Captain's Log: "Figure it out yourself"

I've learned the hard way this week some simple things that adults say to kids.

The great experiment this week was paper rockets and looking at how to engineer them to fly farther or higher. The paper packet that was supposed to be in my box of Nexplore supplies that had the rocket templates was missing, so I had to drive to Staples to print them out. It was expensive, and I already learned my lesson that when providing materials to kids you need way more than you think, so I figured that I'd have to make my own templates for the rocket body and the rocket fins.

Thank myself I did. Not to brag, but sometimes I am a master of efficiency.

Not only did I make the templates, tracing and cutting out bodies and fins, but I also discovered that if you hate scissors and cutting out delicate things just as much as I do, razers from microblades - the kind you use on eyebrows and such - do the Lord's work. Or you could use a letter opener. Either way, scissors aren't the only tool one can use. And I figured out how to mass produce these bodies and fins so that I wasn't cutting out one at a time for two classes' worth of kids.

And just like almost killing the final boss but fumbling at the last second, my first class fell into chaos almost a quarter through.

I had all the materials. I had all the papers. I had made a good number of cutouts, but not all of the fins, and when I told the kids to do the tracing and cutting and - the hardest part of all, the taping of fins to the body - everything crashed. The kids kept asking me to do it, and I thought a good teacher says yes to these requests. So kids are asking me questions, begging for my help, and I'm the only adult in the room. I'm also feeling overwhelmed, cause kids are in my personal space and everybody is saying my name, and I realize something.

Teachers and parents often say to "figure it out yourself", or "I don't know, what do you think?" or "let's find out together!" or "let's see if a classmate can help you". Things that take the blunt of the work off the adult. And this is why.

Because as much as I had to struggle myself on the taping, because I had to wrap the rocket body around the pencil and tape it shut without taping it on the pencil and make it tight, and then tape the fins onto the rocket body in a way where things align, and bend the fins so that they look like a plus sign, it was horrible when the kids kept asking me to do everything for them.

To be fair, I said I'd help. Again, I thought as the teacher, that was my duty. And maybe it would be if I were the teacher's assistant. But no, my duty was to try to promote independence, no matter how wrong the kid got their rocket at the end.

And some kids did get their rockets wrong. They're kids. I should have expected that. And because I should have expected that, I did hold my tongue when they showed me their erroneous creation. I just also knew their flawed rocket wouldn't work like I, and probably the kid, wanted.

The kids were saying "it's impossible" or "It's so hard", or "I can't do it", and each time I had to disagree, agree, or say "yes you can!", respectively. But then they'd hand off the work to me to do, and I acquiesced, and stress replaced time while minutes flew out the window.

I didn't even get to do much of what I imagined would be the most fun part.

You see, the kids weren't really writing in their experiment logs. They were hardly writing at all, and I thought ok, maybe I'll do away with that for now. But now it's nearing the end of the school year, and I want to see if the kids do know what belongs on an experiment log. I also wanted to quiz them in a fun way. So I made a target, a bull's eye target. I drew red circles, labelled each one, thinking I'd get the kids to test their rockets and try to hit the red circles, and depending on which area they hit I'd ask them a question about the experiment logs. It would be a little game of darts!

Yeah...didn't go down that way. I taped up the bull's eye to the wall, and I had the kids who were done with their rockets come to play. I thought depending on the distance between the kid and the target, the kids would be given easy, medium, or hard questions. I also thought they knew how to launch their rockets, since I'd given them straws to blow air through so that air could propel the paper rocket.

What I'm saying is I tried. I tried so hard, I had the majority of things ready. I had done 95% of the preparation, thinking that I could deal with that remaining 5%. I don't know how much parents know about this, but with kids that remaining 5% will make everything crumble.

There wasn't a lot of time for the trivia, and the kids - whose paper rockets wee complete - were more interested in launching their paper rockets at other kids. The kids who still had to complete their rocket were asking me for help, so I was trying to divide my time between giving kids the trivia questions and finishing up these rockets so that the kids could have some fun before the end of class. Some kids lost the template I'd given them for the rocket body and fins, and some kids were accidentally ripping the bodies and fins, and were coming to me for help.

And since those templates were really important for the next class, I moved from my position to find them, diverting my attention from the unfinished rockets belonging to impatient and waiting kids.

While I found those templates, I found myself thinking that these kids were coming up to me with inconveniences, not real problems and troubles, and that they should be asking their classmates for help, or trying to figure it out on their own. Nothing couldn't be solved without some brainpower. Nothing couldn't be done without some grit and handiwork. And nothing they were coming up to me for couldn't be solved quickly, and as such needed my help.

I was so tripped up over everything that I didn't even have time to explain to the class how these rockets could be made at home, or how they could improve the design to try for a stronger rocket that would fly farther distances. I could barely speak, and when it had reached time for cleanup I just pulled out my sergeant's voice and tried to direct the kids to do that. To my relief as a teacher, the kids had said they'd have fun, but of course they'd had fun if they were blowing and throwing paper rockets at each other. Still.

Of course, there were some angels in the class who were eager to help, eager to learn, and eager to have fun. I said as such to their parents, on the occasion where I was able to talk to them. Apparently I made a mother's day with praise to her daughter, and another mother hopefully had a chat with her son about reading in my class. It appears she did, because he hadn't done so afterwards, but I did make it as clear as I could to the mom that I will always encourage reading and being a general nerd and bookworm, and it was just that I hoped they'd participate in this class time when I'm trying to teach was the situation.

That was Monday's class. The first class, which is usually at this point the trial class. And I'd learned some things.

That evening, I traced and cut out all the fins and rocket bodies for all the students, and provided cutouts if they'd ripped theirs irreparably. I did everything I could to make sure the only hard work the kids would need to do is tape everything together. I was sure that this time, the trivia could be done. The fun would actually happen. My goal would be completed.

And that's when I hit a new problem.

In that class, I'd demonstrated how to tape everything together multiple times. I demonstrated how to do the bending of the fins so they would make a plus sign. I'd spoken about the challenges, and about the trivia that I was hoping to do with them later. But I also told them that I wouldn't help them with any taping. They had to do it on their own. But I would show them how I did it, and give them my rocket examples. I truly tried to make it as uncomplicated as possible.

I will say, to the kids that had paid attention, they'd made their rockets quickly and were able to have fun earlier. But there were kids that paid little attention, no matter how much I said to keep their focus on me, no matter how many times I pointed out that this particular thing was hard so they had to listen to me to do it. Still, I heard the words "It's too hard!" and "How do I do this?" and "Do I do it this way?"

I had the straws in my hand, and I told them they'd get to play with their rockets once I inspected them. At some point during my instruction, kids were getting out of their seats to either get something or ask me a question directly, and I told them that I'd come to them if they raised their hand. I told them I'd bring the resource to them if they raised their hand and asked for it.

I just wanted them in their seats. To stay in one place; to minimize chaos. To maintain a semblance of order. To establish a sense of peace.

I went around the large table, trying to help each kid as I walked by, and it was getting clear to me who had paid attention and who hadn't, and who was trying versus who weren't, and who might have something a little extra going on in their heads.

In the end, I had the kids who needed help or were done with their rockets come to me in a line formation so that I could inspect their rocket to see how well it was done. Again, seeing how well they took my instructions and what I needed to say next time. It's quite an experience, seeing that as much as I tried my best to demonstrate the creation, that some of these kids weren't getting it. Or hadn't seemed to understand. Or hadn't paid attention. Luckily, the majority just needed gentle suggestions.

One kid made me seriously wonder if they had ADHD, or some other neurospiciness. No matter what I said, no matter how much I showed how to do something, or to ask other classmates for help, this kid floundered and flopped. It got to be so flabbergasting that at the end of class I'd asked them the kinds of questions one would use to diagnose ADHD. The kid said they didn't have trouble focusing, and that they didn't know why they stopped listening or paying attention to me. And that's just very, truly, irritating.

Irritating because that meant there was nothing I could do to help them. I could deal with ADHD. I could deal with root problems. But someone not knowing why, and just disconnecting from the situation, and then making it a problem for me and their classmates later on? That I can't deal with. Or rather, don't want to.

Some other kids also showed some learning challenges, so I think I'll sit them closest to me. Either that will help them concentrate, or make helping them a quicker task.

And then some kids didn't want to participate in the trivia part of class and just fooled around with their paper rockets. I told them this is me trying to quiz them in a fun manner. They didn't care. I contemplated taking their rockets from them, but really, what would that accomplish? So I have to figure out how to quiz these kids in a fun manner. Or in an efficient manner. I have to do it in a way that extends to all the kids, even the ones that want to check out.

I have an idea I derived from a teacher I hated in high school. Posters around the room, each one a prompt from the experiment logs - "Observations", "Conclusion", "Research Question", etc - and I'll have markers and pencils out so kids will fill in each poster with a fact or answer or tidbit about that prompt. It helped me in AP Biology, because doing so showed how each topic was connected to each other, and showed off what everyone knew or learned. Next week, I'll implement it and see how that turns out.

Of course, I have to do this in a manner where the kids must do it, cause some of them will try to get out of the task. Maybe I'll tell them they'll only get to do the wacky science activity if they put something on each poster, if they show they understand the purpose of each part of the experiment log. Dangle that carrot in front of them.

I've also developed a drill sergeant's way of making sure the classroom is cleaned up and kids don't forget anything - by standing in front of the door and not letting the kids pass through unless they helped with cleanup and had their backpacks on and zipped up. I essentially became a reverse bouncer.

It worked. My own cleanup after everything was minimal, which I'm glad about. And the kids that wanted to keep their rockets did so, of course. They even tinkered with their rockets and found ways to improve them, which is one of the goals I needed to teach. Especially when their first rocket try was subpar at best.

Of course, they did these tinkering and experimenting after commenting on how they don't work, asking me why, and I said "you'll have to figure this out yourself". Now I know why my parents said it. Why the adults around me said it when I was a kid.

Not just because I'm tired of answering questions. Not just because I want to be 'mean' or unhelpful, but because it encourages them to think things through and to actually be independent. With that kid who couldn't seem to get things right, I told them that they had to figure it out. That as much as I'd like to help him, because I understand how tough ADHD can be, I'm one person and they needed to learn how to help themselves and solve their own problems. They needed the grit.

And of course, I had some angels in this class as well that learned, listened, and helped. Truly, I'm thankful they are present. Because if the whole class consisted entirely of terrors, I'm not sure how I could restrain myself from entering the classroom without a bottle of clear liquid that ain't water.

My hard work and preparation paid off well, as far as materials and handiwork was concerned. I'm very proud about that. I will brag. But I've also learned that I need to let kids make mistakes and figure out solutions on their own. I need to encourage their independence, which means I can't help them when they ask for it. I can't be the one doing the hardwork for them and holding their hand the entire time.

But I guess what I can do is tell them I've been there, I've struggled with it myself, and that I can empathize. I can relate. And that like myself, they can work through it. They need to learn to help themselves.

Because teaching this class alone has made me realize I can't help all of them individually and equally with all my sanity intact.