Review of The Hungry Mind by Susan Engel

This past March, I read an article by Susan Engel about the relationship between schools and curiosity. I approached the article as a parent of bored teenagers and also as an idealistic teacher and scholar.  I am always wondering what more we could be doing to promote creative teaching and learning. After reading it, I quickly purchased the book that spawned the article. The Hungry Mind: The Origins of Curiosity in Childhood asks us to step back and get a sense of what, exactly, curiosity is – who has it and who uses it, how we might recognize it, and what it would take to build it.
 

Most of the time, educators talk about “achievement.” When we use that term, we are talking about how a child performs on an assessment. The “achievement gap” is the space between different groups’ performances on a standardized measurement.  That’s all. Just about every school reform these days is tailored toward understanding and impacting those scores.

One thing that most standardized tests don’t measure is a child’s curiosity.  However, curiosity is one of those vague categories that we know intuitively is a helpful trait. Curious people solve problems. Curious people come up with meaningful questions. Curious people learn more about subjects that interest them. But demystifying the vagueness of curiosity – What is it, exactly? How do we know it when we see it? – is largely Engel’s project. To that end, she synthesizes volumes of research to help us get a handle on this slippery concept.

Over several chapters, she looks at curiosity in infants and in children as they age. She looks at curiosity as a feeling and as an action. She looks at different kinds of curiosity (deep in a single subject and broad across subjects). She looks at it as an innate quality and as a learned habit.  She looks at how curiosity works in a social environment. And one big claim emerges through the chapters: as children age, the opportunities to be curious diminish. And that diminishing takes place at the schoolhouse door.

There are probably many reasons why schools squelch curiosity, but Engel focuses on teachers as agents of a one-right-answer curriculum. If teachers are only the bearers of the answers to prescribed questions, and if they do not have space to model or encourage the practice of asking genuine questions, how can curiosity grow?

This made me remember my boys’ year in kindergarten, which was arguably the most curiosity-promoting year they have had. (For a kindergarten contrast, check out this TED talk about a school in Japan). And even then – one memory that stands out involves the science unit they did on “fabric.” The National Science Foundation box kit about fabric was done at every elementary school in the district. The purpose was to have the 5 year-olds discover which types of fabrics absorb water and which types of fabric repel water. Sound like fun? It wasn’t. Who came up with such a boring thing? Kindergarteners like smells and sounds and things that crawl. Fabric? Not so much. 

The task involved each child putting three drops of water on different kinds of fabric and writing down what happened. The dropper was pretty cool, because SQUEEZING. One kid decided, hmmm what would happen if he squeezed droplets all over his body. Guess what? His shirt absorbed the water! And then he wondered what would happen if he poured an entire bowl of water on himself. Guess what? All his clothes absorbed the water! The teacher, however, was not absorbing how this was the place where the curiosity lay, not in curriculum guide or in the instructions or in the accompanying worksheet. Her anger quickly shut down any further exploration that day.

The problem I saw was not so much that the kid got wet or that a mess was made or that the teacher became overwhelmed. The problem was that there was an implicit lesson in that interaction: the child learned that the only questions that mattered were written on the worksheet. The only process that mattered was following directions. The good news is that Engel does conclude with a section on teachers who do cultivate curiosity in their classrooms, even in this era of standardized accountability. Her discussion is ultimately a hopeful one.

This book is not an academic text, per se, but neither is it a “popular” book aimed at a broad audience. I imagine that scholars might get turned off by her personal anecdotes, while more casual readers might get bogged down with the research. However, if you are the kind of reader who is looking for new directions in education, this book is a great place to start.

You can read this author’s thoughts about “joy” and schools here.

Censorship: A Classic Post Revisited

(photo from Book Riot)

 

Some of you know that I had a very brief career as a mommy blogger at Now That You Mention It. Since I’m seeing Judy Blume this evening – LIVE! -- I thought that today would be a great day to revisit a classic post from 2009 about introducing Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing to my own children. This post is also a little bit about how nuts I am and how much difficulty I have keeping my crazy contained. 

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If you have been reading this blog for a while, you know how much I enjoy a good holiday celebration. You know --- Harvestoween and Earth Day and Veterans’ Day. So it should come as no surprise that, in our family, we are busy getting ready for Banned Books Week (September 26-October 3).

I am completely serious – except there’s a twist. I am trying to ban a book. Or mutilate part of it. I have thought very hard about whether or not it would be possible to break into Green’s classroom and STEAL this book off the shelf. Or maybe get the School Board to end that crazy policy of having kids read during class. NO READING! NO READING!

You can wipe that shocked look off your face now. Let me explain. It all started this summer, when the boys and I snuggled up on the couch to read Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing together. The author, Judy Blume, was my favorite as a child. She single-handedly educated me about topics as diverse as menstruation, divorce, and scoliosis. You could always count on Judy to tell you the truth.

Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing is not one that I remember very well, probably because I didn’t

spend a lot of time with the books that featured boy characters. But, of course, in a strange twist of fate, all the people who now live in my house are boys. So I thought, “How about if we read this together and fill a few of these endless late-summer hours?”

And the kids loved it. They loved Pee-tah and his little brother, Fudge. I had to do a little explaining (70s gender roles, mugging (!), what a “doorman” is), but somehow, my kids really resonated with the main theme that a brother can be annoying and might eat your turtle.

Apparently, Judy Blume has turned this set of characters into a series, following the brothers as they age. I wanted to learn more about the next in the series, Superfudge. So I got online and was taken aback at all the WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! postings in the reader reviews.

So it kinda turns out that Judy Blume tells the truth about Santa Claus in this book.

Dammit with the truth-telling! I want my kids to be shielded from the truth! I want a cover-up! Come on, Judy! What were you thinking?!!!!

Anyway, I decided that we wouldn’t be reading that book. Instead, I bought the next one, thinking maybe the boys wouldn’t notice that we skipped over a whole segment of the characters’ lives.

I know that this will probably be the last year for Santa in our house anyway, just because the boys are getting to that age where logic starts to work (How likely is it that the same mother who somewhat obsessively checks to make sure the doors are locked would let a strange man come into the house in the middle of the night?). We already dodged a bullet last year when the kid who sat next to Blue revealed Santa’s identity. But this was the great part – Blue didn’t believe him! It turns out that this kid had cried wolf one too many times. There was the time that he told the teacher that his father died (not true), and the time that he told the class that he was getting his legs amputated (not true), and the time that he said that his mother liked to cook ponies for dinner (not true). So when he said to Blue, “There’s no such thing as Santa,” Blue just shrugged and said “Everyone knows you’re a big liar.”

Lucky for us, that kid is now attending another school. Second grade has started, and the students are back to their homework and their math assessments and their germ sharing. Yesterday, Green ran out of his classroom at the end of the day with a big smile on his face. “Mommy!” he exclaimed. “Guess what I’m reading at silent reading time?” “What?” I asked, delighted that he is so interested in literature.

He said, “I’m reading Superfudge!!!!!”

I felt my pulse begin to race. NO!!!! NOT SUPERFUDGE!!!!

And then I did what I should not have done. I marched into his classroom and accosted his teacher. I will add that it was really hot yesterday, and I was not at my best. The second grade is overrun with pungent little boys, so there was an odor to the school that made me queasy – like some of the kids had accidentally peed on the tops of their dirty sneakers. And I was sweaty, and red-faced, and trembly. The teacher took a step back when I shrieked, “You can’t let Green read Superfudge!!!! He’ll find out about Santa!!!!!”

In that moment, my name was scratched off the list of potential candidates for Room Mother.

She paused and said, “Umm… do you want me to hide it?”

And I honestly went home and wrestled with whether or not I should take her up on that offer.

Then I had this very profound flashback. I was 10 years old (and a very young 10. A Barbie-doll-loving kind of 10.

A Snoopy-and-the-Gang kind of 10. Not the kind of 10 that dresses up like a hooker on Halloween). My mom took me to the B. Dalton Booksellers in the mall to find something to read, and I found a Judy Blume book that I had never read. It was Forever, which concerns a teenager’s first sexual experience with a guy who names his penis “Ralph.” When we got home, my mom looked more closely at the book and decided that perhaps it wasn’t appropriate for me quite yet. So she took it. And hid it.

In response, I spent the next year looking for it, hunting and searching, searching and hunting, until I found a copy in my friend Lisa’s house and read it in her basement, all in one sitting. This made me wonder what would happen if the teacher really did hide Superfudge. Would Green spend the entire school year wandering around his classroom looking for that book? Up-ending book bins? Tearing through the math manipulatives? Opening all the science kits?

This morning I apologized to Green’s teacher. I said that perhaps I had overreacted. I told her that Green can read whatever he wants to read. Ideas should be free, even if they destroy our holiday traditions. No problem.

She continued to gaze at me warily. I can’t imagine why.

I guess I will watch and wait to see what happens when Green gets to that revelatory chapter in the book. I wonder if he will tell Blue at recess. I wonder if he will tell other kids. Of course, if any of you can think of a reasonable way for me to get rid of the book before that point, please let me know.

Just kidding. Sort of.

Are You There God? It's Me, Monday!

(Judy Blume Doll, from UneekDollDesigns)

The remnants of devastation from reading A Little Life are almost out of my system. Thank goodness, because I was beginning to feel a bit haunted!

I did finish two books last week: Charming Billy by Alice McDermott and Here by Richard McGuire. Hopefully I’ll have reviews up for those shortly. I have also started Susan Engel’s The Hungry Mind: The Origins of Curiosity in Childhood – so I’m adding a little bit of nonfictiony sauce on what has otherwise been a spring full of fiction.

I have two other books on my leaning stack for this week. In the I’m-late-to-the-party category, Hilary St. John Mandel’s Station Eleven finally came in from the library. It arrived just as I was finishing A Little Life, but I just couldn’t take on dystopia after reading such a sorrowful novel. I also want to read Euphoria by Lily King. Both of those novels just came out in paperback, so I’ll let you know if they’re good choices for your summer reading plans.

But the big news is that I’m going to go see Judy Blume on Thursday! I can’t explain how giddy this makes me. I have such a visceral memory of reading and re-reading Blubber under my covers in elementary school.  For young readers at that time, it was rare to find the real world of childhood in a book. Blume’s novels allowed me to “get lost” in reading for the first time.

I think that Judy Blume’s books are now seen as “literature,” but I don’t think that was always the case. My memory is that a Judy Blume novel was not something you’d find in a leveled book bin in your classroom or stamped with a seal of high adult regard. I read Judy Blume on my own, somewhat obsessively, furtively.

I keep coming back to Momster’s question about her eleven year old’s summer reading. It’s no secret that reading is good for you, like kale. But this week I started thinking about the kind of books I did read as a child – Judy Blume books included – and I’m guessing that not a single one of them would have fallen on an approved summer reading list.

I have wonderful memories of riding my 3 speed to the drug store to buy paperback books. Crappy paperbacks! They cost a couple of bucks and were maybe 200 pages long. If I had a friend with me, we’d each buy one and then trade.

Here’s one that I remember reading:

(Did boys look like that in your school?? Gah! Chest hair! I’m thinking that he may have been held back…)

I’m fairly sure that my mother didn’t puff up with pride at this particular reading selection. I’m also certain that the books I picked weren’t aligned with my reading level.  In short, they weren’t kale. But oh, did I read like crazy! I wonder if I became such a good reader – and more importantly, someone who LOVES reading – because adults and their agendas stayed out of it.

 

Judy Blume is in her 70s now. I know that she’ll have an audience of nostalgic middle aged groupies – grown-ups whose memories of summer reading do not include sticker charts and incentive plans and progress toward higher scores on next fall’s Fountas and Pinnell Benchmark Assessment.

And YES, I most certainly plan to read Blume’s new novel for adults, In The Unlikely Event. I'm guessing I won't be able to get it for $2 at the drugstore, however. 

(It's Monday! What Are You Reading is hosted by Book Journey. I'm winging it while she's on hiatus)

The Joy of Reading

My book club is meeting tonight. We are discussing To Rise Again at a Decent Hour by Joshua Ferris. I will admit to quitting after 100 pages of this one, for the simple reason that it did not give me any joy. I can often find joy in an unpleasant book, especially if I’m going to get the opportunity to whine about it in community. But the labor of getting through this one was greater than the thrill I’d get from dissecting it later.

Joy is really at the heart of it for me. I felt joy as a kid when my mother read to me at night. I feel joy when I find an un-put-downable book. I feel joy when I read something outside of my usual zone and find that it's amazing. I feel joy when a favorite author comes out with a new title. If I didn’t feel joy when I read, I probably wouldn’t do it.

That brings me to an ongoing concern: I worry that my kids, or any kids, will not find that kind of joy. In particular, I worry that school might rip the joyful potential of reading right out of them.

I’m sure I’ll be writing more about this topic as the months go on, but I thought I’d share a story about my kids’ experience in middle school Language Arts. Last year my boys were in sixth grade and encountered the Common Core for the first time. As you probably have heard, the Common Core Standards for English Language Arts bring an increasing emphasis on nonfiction reading as well as on real-world literacy skills.  One of these real-world skills, it turns out, is book clubbing! Woo! Well, more specifically, the skill is “engaging effectively in a range of collaborative discussions with diverse partners on grade level topics, texts, and issues, building on others’ ideas and expressing your own clearly.”

The class activity to address this standard was participating in a “Nonfiction Book Club.” The only requirement was that the book be rooted in truth and that all members had to agree on the selection. One of my kids was in a group of four boys, and they chose a book on explosions. I’m not sure, but I think the title was simply Explosions! (with exclamation point).  It concerned things that explode, the processes of explosions, and the noises that explosions make (Kaboom!).  So the group was successful at finding a mutually satisfying “informational text” to anchor the conversation.

But wait, this is school, and everything must be assessed. And I’m a little bit of a perfectionist, so the first question in my mind was, “How do you get an "A" in book club?”

I got my answer:

The column in the middle indicates the characteristics of a book club discussion that would yield its members a grade of “meeting standard.” To you and me, that means the student would get a "B." The column on the right indicates the characteristics of a book club discussion that would yield its members a grade of “exceeding standard.” And that, my friends, means “A.”

Since getting an A required using 2 of 3 of the “listening strategies” on the list, the boys decided to focus on “courteous attention” and “pausing for at least five seconds” between comments. Here’s how the conversation went:

Boy #1: I really liked it when that building exploded.

(Boys #2, #3, and #4 staring, immobile, with eyes open wide to maintain eye contact and stillness)

Boy #2 (counting): One, two, three, four, five.

Boy #3: Yeah. Me, too.

Boy #2 (counting): One, two, three, four, five

Boy #4: Dude, that must have been amazing.

Boy #2 (counting): One, two, three, four, five.

Boy #3: Dude, yeah.

Boy  #2 (counting): One, two, three, four, five.

Boy #1: My eyes hurt. Can I blink now?

 The good news is that my kid got a shiny "A" in nonfiction book club. He promised to work on “asking meaningful questions” at the next opportunity in order to further develop his skills (e.g. Are explosions still cool if people get hurt?).  I’m not so sure he experienced the joy of reading, but I’m pretty sure he racked up more evidence that adults and their expectations are ridiculous.

I, meanwhile, will be practicing “pausing for five seconds” tonight at my own book club. That will probably happen as I’m stuffing food in my face, joyfully. I’ll let you know if I meet standard.