Twenty years ago Glen Coleman was my teacher who did something exceptionally well — he created a space for students to explore big ideas and was courageous enough to let learning get messy as we looked for the answers, together. In this book, with humor, optimism and at times, stark realism, Coleman asks and seeks to answer the biggest questions educators face today — how to teach and reach students in the new chaotic normal. Offering actionable strategies to employ in and out of the classroom, Coleman reminds us that, “one lesson can still change a life.” It did for me.
- Daniel Lewer, 2020 Hawaii History Teacher of the Year, founder of History For Humans, class of 2002, River Dell High School.
From page 1
Fellow educators, we need to call it like it is. Teaching young people today is a white-knuckle drive that can make us feel as though we’re losing our sanity. We’re supposed to help students think critically as our democracy crumbles, as trust gives way to tribalism, and as confidence in institutions such as our elections, the dollar, or vaccines gives way to doubt. Today’s debates are met with fear because the issues we face are overwhelming, politicized, and complicated. This has resulted in a new cynicism that is appearing in our classrooms.
“Why do I need to know ‘this’ when AI can do it for me?”
“Why learn about the world when it’s falling apart?”
“Why listen to adults when they caused this mess?”
These will be constant refrains in our classrooms, if they are not already.
My response is because one lesson can still change a life. A teacher can still empower our youth to right the wrongs of previous generations. A good question can still open anyone’s mind.
And yet our problems are too great for any one teacher to solve.
This realization can lead to burnout.
So, I’m writing this book to help you, regardless of what you teach — no matter where or when — and to start a conversation within our profession about how to thrive in what I will call “the new crazy,” or our “chaotic new normal.”
From page 46-47:
Learning as a Holistic Act
Create energy from the get-go.
Learning requires tons of energy, and that means we have to physically move to create it. If we are physically awake, then we can be emotionally open and mentally sharp. Learning starts at the quadriceps (one of our largest muscle groups), which, when activated, energize our dopaminergic (by exercise) and “oxytonic” systems (I think I just invented a word to imply we’re creating community through oxytocin) to summon the energy to learn. (See Wendy Suzuki’s scholarship on the role of movement and learning.)
First and foremost, facilitate as much structured physical movement as possible in the beginning of a class to awaken and energize. This can take many forms. For example, generate laughter. It’s a physical act. Laughing your ass off can get you a six-pack … if you have loooowww standards.
Perhaps a better idea: games can raise heart rates, such as Simon Says, heads-shoulders-knees-toes, yoga poses, clapping rhythmically. We often do calf raises (heel on the floor to standing on tippy toes). We do 50 in a row = a good wake-up. Get a slight lactic acid burn in the calf muscle. Nothing crazy. Just awaken the body.
Learning happens from head to toe, from head to heart. It has the power to focus our minds, move our bodies, and create community. (This is my North Star, especially in a storm.)
From page 55
Radical humility: Radical humility is a core assumption. I know nothing. The world constantly changes. Perceptions are flawed. Vocabulary and grammar confuse me. Eyes can’t see everything. And we often fool ourselves that all we see is all there is. This is the broken lens through which we see the world.
So, we need radical humility. Once we realize we are small and the universe is impossibly large, the journey can begin.
We need humility because math, science, language, art, or any discipline is dynamic, new, and now — and incomplete. One plus one is endlessly complex. Binary codes comprise AI algorithms. But they are too complex for anyone to understand (just 1s and 0s, people). So asking big questions with no established answer is crucial, so I must also learn alongside my students.
Radical humility also gives us permission to say with our students, “I don’t know. Let’s find out.”
If you are more interested in how I ask questions to stoke curiosity, see Appendix I, where there’s a copy of my article in the NJEA Review, “What Would X say?”
From page 55
Failure is the way: It is crucial for students to be provided space to fall on their faces in front of friends and with meaningful feedback try again. As I see it, learning is a process of growing from mistakes. We need to know where we failed. It’s gold.
I am not talking about students rewriting essays. Neither am I describing students retaking tests. Those may be excellent practices. I’m talking about something more fundamental. Because the world is complex, because knowledge is fleeting, and because course content is a broken lens through which to see the world, mistakes become an essential step in the process of meaningful understanding.
To summarize my approach in a sentence: “When the bar is high and the stakes are low, good things happen.”
“When the bar is high” refers to our efforts to understand the world.
“The stakes are low” means acknowledging from the get-go that we will fall short in fully understanding the world. But we always try.
That’s when “good things happen.” When we embrace mistakes as robust opportunities to learn — when students are given permission to speak imperfectly or awkwardly and then with practice, kick butt — it’s amazing. Students come to understand that learning is a process that requires grit, teamwork, empathy, and communication skills. A sense of humor also makes the journey better.
From page 67:
"What do you think?"
What is interesting about asking that simple question, “What do you think?” and answering it publicly is that we learn about the importance of revision. When you listen to someone intently, speakers tend to think more carefully about what they are saying. Furthermore, because most young people have not had the experience of being heard or taken seriously, they’ll tend to research and speak more deliberately. That moment of realization — I am being heard — is priceless. (This also goes for me as a teacher. I need to rephrase things all the time because I am not a smooth speaker; I’m quite a flawed one.)
The point is, listening is a superpower. Trust results when we value imperfections (because perfectionism is kryptonite). A universe of possibility appears as we go deeper into the simple question, “What do you think?”