My
youngest son collects vacuum cleaners. He's seven. These are not toy vacuums -
they are the real deal. His collection currently contains about 33 different
vacuums, from a 1960s Hoover Constellation canister vacuum that actually hovers
above the ground on a cushion of air to a brand new, from-the-box Shop Vac he
received for his birthday.
Now,
many of you are thinking, "This is a great hobby! His room is probably
clean all the time." It’s a nice thought, really, but wholly untrue. His
room is generally a mess and often looks more like a thrift store warehouse
than a bedroom. No, Sam is good at cleaning other things (when asked), but does
not see that his own room should also receive the benefit of his mass of floor
cleaning implements.
A
couple of weeks ago I was driving with Sam on our way home from running some
errands we he asked me when trash night would be for our neighborhood. As a
father my suspicions were naturally raised and I resisted the urge to rush home
and search the trash cans to see what Sam and his brother Ben may have hidden
there. I told him the two days most people have their trash collected in our
neighborhood and then asked why he wanted to know. He told me we had just
passed a vacuum cleaner outside someone's garage. He wanted to come back on
trash night because he thought it looked like one they would be throwing away.
At
the time, I figured there would be no harm in collecting the "trash"
vacuum because it probably had a burned-out motor or was otherwise broken
beyond repair. This would be a good lesson: it's at the curb for a reason. The following evening - trash night - we
drove past the same home and there at the curb was a vacuum cleaner, set to
make a journey to the landfill. And by landfill I mean the workshop in our
basement. Ben and Sam loaded the "trash" into the car, and the
"trash" made its way to the Baker workshop.
At
this point you may be wondering about the point of this story. That's a good
sign because it means you are still reading. Within minutes Sam had his vacuum
tools out and a bucket of soapy water ready to go. For the next hour he worked
dismantling and cleaning the new vacuum. He had to be told multiple times that
it was past his bedtime until I finally had to turn off the lights and follow
him upstairs to his room and bed.
He
snuck back downstairs overnight for a time (unbeknownst to me or my wife until
the following morning) to work on his new project and was up before everyone in
the house to continue. He found videos on YouTube showing him how to fix issues
and reassemble parts of the machine. He was completely engrossed in the
project, occasionally asking for some assistance from me and watching intently
as I removed a screw in an difficult location or reassembled some piece of the
housing. He thought critically about how to disassemble certain parts and
analyzed how the machine was likely held together when he wanted to reach a
certain component.
Sam
is passionate about his vacuums and about taking things apart to see how they
work. But he rarely displays that same passion and drive when it comes to
school. He does well in school, but he rarely seems so engaged in his school
learning as he is with his vacuum refurbishing and repair. So when I read What School Could Be (Dintersmith 2018) a few
weeks ago, I thought again and again about the passion for learning that is
often missing from students in school. Students, when asked, often come to
school because they have to - an obligation rather than a desire. Wouldn’t it be nice if the students
we teach arrived at school each day passionate about their learning and wanting
to be in school?
In
Chapter 8 of the book, the author discusses "doing better things"
instead of "doing things better." This is an interesting manner of
thinking, especially at this point in the summer when our minds have turned to
the coming school year. So much of new-year thinking involves reflecting upon
the previous year and figuring out how to improve. But does this improvement
necessarily mean doing what we've done before in a better way (doing things
better), or should it mean doing school in a different, more meaningful way
(doing better things)? I thought about my son Sam, as well as my other two
children Katie and Ben, and how each of them is passionate about certain
things. Then I thought about how many of those passions are or are not reflected
in the learning they engage in at school. I know that Sam cannot spend his
entire day working to restore and repair vacuums. But what if his learning in
school could be tied to his passions? What if he woke up each morning excited
to go to school and learn, the same way he reacts to finding a vacuum in a
thrift store or salvaging one from the trash collectors?
What
if we begin to rethink the way we teach students so that their passion for
learning drives what we do in classrooms? What if we do better things instead
of trying to do the old things better? I would love to share with everyone a
tried and true plan for implementing these ideas, but I cannot offer that at
the moment. Truthfully, I'm not even sure exactly what each school day would
look like; however I think part of doing better things is understanding where our students are
with their learning and what their passions are, and then tailoring the student
learning experience to connect passion with content. Imagine students excited
about coming to school and passionately engaged in their learning. It's a nice
visual and it is possible, because each of us has witnessed a "Sam"
truly engaged in learning. Now we just have to figure out how to make that
happen in schools.
(Author's
note: The vacuum rescued from the trash is fully operational. It has a new
belt, filter, and bag. Currently Sam is not interested in selling this one back
to the original owners, as suggested by his father.)
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