Reduplication

I think I would like to try and get the students to write a little bit every day. It is a fine line between instilling a good habit and making a chore out of it, but I will be sure not to collect them often, never to grade them, and to encourage the students to include clippings, pictures, photos, and any other little objects that bear on what they are writing or that they just find interesting. Little scrapbooks are very appealing to me right now, they seem to be the antidote to all this vain blogging, and leafing through them later would be a great way to pass an afternoon. Didn’t they used to sit in the parlors looking through photo albums and scrapbooks back in the 19th century? That and writing letters by hand are two of the things I would revive from the past culture.

Have students write to pen pals, some abroad, some in one language, some in another, some nearby. It is an activity that persists as an exercise, writing letters, but I would breathe the life back into it. In their books students can keep the letters they receive, the notes they pass in class, stories, questions, drawings, quotes. The benefit of a paper book is that it is physical, and that it preserves things as they come; if they wanted, they could have computer scrapbooks too, whose benefit is that it may be rearranged easily, searched, linked, accessed from anywhere and never lost. It can also keep things like music and animated clips, voices, which paper cannot. So maybe both would be best, the computer not a straight transcription of the paper, but a companion. The students, after all, will have to learn computers, typing, security, and the best way to learn is not by drilling but by doing, doing something they are interested in—and life, especially one’s own, ought to be ‘infinitely interesting.’

Second nature, firsthand

Enough of that, what are some more cool things we can talk about? We could have daily lessons on botany, that’s a much too forgotten subject anymore, and one whose I absence I feel keenly. Each day we could discuss a different plant, if possible one that grows on the school property so we could go out to look at it. We could talk about its relations, varieties, properties; what animals eat it; when it grows and dies; how it has been associated in folk or classical thinking. We could have a school garden, each class could be responsible for a row; this would introduce discussions about agriculture, its history, the division of labor and rise of free trade, or at least a measure of security, with surpluses, the domestication of animals, the idea of private vs communal property or no property, the fortified city and government; about the weather and seasons, the world being round, the different climates, the layers of soil, geology, ice ages and catastrophes, evolution; and after the harvest, whole new discussions about food and medicine, cuisine, thanksgiving, rituals and religious beliefs, health and diet, fermentation and preservation, table manners.

Between the garden and the school, there is almost nothing important the students would not learn. The garden encompasses so much, and the rest may be brought up in terms of a contrast—its symbol being the wilderness, and anterior to both of them the sea, the waters. Hunting and gathering, shamanism, parallel universes, migrations, cave paintings, in-groups, speech, song, and written language, fishing, life expectancy, traditions, and as with the civilized societies, always going back to the myths, not merely describing, but telling the stories they told.

And asking questions: is it possible to go back? At what point is it impossible? Is this sin? Is this ignorance, innocence, experience, dread, what? Have you heard of the gypsies? Of the dreaming? Why would some people become monks while others were Vikings? What is the value of a material object? Of money? Of honor, or integrity? Do you ever think about death? There are so many things to talk about.

Fist stick knife parkour

Besides drawing and music, another kind of art, one that bears closely on these questions of culture and valuation, has got to find its way into the new school. It’s the martial arts, specifically the ancient Chinese forms which are commingled with Taoist, Buddhist, and Confucian thought, but which have been popularized in the west by Hollywood, new-agey mystification and scientific skepticism.

I took karate for a couple seasons but ended up quitting because I liked soccer better. I remember a lot of stretching and a little sparring, a way too heavy punching bag that I have conflated with the piñata at Billy Ensor’s birthday party, and a talk by the Master, who only came on the occasion of changing belt colors, about the power of habits, good and bad. That isn’t really the kind of martial arts I mean, some strip mall storefront converted into a section of a gym. The kind I mean does not appeal to kung-fu movie aficionados and little boys who want to break boards, but to the same kind of bodily delight as in music and dance, and to the mind which knows health is its prerequisite. Martial arts would be excellent for schools, though, precisely because they clothe the exercise and concentration-building within that attractive mask of pugilism. As students got older they would have the basics in their muscle memory and hopefully have developed the patience to begin studying breathing and meditation.

These things greatly interest me, and I know very little about them. I would have much preferred to have done martial arts in school than to play made-up games involving bean-bags. We played actual sports surprisingly little, but they will be done on a rotation or preference basis in the new school: basketball, baseball, football, soccer, tennis, hockey where applicable, rowing ditto. We’ll do jogging to warm up and sprints and mile runs every so often, calisthenics, and gymnastics if a qualified instructor can be found. But hopefully whoever is at the school teaching philosophy will have experience with martial arts and sports both—I feel like they all go together, and the differences in the two may be traced in the philosophies of the east and the west.

Concentration and self-discipline seem inseparable, besides the benefits of concentration for intellectual work of any stripe—discipline is an area I haven’t discussed yet, but as you may guess, the whole purpose of it will be to teach self-discipline, to draw on the kids’ natural tractability by persuading them that what they are being asked to do is worthwhile. Here I perceive emerging a question as to whether I have not perhaps completely misunderstood the temperament and capability of the child who will be a student at the school. Isn’t it asking too much to suppose he can read the classics, learn a second language by immersion, think philosophically about life, and keep himself in line by reason of doing all this willingly? I honestly don’t know, but I feel like the possible benefits for him are such that it is worth trying, and I give him the benefit of the doubt.

As I’ve said before, his experience is an idealization of my own, which, put another way, means I am only treating my students as equals, having faith that we will all of us live up to the high demands of the school. I myself was far from a self-disciplined little scholar—I fully expect the younger kids to be very energetic and unfocused, or else I would be no better than the Ritalin-perscriptors. The tacit design of the new school, especially at the elementary levels, is to slowly direct those energies into an interest in something, anything, beyond the students’ own momentary pleasure or their more destructive impulses. For me this was books, but if it is art, or dance, or animals, or comedy, anything that can be pursued, rather than the opposite avenue, constantly distracting oneself from all worthwhile pursuits, then the elementary levels have succeeded, assuming the child can read, write, figure, and speak coherently, of course.

I wouldn't try to impose focus on them before they are capable of it, and certainly not at all times. I wouldn’t lecture for more than a couple minutes at a stretch without asking questions or expecting to have to coax back the stragglers, but I certainly will expect that they be able to sit still for half an hour at a stretch, working individually or listening to me explain a complicated idea. So though I see the natural waywardness of attention, I also see the interest in learning new things that will slowly bring it around, not killing it, as so much school discipline does, but capturing it for awhile.

imaginary spanish

I think the beginning and end of each day should have time set aside for taking account. Maybe it starts out with everyone writing whatever comes to mind, then sharing what they want to and filling in what’s been missed—not the whole day will be passed in discussion, there will also be plenty of silent reading and writing, during which time the teacher is able to get some marking done, so as to respond promptly to the work students are doing.

But this is a scenario that cannot be dramatically portrayed here; let us leave it and have a look at a language lesson. Etymologies will be a constant part of the teaching: every time an interesting or substantial connection may be brought out it is worth doing—‘goodbye,’ ‘like,’ ‘inspire,’ ‘lunatic’--every word has a story, and stories are the essence of the new school. But the kind of language lesson I mean right now is the slightly more systematic foreign language teaching that will be undertaken. For a couple years, very little kids will have an introduction to the language through games, songs, picture books. Then around third grade, their first real lesson will go something like this:

‘Clase, class, os voy a contar un cuento, I'm going to tell you a story, my own history, of learning Spanish. La historia de como iba aprendiendo el castellano, I didn't start to learn Spanish until I was 11. Cuantos años teneis? How old are you, Michael?

‘Eight.’

‘Tienes ocho años, y ya llevas dos o tres aprendiendo el castellano. Dichoso edad de oro. Lucky you. You've already been learning for two or three years. Y cuando por fin empezaba a estudiar el castellano, mi maestro no me ensenaba en el idioma. Os pregunto, como vamos a aprender un idioma sin oirlo y hablarlo? Por el otro lado, es posible dejarse llevar. Entendeis? Do you understand?

[nos, also some yeses from Spanish-speaking students]

‘Cuando estudiaba el castellano—when I was studying Spanish—me tardaba muy largo en aprenderlo—I took a long time to learn it—porque mis maestros—because my teachers—no hablaban con nosotros estudiantes en castellano—did not talk with us students in Spanish. Ahora acabo de hablar en castellano—just now I was talking in Spanish—y nadie me entendio, excepto que Wendy, Samuel, Darren y Anita—and no one understood me but Wendy, Samuel, Darren and Anita--vosotros cuatro podeis ser mis ayudantes para enseñar a los otros y corregirme cuando me equivoque?’

‘Si.’

‘Primero, Darren, puedes decirles a los otros lo que habeis prometido?’

‘Because we know Spanish, us four are going to help teach you.’

‘Y algo mas.’

‘Corregir.’

‘And also correct you when you make mistakes.’

‘Porque me equivoco mucho. Gracias. Una pregunta, Anita?’

‘No usamos “vosotros.”'

‘Tampoco.’

‘Si, hablaremos de esto pronto. Ahora, solo necitais saber que es lo mismo que "ustedes," y cambia en los verbos un poco como "tu." Ya verais. Lo siento clase, problemas de gramatica—pero la gramatica es importante, por lo menos tan importante como en ingles—grammar might be even more important to comprehension in Spanish. Bueno, donde estamos, y a donde ibamos?—Where were we, and where were we going? Vemos que no es posible aprender inmediatamente la lengua por oirla—We're seeing it isn’t possible to learn right away by hearing the language—ni es bien esperar muchos anos sin hablarla—nor is it good to wait many years without speaking it. Aunque sois chicos, no sois bebes—although you’re young, you aren’t babies—y aunque aprendisteis la primera lengua sin saber otra, ahora sabeis otra a la cual necesitamos añadir el espanol—although you learned your first language without knowing any other, now you do know a language and we have to add Spanish to it. Nuestro metodo—our method—sera lo que fue popularizada por Michel Thomas—will be the one made popular by Michel Thomas—caballero muy interesante—a very interesting gentleman—que tuve la suerte de conocer—whom I had the good luck to meet. Construiremos relaciones entre los idiomas—we will build up relationships between the languages—usando el hecho—using the fact—que ellos son relacionados en sus raices—that they are related in their roots. So far I’ve been speaking and translating—estoy hablando y traduciendo—pero me gustaria hablar con vosotros un poco—but I would like to talk with you a little bit before we go outside—antes de que salgamos afuera para jugar—to play. It’s nothing hard—no es nada dificil—it’s very easy—es muy facil. Os digo algo—I’ll say something to you—y lo me repeteis—and you’ll repeat it to me. Aqui va la primera palabra—here comes the first word: que.

‘Que.’

‘Que means the same as what. Que significa what en ingles. Que significa que? What does que mean?

‘What.’

‘Bien. Good. This is a phrase that should be very useful—esta frase debe ser muy util—because whenever I say something you don’t understand, you can ask me, que significa? What does it mean?

‘Que significa?’

‘Right.’

So there’s our introduction to the Spanish language, and the same method will be used for French, Italian and the rest. I actually still need to look up some stuff about Michel Thomas; I wish I really had met him, because he does sound incredible. If at all possible I will use his method--which really is nothing more or less than building up fluency word by word, almost ineffably-- and seek the approval of his estate in order to do so. As we get further along in knowledge of the language the delivery will slowly turn over more and more to Spanish until Spanish is spoken exclusively during class, except for a new vocabulary word here and there given in English as well. At this point the focus will shift from the structure and vocabulary of the language itself to more discussions of the culture, current and past, of the countries and their environs, the geography, history, and personality of the places this language lives. With sufficient fluency in the language and a sense of culture and history established, we will deepen out knowledge by going to the source—by which I mean both encouraging study abroad and hitting the books, the great works of the foreign tongue fitting naturally into the core enterprise of the new school.

For Spanish we will have our medieval romances, the Cid, the Book of Good Love, the Count Lucano, Lazarillo, Teresa de Avila, San Juan, Bartolome de las Cases, the Quijote, Lope de Vega, Quevedo, Garcia Lorca, Juan Ramon, Ortega y Gasset, Unamuno, and Rodo, Dario, Marti, Asturias, Mistral, Neruda, Marquez, Pagano—a haphazard list, but a start, anyway. We will listen to Don Giovanni and read Don Juan, and seek out the intimations of the country’s true character by the aid of such exaggerations and idealizations. We will consider the diversity, from the Celtic north to the African south, the cosmopolitan east, the New World, the invincible fiasco'd Armada, the Roman influence and the Spanish Emperors of Rome, and the major influence of the Moors' convivencia, followed by the reconquest, the colonies' exploitation and independence, the conservative streak and the revolutions, the Civil Wars and World Wars, and what has happened since.

I myself know very little about any of this, but I know it is worth learning. Spanish has a particular attraction for me, which may for the moment be summed up in the concept of the siesta and the beauty of its homes, human and environmental. We’ll also bring in Latin America, the magical realists, Borges, liberation theology, Incan myth, caudillos, the crushing poverty and deforestation, the aggressive investment in biofuels. I know if possible even less about all this, but again it is fascinating, full of possibilities.

And so on with each foreign language we could possibly learn: a world of evocations, of cultural riches free for the swimming in, Scrooge MacDuck-like, and of actual people across times and places. And language-learning becomes at once a metaphor for, and the clearest literal manifestation of, the real value of learning so as to communicate with this revealed world.

when nintendo games are antiques

I have theorized at some length about the school; I would turn just for fun to some practical questions. Nothing serious and hopeless as how to get the school up and running, but some imaginary scenarios, things teachers might say, ways students might respond—a window onto the curriculum rolling along.

Maybe there will be special sessions once a week or so on obscenely important subjects such as technological and environmental ethics. And if to that end I get to teach on the interesting subject of videogames, I had better offer some cautionary advice, something like,

‘When you play a game, what kinds of things are you thinking about? You’re concentrating on what you’re doing, right? If it’s a sport that means seeing how you can get open for the ball; if it’s tag it means watching out for who’s it; if it’s a videogame, how to get to the next level. It’s like when you’re reading a book, right, in some ways; it’s somewhere between reading a book and watching TV, maybe—when you watch TV you don’t have to think as hard because you aren’t participating, and when you’re reading you have to think harder because it’s just words, no images, that you are looking at; your mind has to do the work of seeing what they describe.

‘Oddly enough, the less you’re thinking, the further you get from the outside world. Have you ever looked at someone who’s watching TV? What do they look like? [makes a face] Like a zombie, like a vegetable. And it’s hard to get their attention, right? It’s like they’re asleep, except watching TV just makes you sleepier. Now it can also be hard to get someone’s attention who’s playing a videogame or a sport or who’s reading or having a conversation—but for the opposite reason, because they’re engaged in the activity, not disengaged from all activity.

‘Is this making sense so far? We have our two basic situations: watching TV, which requires very little thought, and playing a videogame, which requires concentration and reaction to what’s happening in the game.

‘Why do we do these things, by the way? Because they’re fun, basically. But now I’m going to suggest that this is not a good enough reason; I’m going to suggest that you think about that question why as you play today, and let me know what you come up with. Don’t just have fun—think about why it’s fun, why it’s more fun to do it this way than some other way; how could it be even more fun? And think, is there something more than just enjoyment here—are you feeling anything else?’

[so we play Mario 3 for awhile and then reconvene] ‘I felt confused, mostly.’

‘Yeah, I wasn’t sure what we were supposed to do.’

‘I don’t know why I like playing, it’s just fun.’

‘I think it’s fun because you can jump and fly.’

‘So you do things you can’t do in real life?’

‘Yeah.’

‘How could it be more fun?’

‘If you could go more places.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Like if you could go back there, where those things are.’

‘Into the background, in new directions. Good. Did anyone come up with anything else. Anything, Roger?’

‘I don’t get how the blocks can float in the air. I never noticed it before. And after you break them, where do they go? I mean, the pieces disappear.’

‘What else could you do with them?’

‘Touch them at least. Pick them up and throw them.’

‘That’s it. I’m glad you were seeing some new things, or noticing things you never noticed. Even if you were a little bit confused, that’s something, isn’t it, that’s a new way of looking at the game. We’ll try this again sometime, but for right now there’s one more thing I want to focus on, and then we’ll move on to history.

‘Did anyone think about how the game works? Not like within the game, the rules and why you jump on the goombas and over the pits—but how the physical game, when you turn it on, produces those images and responds when you push buttons? It’s all wires and electricity, right? Although you’re participating in one sense, within the game, you’re doing nothing to make the game work after you’ve flipped it on—with or without you, it will sit there working patiently.

‘In that respect it’s like so many other machines we use every day without really noticing them—watches, phones, lights, air-conditioners. These things all exist for a purpose, they perform their function and no more—of course you could play with the lights, but that is wasteful, right; you could play with the phone, but what if you happen to dial the number of someone who’s sleeping or having a really bad day, or what if you dial 911—and again, if you’re just playing with it, you’re wasting electricity and time.

‘So what is it about games that makes it okay to play with them? Is it that we could say their purpose is to let us have fun, where the other things had their different purposes? Is it any more fun than flicking on and off the lights and making prank calls—especially when you consider that doing something you’re not supposed to can provide an added element of fun? And is it any less of a waste of electricity and time to sit there and play videogames?

‘Just let these kinds of questions, and the question about what makes it fun, and is it anything more than fun, sink in, keep them in the back of your mind, because we’ll look at this again another day.

‘Also, you might consider that there was a time—before my time, but not by much—when there were no videogames. A little before that, there were no personal computers, no cell phones; a little before that, no TV. People always say it’s annoying when older people say, “in my day, we didn’t have such and such, it was much harder, but things were better,” but I never thought it was annoying. It puts things in perspective, and makes you appreciate what you have; maybe it even reminds you that in most of the rest of the world, people still don’t have access to computers and TVs and all that; maybe it makes you realize, maybe things were better then, without all this unnecessary stuff and all the hassles that come with it. And then there’s the basic attraction to what is different, different ways of life, because if they didn’t have these things to occupy them, they must have had something else, and it’s interesting to see what that might have been like.

‘So just as an aside, there: I always felt like people who stopped listening as soon as someone older started to say, “in my day,” they were cutting themselves off from a lot of interesting and probably instructive experience. After a while, people would start to say “back in my day” with a certain mocking tone, like that, like self-mocking, because they knew no one would take it seriously. And maybe it is impossible, ultimately, to get people to listen to what is said for their benefit, and what will do them good and keep them from certain mistakes, because sometimes you can’t really understand something without doing it first yourself, and sometimes even things that are true don’t take on much weight until they are true, are important, for you.

‘Ah, what am I saying? I had a nice transition to history lined up, talking about the time when there were no videogames, and then I go off on this tangent. Oh well, something else to think about. So, where were we last time? Belle?’

‘Alexander the Great.’

‘Right, right. And who was his teacher?...’

There you go, a lesson on videogames for fourth- or fifth-graders, perilously verbose, probably, and not leaving enough room for student discussion, but delineating some ideas, making some connections and leaving some others for another time, or never to be said, and even repeating a few basic ideas so as to make sure that the kids are not totally lost, and might remember a little bit at the end of the day.