The Crutch of Should

I don't think I'm going to let my students use should anymore. The use of should in a persuasive or argumentative essay thesis may be impeding their reasoning skills.

Consider that should implies an evaluative criteria of some sort when it's used for argument. If we argue that someone "should" do something (or not do something), then we are essentially enforcing our value system on the intended reader, who, by virtue of the purpose for writing, disagrees with us. 

Another possibility is that we're using should as a means of garnering support from those who already agree with us,  a sort of solidarity-meter, which then defeats the purpose of having to convince anyone or argue, anyway.

But its use may also bypass some aspects of critical thinking. For example, in persuasive essays, students who use should statements often fail to expand on their reasoning. Or, there may be a disconnect between their reasoning and the should thinking.

It also tends to (not always) cause students lean towards personal conviction as their reasoning--a sort of knee jerk approval or disapproval. Rather, if we can get them to fully understand WHY they have that sense of approval/disapproval, then we may be better able to help them move forward in their ability to think critically. 

Should also implies a sense of rightness or wrongness, which can certainly be subjective. And if someone is jumping on the "it's right or wrong" train, they will most likely fail to effectively persuade someone who is on the opposite end of the controversy.

Actually, it was the recent hoopla with the Coca-Cola commercial is what got me thinking about "should." The controversy, by the way, raises the possibility for an excellent topic for a persuasive essay. My English-teacher spidey-sense was tingling with this prompt:

          You are the public awareness director for Coca Cola. Convince the company to use or          not to use this commercial as their headline advertisement for the Superbowl.

The controversy raged quite visually on the social media. In a discussion I had on Facebook on this topic, someone argued:

          "Coke shouldn't have put that commercial on, given the venue and what's happening in 

           America, today."

When I asked whether the message/intent of the commercial was clearly understood, the person claimed to understand the message, but still felt the company was wrong to present it.  

When pressed to examine the reasoning behind the should statement, though, this person listed what was considered to be "bad things" happening (the economy, the immigration issue, etc.), the Superbowl is an American tradition, Americans are Christians, and English is our language.

I didn't find these points convincing because there was little connection in reasoning.

This person's goal was to convince me (persuade me) that Coke was "wrong" in their choice. Since I found the commercial quite compelling and positive, this person would have to resort to stronger reasoning to get me to see the "wrongness" of the company's choice.

The discussion concluded when, after the person was asked to clarify, the conversation politely came to a halt. My guess is that he/she was unable to reason further because of the should. It was a glaring hurdle in the reasoning process.

I'm wondering, though, what would have happened if the individual had removed should from the thinking altogether. Rather, what might have happened with his/her reasoning skills if the person thought in terms of effectiveness, based on the author (Coke) and the intended audience (all American citizens)?

What is it about the state of the country's economy that suggests a commercial with an intended positive message about the diverse cultures of America is not an effective marketing choice for Coca-Cola?

 

Here, the individual would be forced to make the connection without the crutch of "should."

Another negative aspect of the use of should with a persuasive essay is that it compels some readers (those with lower critical thinking skills) to NOT use critical thinking and reason to arrive at a logical conclusion. Consider these two points:

          Smoking causes wrinkles, so you should not smoke.

          Research suggests that smokers have three times the number of wrinkles that non-         

          smokers do.

The lower-level thinker would jump at the "should" statement without much ado. Wrinkles? Eep!

However, the second point requires that the reader arrive at the conclusion that he or she should not smoke. While the "should" statement might be convincing, reasoning through and arriving at the conclusion is more likely to induce a permanent or authentic response in favor of the argument.

What do you think? To should or not to should?

Compelling Students to Read: Why One Question Might Matter

The questions you see in this post are from a preview of a Middle School Guided Reading by Genre: CCSS Aligned, a product  for 5th-8th grade teachers available at Teachers pay Teachers. What I appreciate about the product is that Kiehl (the teacher-author) distinguishes between the genres in the discussions. For example, she clearly notes that each genre leads readers to think in a way that other genres may not and the questions reflect that distinction. Further, the questions provided do offer teachers an effective template from which to work. 

The essential questions, though, the big questions, the ones that would help students understand why we’re asking all of these other, rather random questions, can't be put on this template for obvious reasons. There are just too many possibilities.

However, my fear is that teachers, particularly those who are either too new, too fearful, or too apathetic to personalize the templates purposefully and thoughtfully, will over-rely on the offered questions, using them verbatim and nothing else. Again, don’t get me wrong—the questions will work, and Kiehl is to be lauded for creating a clear, cohesive document.

But what these questions cannot do is inspire any sort of motivation to read other than to answer the questions.  The motivation is the grade that the student will get from answering the questions (possibly for a simple participation grade or maybe for accuracy, depending on the teacher).  

Without any reason to want to answer these questions about a text or a character within it, why should the student bother exercising his or her brain to use the skill?

Without that desire, the questions, much like the ones answered on a standardized test, the goal is just to get the right answer by demonstrating mastery of the critical thinking skill.  But is that all really what we want? Don’t we want more? Don’t we want students to either LOVE reading or LOVE reading the particular novel, short story, text, or poem?  How can we encourage and instill that love for reading in any genre if all we want them to do is plough through questions to demonstrate that yes, Johnny can infer, synthesize, predict, and connect? 

We have to take a crucial initial step.

Let’s use one of the recommended inference questions from the template to create a quick example from Jean M. Auel’s The Clan of the Cave Bear, a text within the historic fiction genre: 

                What can you infer about Creb based on what Ayla has to say about him in the text?

From the template: What can you infer about (insert character's name) based on what (insert character's name) says about him/her in the text? 

I dearly love this book, and I’ve read it over and over again. I have to wonder, though, what question I could ask before this one that might inspire a student to want to care about what Ayla has to say about Creb. Why should the student care what Ayla thinks about the Mogur?  What question can I ask to get the student to even bother to desire to make this inference and respond to it? 

That compelling question, whatever it is, must be asked first. 

There must be a compelling reason for students to want to understand other than just practicing inferences because it’s something that students have to do because it’s a standard they have to know because we’re being evaluated on how well our students perform on that standard because that’s how our school is graded and plays a part in how much funding we get.  

Are we asking these initial, compelling, driving questions? 

Perhaps:

                Does it matter what daughters think about their fathers or father-figures? Why? 

From this over-arching question the follow-up inference question would flow quite nicely. 

Does it matter what children think about their fathers or father-figures? Why or why not?

Based on what Ayla says about Creb in the novel, what kind of a person and father do you think he is? (for the girls)

Based on what Broud says about Brun in the novel, what kind of a person and father do you think he is? (for the boys)

Actually, from that initial question, several others would naturally flow, particularly those under the category of connections.   Further, the distinction of gender provides an even greater connection for students. (You’ll notice that I changed the wording of the template question somewhat, but the meaning and underlying skill is the same.) 

When we offer students a compelling, clearly connective question BEFORE we have them analyze from a text, we can instill a greater intrinsic motivation to analyze, but we also move the emphasis away from the grade and the test and the standards. We make it real. We make the story mean something to them.  Figuring something out has a purpose that might make a difference in their lives. 

Try it once and see. Create that compelling, connective question that will drive the rest of those aligned questions on that worksheet and discuss it with students, first. If you’re really adventurous, try it one class but not the other, and compare the final products.  Let us know what you find out! 

Mindy and some of her former students have collaborated on a book of teaching strategies: Transparent Teaching of Adolescents: Creating the Ideal Class for Students and Teachers.  Check us out on FaceBook, too!

Authority Means Never Having to Say You’re the Teacher

Recently, I worked with some secondary educators who were interested in developing behavioral strategies for their more difficult students, particular as it pertained to students’ disrespect of the teachers.  I observed several classes over the span of a semester, and I noticed that many teachers would state the obvious in an attempt to gain control of their classes. They would say things like, “I am the teacher, and this is my class. You cannot talk to me that way.”

This approach didn’t stop students’ disrespectful behavior; if anything, the interruptions, talking back, mocking, and mumbling escalated. Further, those teachers struggling the most with student behavior made these statements more often than their counterparts who were having less trouble. So, why did they resort to stating the obvious? Why does a teacher feel the need to proclaim that he or she is the teacher when responding to student disrespect?

These statements (coined as authority statements by Laitin, 1977) seem to be offered as a justification for making the corrective statement that follows. The underlying thinking seems to be — Because I’m the teacher and you are the student, you need to stop doing X and/or start doing Y— an overt reminder that one of you is a subordinate.  

However, the use of explicit authority statements is ineffective. They work a lot like “but” statements: I love you, but you’re too impulsive.  The listener only hears you’re too impulsive; the but negates the I love you.  Similarly, explicitly stating your obvious and inherently authoritative role negates the more important information that follows it: I am the teacher. I am trying to teach. You keep interrupting me.  Adolescent students probably don’t hear the important part (you keep interrupting me) over the sound of their eyes rolling. 

Imagine your principal telling you: I am the principal, and I want everyone on board for the roll-out of this new system.  Wouldn’t you kind of get stuck on the idea of the principal making a hoopla about being the principal?     

The use of this phrasing comes across as weak and ineffectual.  No wonder students just smirk or yawn when they hear it. If you’ve reached that level of frustration and start spouting out the obvious, consider that what you’re really doing (most likely) is reminding yourself that you’re in charge.

Stop saying you’re the teacher and go for the nub.
What do you want the student to do or not do?

Teachers using explicit authority statements may not realize the greater effectiveness of simply implying them. Harmin and Toth (2006) define authority statements as “making a simple direct statement of our authority as teachers” (p. 439).  The following are some examples in their Inspiring Active Learning handbook for educators:

         I do not want even minor distractions or disruptions in our lessons.
         I need you to stop talking to your neighbors. It’s time to control that.
        We do not do that here. (Harmin & Toth, 2006, pp. 111-112)

These examples differ from explicit authority statements in that no explicit mention of the role of teacher is made. Though Harmin and Toth’s (2006) definition states that the statement is of our authority, these examples more aptly reflect a statement from our authority.  This distinction is important. We don't have to say it. We just have to be it. Implying authority carries more weight, and though decidedly unspoken in the examples above, “I am the teacher” is nonetheless clearly asserted.

Words matter, and what we say conveys how we feel about ourselves and our role in the classroom. You don’t have to say you’re the teacher.  You are.


References

Harmin, M., & Toth, M. (2006). Inspiring active learning: A complete handbook for today's teachers (2nd ed.). Alexandria, VA: Association for Supervision & Curriculum Development.

Laitin, D. D. (1977).  Politics, language, and thought: The Somali experience. Chicago, IL:  University of Chicago Press.
 

Mindy and some of her former students wrote Transparent Teaching of Adolescents, a discussion of effective teaching strategies for high school.

“I don’t believe in philosophies of education anymore.”

This statement, from an instructional coach, really surprised me. Her reasoning was, essentially, that once a teacher is faced with the reality of the classroom, a philosophy is useless. She argued, “Knowing that you have the task of motivating those students to learn, managing a group of children, or tweens, or teens who could conceivably turn on you at any point. Trust me. By minute two of that experience, all the philosophy statements you’ve ever written are forgotten.”

Respectfully, I disagree.

Maybe it’s because it isn’t the writing of the philosophy that’s the important thing. After all, writing it down doesn’t mean much. It’s the living of the philosophy that makes it your philosophy, and my colleague implies that a living of a philosophy isn’t possible when faced with reality.

Really?

If the philosophy is so far removed from reality that it cannot be lived, then, sure. It’s a messed-up philosophy, and she made a valid point about preservice educators and new teachers being asked to write down a philosophy when they had not experienced the classroom. Sure, I can follow why that might be an issue, but new teachers have to start somewhere. They have to be able to articulate what they're thinking in order to adjust that thinking.

Because a philosophy of education isn’t a stagnant mode of thinking. It’s flexible and changing. So it makes even more sense, then, that experienced educators who have lived the reality (as my colleague has), DO have a philosophy of education. A real, workable philosophy. One that they can convey every day.

My philosophy of education relies on my authenticity with my students at all times, particularly when I am unsure, stressed, or completely wrong because students don’t need a teacher to be perfect. They need to see a mature adult working through what is not perfect.  They need to see how to handle things when those things don’t go “right.”  And if we go off-track, but immediately verbalize awareness of that lapse or error to move back on track, we have taught those students the most valuable lesson of all:  how to be a life-long learner.

A large part of this philosophy entails the willingness of the teacher to be a fellow learner with students.  A sense of community brought into the classroom stems from that teacher as student. In our collaborative book, one of my former students wrote:

You learned from us.  You made us feel like our input mattered.  As you taught us, you also thrived on our myriad perspectives.  Due to this simple characteristic, you managed to reach me more than any other teacher had.  Because while other exceptional teachers may have managed to draw out our interest as students, they were the teacher and we, the students.  Not THEIR students, merely THE students.

But with you, we were all in it together.  We thrived and grew off of each other.  And while you were clearly the authority, the source of our knowledge, our teacher, you were also our mentor.  There with us.  Growing with us. ~Daniel

This sense of “all in it together” is a powerful force to embrace, particularly as we find ourselves in the Digital Age. Helping students understand that technology is a tool that can be molded, wielded, created, and enhanced is where teachers are at this moment in education. Integrating technology in curriculum is not an “extra” to be tagged onto a lesson, nor is it something just for the privileged or gifted. If teachers are to ensure that they have adequately prepared students for the kinds of problems that they will encounter in the future, then we must be prepared to learn alongside them, work through the glitches and our own mistakes, and find the balance between what is known and what can be.  I want to continue to thrive and grow with my students.

Philosophies of education can aid new and struggling teachers, but they have to have the opportunity to develop them and live them, not just write them down.  And certainly, not dispense with the exercising of this thought because it requires an adjustment of perspective. To the contrary, that is why teachers should be asked to reflect on their philosophy, again and again. 

 
Mindy and some of her former students wrote Transparent Teaching of Adolescents, a discussion of effective teaching strategies for high school.