The Most Important Question for Students (all of us): WHY?

I was invited into an American literature class by a young, wonderful teacher, Ms. M. She had graciously asked me to say a few words to her “kids” since I had been her teacher so many years ago.

I looked around at the circle of students who had their Great Gatsby novels and notebooks opened on their desks. I asked them a simple question: Why did Gatsby want Daisy to leave Tom and fall in love with him? Why would she? Why…why do fools fall in love? (I explained that was a song…well, actually, I sang it…a little off key — they laughed.)

Nice. They had a sense of humor.

Silence. I waited them out. Tick-tock. Then I asked them another question: Why didn’t each of them ask that question of Gatsby and Daisy? I said something to the effect of “Do you know what makes people so things crazy things when they are, or think they are, in love?”

Now these students are top notch. They know exactly what happened in the novel: spoiler alert — it does not end well for old Jay Gatz. They may know what all the symbolism is about; the “eyes of Doctor T.J. Eckelburg” looking down on the “Valley of Ashes” etc. But silence befell them at the word WHY.

Before I go back to that “teachable moment,” as all the pedagogy textbooks refer to it, (in other words, it is what Oprah calls the “Ah-ha Moment”), let me say this. History and English teachers particularly must stop asking what, when, and where. That’s kid stuff. Primary grades go there. When middle/high school teachers are fishing around for that information — that’s just a box to quickly check off to make sure that the students have done their “homework.” It has nothing to do with why those students are studying Gatsby, or WWII, Watergate, Mockingbird, or what’s bothering Holden Caulfield.

Those questions are great for Journalism 1 classes. The question How is the stuff of science and math — perhaps business. Those teachers want kids to know how things work, first and foremost. Not that Why does not matter to those teachers, but first –how does it work?

Some teachers too often “dumb down” material and hope that that will suffice. Teachers are pushed, for all sorts of reasons, to make the job a true/ false, scantron, there-is-one-clear-answer message. It takes less time, less effort, and I know that these teachers are bogged down with too many students, too many standards, too many problems in the students’ homes, and too little money in their bank account. I get that. But the American taxpayer who needs to invest much more in public schools (more on that in another essay) must expect higher level thinking from the young people coming up. Lord, we know these kids will face some challenging issues in their lives and what the problem is, well that’s obvious — why it exists and how to solve it is another matter altogether.

“Why? Because if you don’t ask, you don’t dance.”

Okay, I am off my soapbox, let’s get back to that classroom.

So, finally I ask one young man, much to his surprise, this question, “I am sure there is someone here at school that you would love to go on a date with, right…no names…but someone?”

Now I really had the full attention of the class. He stammered something, but it was reduced to a nod. I then turned to a young lady next to him and asked her the same thing. Laughter ensued. Nervous laughter. They were having a good time. I had strummed a chord that they all related to that song. Then I said to both of them, “I bet you can’t explain why you are enamored with that person?” One student laughed and said that is a vocabulary word on their test. More laughter. I followed up, “Seriously, think about it. That person you two are thinking of, or persons (more laughter) doesn’t know you from Adam or Eve, right? What do you know about them? Why in the world are they…of all the charming, smart, fun, and attractive people in your life, that special one? The one you would do something crazy for?”

A beat. I looked around. “Each of you is thinking of that person right now. Maybe a prom date? But the question is why them? It is irrational, isn’t it? Here are some of the heartbreak kids: Romeo. Juliet. Harry. Sally. Rick. Elsa. The head and the heart don’t always sing the same song. Gatsby loves Daisy because of what she was or seemed to be — a dream. But what she is, in reality, is careless, selfish and spoiled. Remember what Nick, your trusty narrator, explains: Daisy and Tom were careless people who crash into people and then leave it to others to clean up their mess as they escape with their money.

The room was quiet. Then I said, “I encourage each of you to follow your hearts. Yes, it may get bruised. Remember this: Don’t be careless with people’s hearts, but don’t be shy either. Why? Because if you don’t ask, you don’t dance. And that is where the fun is.”

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Teachers: The Soundtrack of Your Students’ Souls

What you can learn from their songs

This week the passing of my math colleague, Joe McEachron made me revisit our poignant conversations about reaching all students—framed in our lexicon this way: “We’re in the Kid Business.” Joe was a master, and his sudden passing has reminded me of a debate we had many moons ago about music and how to relate to the 35 or so pupils we faced five times a day.

“Bob,” Joe said, “their music sucks!” Joe had a delicate way with words.

“Joe,” I said, “we can’t think like that. We sound like grumpy, old men.”

He looked at me and didn’t need to say what he was thinking, even though we were in our mid-forties. It was true then that some ‘modern’ music had made a turn for the worst. I mean “Me So Horny” was a song one of my students identified with in a speech he made to the class. I quizzed him regarding the deeper significance of this choice, much to his chagrin. He was speechless and embarrassed; he came up with another song within the week. But the point I was making, and a lesson it taught me and my students, was that music was the one thing this baby-boomer teacher and his teenage students have in common. It is something we can talk about.

I told Joe that I could prove him wrong; that not all their songs suck. So one assignment I created was

called “Your American Identity.”  I asked each student to present a song that spoke to whom they are, wished to be, or perhaps how they saw their world. I required a power point slide with the lyrics. (Yes, I insisted that songs have meaning beyond “I can grind with my dance partner.”)

What the students in my American literature classes produced would have made Joe proud. Of the hundreds of presentations I watched, several remain ingrained in my memory. One was a girl named Lauren, who was generally quiet, but as she pushed play, I smiled at the lush melody of “What the World Needs Now (Is Love Sweet Love).” Jackie DeShannon, the singer, was part of my generation. That mattered not. What mattered was the timelessness of that song’s theme to a generation at least twenty years removed.

Naturally, most songs I heard that were new to me. However, another ‘ah ha moment’ came when another red haired young girl named Brandi cued up Jewel’s song “You Were Meant for Me.” It is a sad, perhaps to some, melodramatic ballad of a couple breaking apart, with the woman wishing it did not have to be. Notably, a young boy in class named Ryan asked her, “Do you think the girl in the song ever got over him?” There was a hush in the room. Brandi’s eyes watered as she faced the class, “I don’t know. What do you think, Mr. Pacilio?”

What I thought was this: it “meant” something to all of them. It touched a nerve. Heartbreak. Something everyone feared.  

One student seated in the farthest seat from me named Chris was often aloof in class. Perhaps he felt that he may not have the confidence to chime in to a conversation about Twain or Fitzgerald, and maybe he felt like some of the music I played in class was so “old school.” It didn’t resonate with him—Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, TLC, Don McLean, etc., it just wasn’t his kinda jam. So when he got up to address the class he softly admitted: “You know, I don’t really like some of Mr. Pacilio’s songs, and I looked and looked for a song that was more…me. And I just couldn’t find anything. So I went to my dad’s albums. I found this one song that just hit me.” He proceeded to play Joni Mitchell’s long ago indie hit “The Circle Game.” Its theme: “…we can only look beyond from where we came and go round and round and round in the circle game.”  To say I was surprised at the irony was an understatement. 

Oh, how I wish my dear friend Joe had been in my classroom that moment.

So the teacher learns from the students and the students get their chance to embrace the opportunity to express their view of life with all its twists and turns. It was the soundtrack of their lives.

Oh, Joe, I miss you, brother, and so do your former students. If I could choose a song to play for you, it would be James Taylor’s refrain: “Just yesterday morning, they let me know you were gone….” 

Goodbye, Joe. God Bless.