See Dick and Jane Run From Boredom
by Karen Williams | September 28, 2006 - Seminole Chronicle
I've always believed that education should be, well, fun. People surely learn best when they're interested, challenged and even entertained.
But not every teacher concurs.
My son Joel once had an elementary teacher who epitomized the no-pain-no-gain approach.
Joel had run slightly afoul of several previous teachers by acting as "class clown." But things became downright somber during my parent-teacher conference with Miss Conventionality in her prim-and-proper classroom.
The room itself was a time warp, looking just like my elementary classrooms from olden days. I fully expected to see Dick, Jane and Spot pop out of the cloak closet.
I listened to the teacher's litany of complaints: Joel was too social. Joel raced to get his work done before other people. Joel burped the alphabet.
"What can I do to get through to your son?" the stern teacher demanded.
The word "resign" crossed my mind, but I didn't think that was what she was aiming for.
"Let him wear his baseball cap?" I suggested timidly.
Joel had saved paper route earnings and soda can money to get that cap, and it was his identity.
I don't remember the team - probably the Yankees - but I do recall taking him to a store where a shopkeeper climbed a ladder to retrieve just the right hat from a display representing professional teams. The cap cost $19.95 and fit Joel perfectly without one of those plastic adjustable tabs that he disdained.
Miss Conventionality informed me that baseball caps were not, and never would be, allowed at the school. They represented bad manners, lack of respect and were incubators for head lice.
I knew the school principal to be fanatically vigilant about head lice, personally inspecting each student's head by flipping a Bic pen through their locks while the attending teacher held a floodlight.
Bugs aside, that night I listed some suggestions for making school less stodgy: Play "Jeopardy"-type games, offer incentives and use current culture to your advantage.
I mailed a copy of the two-page write-up to Joel's teacher and principal and even sent it to the county school headquarters. Hopefully it was more than ramblings from an armchair quarterback. My only teaching experience was in informal church settings, where discipline came easy since the kids had a fear of both God and their parents upstairs in the sanctuary.
Later that week, the principal of the school phoned to acknowledge my letter. He didn't say he liked it. He didn't say he didn't like it. He didn't even ask if I had head lice.
And then the next day, Dr. Plagett, superintendent of schools, phoned. I held my breath, fearing that one of my stepsons, then in high school, had gotten into trouble and faced expulsion, having carried my have-fun-at-school philosophy way too far.
"I want to commend you for your recent letter," Dr. Plagett began. "And I have a request."
"Yes?" I gulped.
"May I read it to all of the county teachers when we have our initial meeting next fall? I think it will inspire and motivate them."
"Uh, well, sure," I stammered, wishing like the dickens that I had double-checked my grammar.
Every autumn, for several years, Dr. Plagett's office would again phone me to request permission to read my letter.
So Miss Conventionality was repeatedly forced to hear my avant-garde suggestions.
Who knows, maybe she's now presenting her lessons in rap-singer style, while Dick, Jane and Spot sing back up.
Copyright 2006, Karen Williams
