From a kid's point of view the following happens with some frequency.
Ms. Jones is teaching; you ask her a question such as "Is there a test
on this?" and suddenly Ms. Jones, yelling and foaming, has to be scraped
off the ceiling. "I want that student electrocuted!" screams a
wild-eyed, disheveled Ms. Jones. When asked what set Ms. Jones off, you
reply: "Nothing. I just asked a simple question and she went crazy."
Here's what really happened: Most students have a one-on-one
relationship with a teacher. You sit at your desk; the teacher stands in
front of the room. One-on-one. On rare occasions, during a lesson, you,
the student, are aware of other students -- when they fart or burp or
ask stupid questions or do stupid things. Depending on where you sit in
the classroom, you get to see the weird ears and backs of heads of the
kids in front of you; the profile of the pimply kids next to you; and at
best, various snapshot angles of this or that kid. Mostly, you see the
teacher in front of the room. You don't see anyone behind you, unless
you're a mutant.
The teacher, unfortunately, sees everyone during the lesson; the good
kids, the bad kids, the disgusting kids. Ms. Jones looks out over the
classroom and as she teaches her heart out, she notices a kid with his
finger jammed to the knuckle in his nose, or a kid rolling his eyes at
everything she says, or another kid checking for messages on her cell
phone, or a kid soundly sleeping. Ms. Jones says: "Now don't forget
there's going to be a test on this material." She starts to teach and
some kid raises her hand: "Is there going to be a test on this?" "Yes,"
says Ms. Jones, "I just said that." Another kid, from a deep well of
dopiness, says: "I'm never going to use this when I grow up, it's
boring." Several other kids nod their spiked heads in agreement. "Just
learn it," says Ms. Jones, "you never know what you'll need when you
grow up." "I have to go to the bathroom," states another kid. "It's an
emergency." "But," says Ms. Jones, "this next part is very important,
you don't want to miss this." "I'll come in for extra help, I have to
pee." Ms. Jones stops teaching to write out a pass, records the time the
kid left the room on the "Time the Kid Left the Room" form. Now, she
tries to take up the shattered pieces of her lesson, attempting to
reengage the half dozen kids who are now deep in a discussion of which
body part they're going to pierce this weekend, when you raise your hand
and say: "Is there a test on this?" And Ms. Jones blasts off.
And that's why Ms. Jones was one happy camper when I saw her at the
blackjack tables last summer in Las Vegas!
