has taught the girls a valuable lesson about debating a topic. Mainly, if you are prepared for an argument against someone who isn’t, no matter the topic, you can probably make the other party look like a blundering buffoon, and isn’t that what school is all about?

[nextlevelsocrates]

Plurals are Hard

It’s pretty easy to think of yourself as the smartest person in the room, especially when that room is full of 11 year olds. But let me tell you, there is little as sobering as losing a heated argument with two dozen of them over the correct spelling of the plural of ‘Monkey.’  

“Trust me, I’m an adult,” I insisted, getting more frustrated that any of them had the gall to question my unmitigated brilliance. I have a number of degrees, and to the best of my knowledge, have only shit myself twice, there is no way I could possibly be wrong about the plural of an animal whose first impulse when seeing a reflection of themself is to furiously stroke their genitals. Yet, here I was, flexing my engorged debating muscles with some brats who clearly had not gone through the rigour of learning that when a word ends in a Y you add ‘ies’ to the end. I stared proudly at the bright orange ‘Monkies’ I wrote on the whiteboard during an especially rambunctious lesson on calculating the volume of a prism, while wails of indignation filled the small classroom. Finally, I relented. If they would not believe me, a certified adult, then maybe they would instead believe their good friend The Internet. I opened up a new web page, projecting it for all to see, confident in my rudimentary understanding of my native language. Then, tragedy struck. The class was awash with the soul crushing sound of children's laughter. Projected on the screen, for all the world to see, was the word ‘Monkeys.’ With a Y. I was wrong. Those masturbating apes got the better of me, and now my class saw me as a fool. 

Kids are smart. They’re growing up surrounded by technology, technology that is seemingly dedicated to teaching them how to spell words which involve multiples. Just because they don’t know how to do something today, doesn’t mean that they can’t use that information to make their teachers feel like dotards in the future. For now, I’m going to have to be more conservative in my use of animals plurals. You know who hasn’t let me down yet? Butterflys. Yeah, that seems about right.