Why Learning is 'More Than Meets the Eye?'
A Physics Class, Note Taking, and Nemesis Prime
I was a Physics teacher and all I can think about is “Transformers.”
As usual, I emailed the teacher in advance and received a short paragraph about what learners would be asked to do. No procedures. No seating chart. No bell work. No slide deck. No problem. I’ve learned a long time ago to match the energy of the teacher leaving the plans.
I entered the classroom and eventually found the printed paragraph I had been sent via email and the copies of the worksheet to be passed to learners. I contemplated structuring a lesson, but realized I wasn’t being paid enough to do so.
When the first learners came into the classroom, I took attendance, read the instructions from the teacher, and passed the worksheets out. Almost to a person, they thanked me for the sheet of paper and most opted out of the work. Some said they’d do it for homework. Others didn’t make promises they knew they wouldn’t keep.
Conversations began. Headphones got put on. I observed.
During the first period, two friends got into a conversation about how one was chronically absent and how hungry they were. They asked if I wanted anything for breakfast. I responded that I didn’t and then asked them how they were going to have food delivered during school. They responded that they would meet the driver across the street and a friend would prop a door open to slip back inside. I laughed.
Period 2 was a mirror image of the first. Pass worksheets. Students largely ignore the worksheets and converse respectfully. Or listen to music. Or scroll through their phones. I circulated through the room and made small talk. The assignment was less than inspiring and it was no wonder why the students opted out of it. They were each polite, watched their tone, and the time flew by.
It was in period 3 that I was struck by something. This was the first of two AP course periods and for the first time I noticed what Schlechty refers to as strategic compliance and ritual compliance. During the previous periods, the worksheets had been attempted by few students and completed by fewer still. In this period, students had to log in to a website or continue working a project. As I walked through the classroom, some students were taking notes. This is not to say the majority were, but far more were “engaged” than in the previous classes.
I happened upon a young lady taking notes in her notebook and I asked her what would happen if she were to leave her notebook at home or, worse still, if she were to lose it. She said that she would have to get the notes from a friend. I asked what would happen if she were unable to understand the handwriting or shorthand of the friend. She said she didn’t know and that she’d have to “try her best.”
I then asked whether or not any teacher had demonstrated how to digitize her notes. She responded in the negative. It struck me as odd. I shared “How to Take Smart Notes” with her in hopes that she’d read it and incorporate Zettelkasten strategies going forward.
During the next period, the conversation dominated my attention. I gave these AP students the same spiel. Some did the notes. A UNO game broke out. I watched, half paying attention, while the words from the previous class turned ever so gently in my mind.
Why were learners solely using analog strategies for work without progressing to digital tools to catalogue and curate their notes for longevity?
Were teachers even considering longevity as they ask young people to write notes, or were they only interested in their coursework?
During my lunch hour, I drank my coffee and placed my headphones on. Each week I prepare a playlist of songs I’ll listen to while driving to and from each school and during my down time. “Dig” from Mama’s Gun became the soundtrack for my thoughts.
Scratch beneath the surface of what you think you know
Further down the rabbit hole, how far does it go?
Curiosity will get you closer to the proof
Yeah if you really, really need to know
You gotta dig
Down to the heart of matters
You gotta dig
Shine a light on the truth
You gotta dig
Down to what really matters
Yeah can ya dig
Dig what I’m telling you
Period 5 came and everything began to make sense. This was a standard class. Worksheets were passed out. Work was ignored like the other classes. However, there was a young man with an Optimus Prime toy that caught my attention. He was on his Chromebook, but would fidget with the figure every now and then. I walked over to him, stopping by to chat with a young lady with a Sublime t-shirt about her favorite song by the band. She didn’t know any. She just liked the shirt. I was disappointed.
“When did you get into Transformers?”
“About 15 years ago. I loved the movies.”
“Really?”
“I remember seeing the original cartoon movie in the theaters.”
Over the next hour, he showed me pictures of his Transformers in his room. His LEGO sets. He showed me websites and kits for Transformers enthusiasts. He spoke about lore, future projects, and the figures he’d like to acquire. He was an expert on the subject. He was passionate and articulate as he pulled up websites and images to answer my questions.
Period 6 was simply perfunctory. Worksheets. Instructions. A young lady told a story about a student being mad that she took his pizza at lunch. Two young ladies made plans for thrifting in California during the long weekend. The Transformers theme song replaced “Dig.”
As he took me on this journey, he fidgeted with his toy. Also, I misspoke. It wasn’t Optimus Prime. It was Nemesis Prime, his evil counterpart. He politely corrected me. It hit me that from a distance, one couldn’t tell them apart, just like it would be hard to tell the difference between a strategically compliant learner and an authentically engaged one. “More than Meets the Eye.” Indeed.
It wasn’t just that this young man could speak passionately and deeply about a subject — he was able to marry the analog and the digital to narrate a story worth telling in a way that the young lady in the AP course hadn’t. His “notebook” could be left at home and still be “with” him. The portability of his knowledge was the telling thing. His expertise was dynamic.
There’s a difference between strategic compliance, ritual compliance, and authentic engagement. The kid taking notes in a notebook in AP Physics? Strategic compliance and ritual compliance. Surface level hustling that will probably be forgotten as soon as a test has been taken. The kid regaling me with stories of Transformers? Authentic engagement. The stuff that stays with you forever.
At the end of the day, a question lingers in the air like Starscream’s voice. Whose job is it to make sure that students are authentically engaged? Who makes sure that they can translate their notes into curated ecosystems that can be referred to whenever necessary?