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An Essay by Michael Thompson, Ph.D.
There is a debate going on in the U.S. about boy academic underachievement
and whether or not teachers really know how to teach boys properly. There
are charges and counter-charges: boys aren't ready to learn, they
play too many video games; and the classroom is feminized, maybe women
teachers don't "get it" about boys' learning
styles. While I welcome this important discussion, what worries me is
the implication there is an easy answer to all of this, as if there were
one right way to teach the great range of boys (or girls). Nothing is
that simple, especially not in teaching, which is a demanding and complex
skill.
As a boy advocate and school consultant, I am always on the look-out
for good teaching. That's one reason I love visiting summer camps,
because I invariably pick up something about the essence of the teaching
process when I spend time with counselors, some of whom are veterans,
but the great majority of whom are young, untrained, and novice instructors—but
sometimes superb teachers nonetheless. Last summer, at a boys' camp
in Vermont, I had an unusual opportunity to watch two counselor/teachers
work with ten-year-old boys. One was a professional, a woman who teaches
kindergarten in the winter and is waterfront director for the camp in
the summer. The other was a young man, an amateur, a twenty-two-year-old
college student. Their teaching styles could not have been more different.
What was particularly sweet about this encounter was that I got to see
the two counselors run activities simultaneously, on either side of me,
as I sat in a beach chair on a waterfront dock. On the outer side: swim
lessons; on the inner, shallow side of the dock a chaotic form of "water
polo." It was like watching a two-ringed circus in the water, with
very different acts in each ring. In order to see both, all I had to
do was turn my head from one to the other and back again, and try to
keep my laptop dry with all that splashing going on all around me.
The boys, all from the youngest group at this sleep-over camp—eight-
to ten-year-olds—had chosen these activities at "morning
circle" from a diverse menu of activities: soccer, baseball, wood
shop, a skit-writing activity for the camp show, and others too numerous
to recall. Every boy was given the chance to choose the activity he wanted
after a brief, often humorous presentation by the counselor in charge
of that option. The "water polo" instructor, Will, had advertised
his activity by saying, "We are going to play water polo, and I'll
be wearing my helmet!" From his tone of voice and the helmet reference,
I understood that he was advertising a free-for-all in the water. Steph,
the waterfront director and swimming instructor, had simply announced, "I'll
be doing swimming for anyone who wants to work on their Red Cross levels."
After circle broke up, the boys were permitted to go back to their tents,
change into their suits, and laze down to the waterfront at their own
pace. It is simply amazing how slowly boys move when you allow them to
follow their inner clocks. Modern life has forgotten that there is a
Huck Finn inside every boy saying, " . . . we took a swim now and
then to keep off sleepiness." The beauty of a camp, if it is run
right, is that there is a lot more Huck Finn time than anywhere else
in America.
But I digress. By the time I got down to the dock there was a small
group of boys on the dock with Steph. "Pencil dive!" shouted
one boy as he jumped off the dock, clapping his hands to his sides to
embody a straight line. Another boy yelled, "Jackknife!" and
leapt in gripping one leg to his chest. "Pretty good," Steph
said. After some minutes of diving, she announced, "In a few minutes
we'll do some backstroke." The boys continued their free-form
diving.
Meanwhile, Will's water polo group was taking forever to get into
wet suits, but no one scolded them and no one hurried them. There was
the inevitable conversation about peeing in the wetsuits to warm them
up. Talk about urination and allusions to penises are a constant feature
of life at a boys' camp, especially in the youngest boys' group,
because bedwetting at camp is still an issue for some of them.
Two boys, now dressed in wetsuits, walked to the edge of the dock, and
the bigger boy jumped in immediately. The other boy remained behind,
trying not to look miserable, but he did and Will recognized the boy's
anxiety immediately. He plowed through the chest-deep water, using his
hands as paddles, and stood in front of him. "Are you ready, Anthony?" he
asked quietly. The boy nodded. Suddenly, Will gave a mock command: "Then
release your fear!" The boy jumped in.
As the game of water polo began, Will had donned his wetsuit and his
blue skate-boarding helmet. He played the clown, shouting mock commands. "Go
for the goal," he screams at a team-mate. "I've got
you covered like a blanket." Then all of a sudden, lurching out
of the water and grabbing off his water shoe he wails: "Time out
. . . Rock in my croc . . . seriously, rock in my croc!"
The boys on the opposing team jump on him with ferocious energy, and
he is completely accepting. No wonder he wears his skate-boarding helmet
in the water. Anthony, who is smaller and younger than the others, is
practically glued to Will, whether out of competitive fervor or anxiety
about being in the water, or, as I suspect, because he wants the closeness
to a counselor. Water polo makes his need for physical contact legitimate.
I wonder whether, over the course of a year, Anthony gets to spend much
time wrestling with his father in—or out of—the water.
Now twenty minutes into the activity period, Steph, holding a notebook
in her hand, has begun to teach swimming in a gentle, encouraging manner. "Your
body's vertical, you're treading water, and then you float
on your back," She tells one boy. She throws out her arms to demonstrate
the move. She is constantly smiling and occasionally laughing. She does
not play the clown like Will. She is understated, earnest, and low-key—and
is constantly challenging them with more difficult strokes. "You
can lie on your back and do the breaststroke kick," she says, and
demonstrates from the dock. "Or, you can do the dolphin kick." The
boys go to it for a short time before she changes the activity, asking
them to don life jackets for some safety drills. Later, I ask her how
many minutes she keeps at a particular activity for boys this age. "It's
short, about eight minutes."
From the other side, where the water polo game is going full out, Anthony
calls out, "I just peed in the water. There's a warm spot
here." Everyone smiles; no one condemns or approves. Everyone remembers
the experience, but every boy there recognizes that it is a bit immature
to make a public announcement the way Anthony did. A few minutes later,
when he is wrestling with Will, Will spits some water out of his mouth. "You
spit pee on me," says Anthony. "No, I didn't," responds
Will. "Yeah, there's pee in the water," announces Anthony
belligerently. "No, there are lots of things in the water," says
Will, trying to both ignore and defuse Anthony's immature provocations.
Will is constantly narrating the game, as if he were a sports announcer. "It's
sudden death," he shouts when one of his opponents makes a goal.
The boys shout back their own commentary. Then Will suddenly changes
the rules of the game, challenging them to swim farther and faster. "You
better remember how to swim!" he shouts. He demonstrates a play,
a reminder of the swimming skills he possesses, as well as the strength
and speed he rarely uses with them.
His comment is a reminder that Will, too, is teaching a swim class,
and perhaps a fitness and perseverance class as well. Will's constant
patter has kept the boys swimming steadily for over an hour. Many of
them have looked tired, some have looked longingly at the dock and the
dry land. Will and his "wild and crazy guy" routine keeps
them glued to the water.
On the other side of the dock, two boys have finished their Red Cross
swim tests and have been promoted a level. Only Robert is hanging back.
Perhaps he's less motivated or just distracted, or maybe he's
anxious. It's hard to tell. But he has a long skill test to pass.
Steph doesn't hurry him. She doesn't prod or poke or try
to motivate; rather, she stands quietly as if there were all the time
in the world. The boys who have completed their test sit facing her in
the sunshine, wrapped in their towels. She often has a little circle
of chilled boys with slightly blue lips gathered around her. Robert focuses,
walks to the edge of the dock and jumps in, prepared to do his test.
Robert has to swim the forward crawl for fifteen yards, then tread water
or float for thirty seconds, and then do the back crawl. His formal swim
is interrupted by a flying croc shoe launched into the air by one of
the water polo players on the other side of the dock. Robert stops swimming,
grabs the shoe and throws it back over the dock. It immediately boomerangs
back. The water polo boys have turned the shoe into a game, not knowing
that Robert is taking a test. Steph never scolds, nor does she call off
the test. Indeed, the test has been made harder and longer by the invasion
of the shoe.
When Robert finishes, he climbs out looking pleased with himself. When
I ask, he admits to me that he was nervous about passing his swim test.
Happy and chilly now, he heads off the dock. The sky has turned cloudy
and a little rain has started to fall.
The water polo boys have been swimming steadily for almost eighty minutes,
and Will's mock orders to keep playing are met with groans and
laughter. "IT'S NOT OVER!" he shouts. But, of course,
it really is. The boys are tired; the rain is falling; and they are done.
Everyone in both groups has passed a test of one kind or another.
The boys take it all for granted: the water fun and swim time, the afternoon
rain, the two instructors and their very different teaching styles. Steph,
the kindergarten teacher in her late thirties, uses an almost meditative
calm and acceptance to bring boys to the point where they are ready to
focus and challenge themselves. "It isn't hard," she
said to me after the activity period, "If you give them half an
hour of free swim first." Later she tells me that she teaches differently
in the water and in the classroom. "I think my goal with them here
is to let them do what they want, accomplish what they want, and get
to know them as individuals."
Will, the twenty-two-year-old college guy—how can I say this?—plays
the clown. And the boys love it. Will offers the boys himself: as a model,
as an opponent, as a target, as the biggest boy of all. In so doing he
makes them feel that being a boy is a blast. He also offers them a bridge
to manhood, through actual physical contact and imitation. He uses his
phenomenal capacity to throw himself into a game to seduce them into
taking risks, into feeling their courage, and using all of their energy.
The boys in both had fun and made progress, either on their Red Cross
swim levels or on their coordination, fitness, and their fears. They
had gotten stronger, and they had obvious feelings of accomplishment.
Now, can you tell me, what's the best way to teach boys? And, oh
yes, while you're at it, could you tell me the best way to teach
girls? I need a quick answer.
Originally published in the 2007 May/June
issue of Camping Magazine. |
