Building

I think in order to be a really good teacher (or parent), you have to step back once in awhile and recall what it is to learn something for the first time. You know, really humble yourself and be willing to take on something new that's difficult for you, so that you can view the acquisition of knowledge from the eyes of a student.

Right now I'm building filing cabinets and wardrobes and bookcases for offices at a factory. Long hours and hard labor. I often come home with a new appreciation for the phrase "Bathed in sweat," but I take stubborn pride in working hard to care for myself and my family and to make ends meet until my means fit the ends.

So if you know me well, you know that I'm pretty proud of myself for figuring out how to use a hammer by myself. And the occasional screwdriver as well. So power tools have been a lot of fun for me over the past month as I have learned my new job. I think my enthusiasm has been amusing to all the hardened laborors who have worn down under the pressure of years of hard work toward little results. Like a good teacher, my coordinator patiently showed me how to start with the most simple tasks, and then added new ones as I mastered each. I have felt a toddler-like joy at using a riveter successfully and wielding a power drill. Ha! I can build a six-foot tall filing cabinet from scratch! You need a wardrobe assembled? Piece of cake - take that!
But then building combination wardrobes, bookshelves, and cabinets this week has confused me no end. Sudddenly I have to take each individual task I have learned and combine them in different ways, and the guidance is gone. In two weeks' time my boss is impressed with my progress and assumes I know enought to fly solo. I could do the tasks separately, so now I am expected to remember everything and then put all the pieces together.
The coordinator throws "traveling orders" on my work-bench one after another and I am expected to read them, see what needs to be done - do it - and then place the finished pieces in the correct location so that others can complete the product. I find myself whizzing through and singing to myself random songs - "One two three four five, six seven eight nine ten - eleven twelve - doo do do doo doo - do do do doo do - DOO!" (Sesame Street in the 70's - with the pinball - anyone recall?) "Get a rhythm, when you get the blues - get a rhythm, when you get the blues..." (Johnny Cash) "I've got a feeling - that tonight's gonna be a good night - that tonight's gonna be a good good night..." (Blackeyed Peas, baby!) I'm concentrating, I really am, and the music helps me concentrate. If I'm not singing to myself, my mind starts to wander and daydream. Some kind of full-on Walter Mitty thing could happen if I'm not careful. But suddenly I forget which rivets were for the bookcases, and which were for the wardrobes. I forget if the lock goes up or down on one style or another, or I misread the order and put the wrong handle on. Somewhere in the process, everyone has forgotten that I was never taught how to read the entire traveler. I ask questions when I have them and listen closely to the answer - then forget them the next day.
In three weeks, my boss is getting really impatient with all my mistakes. "Heather!" he shouts from across our area - I rush up and he shows me that I've put hinges on wardrobe doors when hinges only go on cabinets. I apologize and fix my mistake as fast as I can. There are many rules like this that make no sense to me, but I try to memorize them. I begin to cringe when my boss calls my name, because I know it's never for anything good. He will show me yet another glaring error, or he will explain something to me - again - in that pained, longsuffering voice - or demand that I do one more thing that I don't actually know how to do. I find myself sheepishly saying "sorry" so many times that I become annoying even to myself. Today I had to put on a lock that I hadn't had to assemble since the first day. All my childlike pride in my budding success is shattered, and I start messing up even more...
Today it's like the coordinator suddenly had some sort of epiphany about me.
Either that, or he's attended a management seminar.
It dawns on him that if he slows down and tells me WHY they do a certain door in a certain way, it will make better sense to me - and then when he SHOWS me the finished project and I can understand the big picture, I remember better. He uses humor to point out errors. "Hey - Heather - get a look at this hinge! Get thee to the paint-line!" (We've got a running joke that only people of low IQ get stuck there.) He has me fix my error, then comes by and declares: "Perfect!" or "Beautiful!"
At the end of the day, I find I am relaxed, confident, and haven't made any errors at all.
He comes and tells me that I did an awesome job, and tells me to enjoy my day with my kids tomorrow.

I leave work thinking I'm the best damn Rosie the Riveter the world has yet seen. I learn fast and I can master any task set before me.
As a perpetual educator, looking at everything in light of what I can learn and how I can teach it, I can't help but think how this relates to teaching reading. There is such a heavy emphasis placed on speed right now. Speed, cleverly disgused in the blanket of fluency. Is it important that a student read fluently? By all means. But how do they do that? The Dibels test would have us believe that the faster a student reads, the better a reader they are. They are pressured to read fast - faster - fastest - and in the midst of this pressure they must also read and then recall accurately. Mind you - we are talking about random selections on various disjointed topics. Students must master the pieces and then are assumed to comprehend the whole.
What happens when they fall behind? What if they are not reading more slowly because they are struggling to understand, but because they are the kind who need time to let the meaning soak in? Some people don't care. They rush through and rivet their doorstops on one after another with speed and accuracy and never stop to admire the way the door clicks perfectly into place when it is attached to the cabinet.
Such a student becomes frustrated. They forget things because they don't understand why they are supposed to do them. They fall behind and are afraid to ask questions and be humiliated by a sharp word, a cool assumption, or a withering sarcasm. They fear appearing half-witted or feeling like a fool. They don't understand how they could have done so well before and are doing so terribly now. They begin to think it is too hard for them and they are tempted to just quit.
How much better if we as teachers and parents just please step back for just a moment and remember that EVERYONE, children and adults, learn better in an environment where they are not being pressured to be perfect immediately and as fast as possible - without pressure. Given time to develop accuracy, a student will automatically develop fluency. They will be whipping out those doors and drawers and cabinets like an expert. They will develop pride in their work, confidence in their ability, and they will remember and even be able to teach what they have learned to others.

They learn by our example.
They learn through careful, deliberate guidance and positive feedback.
They are willing to step back and question, to learn a new thing, when they are allowed to make mistakes and given time to develop their skills.
And we, in turn, can learn such a lot from them.