What are We Still Afraid Of?
Middle School, Digital Tools and Pink Floyd
Yesterday, I was an 8th grade teacher and all I can think about is “Wish You Were Here.”
For the past two days, I was an 8th grade teacher. First, in a math classroom, then as an English teacher. I find that classrooms that feature repetition in instruction, that is, they teach the same lesson over multiple periods, whether in a departmentalized elementary school or a secondary classroom, tend to have lesson plans most devoid of detail. This pattern was maintained.
There was no mention of structures or strategies in either of the plans that were shared. Just worksheets to be passed out. So I pass the worksheets out and let it ride. The scenario played out the same in both courses. The absolute boredom of the assignments prompts a cavalcade of surreptitious glances at phones in laps. No work was being done. Doodling happened on the margins of the page. Heads were in desks. I was bored as well.
So…I call the classes to attention and give them the ability to move seats if they wish. I give them permission to converse with their friends and listen to music as they complete their assignment. I remind them to keep their voices to a conversational tone and then I walk around the classroom to observe.
I’m not interested in the work because there is nothing engaging about the work at all. Some students attempt to do it, some don’t. The most I’ll do is prompt students to try to finish the assignment or remind them of how many minutes are left in the period. What I’m interested in is conversation and actions. Learners will laugh and share with each other, sometimes with devices, often without. They’ll play card games. Others will continue doodling while in full-fledged conversation with their peers. Others still will mindlessly scroll through reels or TikTok. I talk to each of them. Each is a choice. I haven’t directed them to do anything other than the worksheet that most students seem to be avoiding.
As I make a circuit through the classroom, I look over shoulders and eavesdrop on conversations. Often I interrupt and ask their opinion of the class, what they do for fun, how they’d change their school experience. I ask if today is a typical day or an atypical one. I ask what they’re listening to or what they’re drawing. I ask why they aren’t completing their worksheet…or why they are. Regardless, the vast majority of kids are both interacting with digital tools and human beings concurrently. Even those buried deeply in the screens of their devices will pause their music or game to converse when prompted. NBA YoungBoy seems to continue to be popular in our schools.
During lunch, I got an alert from the New York Times. The title of the article caught my attention immediately. ”Chromebook Remorse: Tech Backlash at Schools Extends Beyond Phones.” I read the article as objectively as possible. The school being highlighted had banned phones and limited the use of Chromebooks in classrooms. As I scanned each paragraph, looking for what I knew I wouldn’t find. How are they designing instructionally for the world that young people would inherit?
Neither of the lessons I had been asked to proffer to students had included the use of Chromebooks. In fact, the ELA directions forbade the use of the tool entirely. The math directions mentioned them only as a time filler if students had trudged through the worksheet. Learners could use iReady for 10 minutes. I asked the learners in both courses about the technology in the class. They stated that they were never directed to create using digital tools at all. Their daily experience was to take analog notes and complete worksheets. The ELA plan even mentioned that the young people would have a notebook check of their composition notebooks upon the teacher’s return. Behind this teacher’s desk was a pile of notebooks.
While there is definitely evidence of predatory practices with technology companies as there are with textbook publishers, what the article doesn’t address is that the most important component in this ecosystem is purposeful, practical, pedagogically sound design. This design should embrace the lessons of the past while connecting the modern tools that a young person would need to use to survive in the future. It’s not an analog or digital problem. It is a design problem. The only way to know who you are, where you are, and what you see for sure is to design the process.
As I contemplated the article and my current experience, I heard a guitar, and a song I have grown more and more fond of started to play.
“Wish You Were Here” is the title track of the 1975 Pink Floyd album. The album deals with feelings of loss and alienation. The genius of the song is that Roger Waters’ words are for Syd Barrett, founder of Pink Floyd, who was away from the band physically but very much on their minds. This is a song I’ve listened to thousands of times since the passing of my brother. Each time I listen, it’s like he’s still in the room with me. It’s almost as if he’s standing behind me, looking over my shoulder, pointing me toward a truth. That’s the quality that lesson plans for a guest teacher should embody. While not physically in the classroom, the teacher’s presence should be felt by the structure (or lack thereof) in the plans. The classroom functions like a song, an ode to an absent teacher whose presence lingers like an apparition.
So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell? Blue skies from pain?
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?
The only way to prove that learners can demonstrate mastery is intentionally empathic design. This is essentially what is lost in these debates about analog and digital tools. Without a framework to answer questions and pursue truth, the tools are worthless anyway. The tools don’t create the curiosity. The design does.
What was very apparent from my experience was that neither of the classrooms had an operating system independent of the teacher. Photocopying a worksheet and asking students to complete it reinforced that left to their own devices, students would not (could not?) find their own way to demonstrate what they know. It also reinforces the ableism embedded in ignoring how learners who aren’t neurotypical, are physically disadvantaged, or need translation assistance depend on digital tools in analog-only environments.
Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change? Did you exchange
A walk-on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
The operating system and the quest for answers should dictate what tools a learner requires and how those tools are used. It shouldn’t come down to “analog” and “digital.” The question a young person (and their teacher) should be contemplating is: What journey am I taking, and what do I need to pull it off? If that requires writing with pencil and paper, then so be it. If it means designing an app in tandem with Claude Code, then so be it. Learners should have the skill to do both. They shouldn’t be limited by the preference of the adults in the system to eschew modern tools because educators are largely unfamiliar with how they function.
How I wish, how I wish you were here
We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl, year after year
Running over the same old ground, what have we found?
The same old fears, wish you were here