I'm breaking the rules of blogging ettique, by creating a long post. Yet, I don't think I can explain the story in a shorter format. Maybe it's just not meant for a blog.
It's the first week of school and I have a class of forty-one students for a scripted, fill out the handbook, bureaucrat-imposed ELD class. My initial impulse is to create silent activities, where I can keep them from being too loud. Instead, I take the opportunity to pursue a philosophical discussion.
"What is the good life? What does it mean to live well? I want you to discuss that with your groups."
I wander around and hear references to Escalades and spinners, mansions and travel. I notice a spattering of references to myspace and I wonder if they are connecting it to the subject, or if they are simply off-task. There are moments, when I am tempted to dive in and ask questions to a specific group. I want to convert students to my philosophy, but then I realize that it's merely another form of indoctrination in a system that doesn't allow them to express much of anything accept quadratic formulas and diagramed sentences.
I stand in the middle of class, pause and wait for silence. There is a real rush in this moment, a scary aquintance with power, where the teacher becomes the one in control. I am ashamed to admit that I relish in this moment, feeling like a conductor about to begin a masterpiece. I'm Mozart in a shirt and tie and I expect them to perform. Then, it hits me again that I need to ask questions, wait, listen and let others ask questions.
"What is the good life?"
Before I have a chance to call on a student, a boy interjects. "I want to have a bunch of cars and a big house and a hot woman to serve me dinner when I come home."
"Why do you say that?" I ask.
"to be happy," he responds.
Another boy chimes in, "Will money make you happy?" The class is silent, not knowing whether they can answer a question asked by another student. "Good point, what do you think?" I ask.
"I think it does make you happier. More people want to be your friend."
"They'll just like you for your money," a girl explains. "It's true. I don't think rich people can make friends with people who aren't rich, because they'll always be afraid that someone is using them."
"Do you need money to have friends?" I ask. The discussion flows toward friendship, then back to happiness. It's peppered with pop culture references – Lindsey Lohan's addictions, the bizarre way Brittney Spears has responded to fame.
"So, does money make you happier?" I ask. The overwhelming sense is that it doesn't. We rule out fame as well. As one boy mentions, "Fame would be cool for awhile. Like William Hung. That's the kind of fame you want – the kind where you know it will be over soon. What you don't want is to have papaparzie chasing you down. Or, you know, I wouldn't want my sins advertised on a tabloid as fodder for morning talk shows. Plus, there's no privacy. You can't even take a *** without someone asking for an autograph." I remind him about language, but secretly I am impressed with his verbage. What eighth grader uses the terms, "sins advertised on a tabloid" or for that matter the term "fodder?"
"It seems like the best things in life are things that you can get real cheap," a student suggest. "I can listen to music on the radio, hang out with my friends, watch a sunset, read a book – those are all things that require very little money. So, why don't people just work less, spend less and hang out more?"
The class affirms this, until one student suggests a different approach, "Why don't you find a job that you love and don't worry so much about the time or money."
The conversation is non-linear, often hopping back to former arguments. It's a web of ideas, contradictions and paradoxes, anecdotal evidence and pseudo-logic. Yet, it's also an authentic search, a true exploration to a profound question that plagues all of humanity.
One girl suggests, "I think the point isn't to be happy, but to experience as much as life as you can. You know, get it while the gettin' is good," she explains with a reference to an old school hip hop song</FONT>
We discuss this as an alternative. The class seems hooked on the argument that being happy all the time would mean being fake. It would be nice, but somehow there is a sense in which it wouldn't be best. I ask if they've seen Pleasantville and they stare at me in disbelief.
"What about living to serve others?" I suggest. I wait quietly, wondering if they are pondering the question or if they're still too new to the class to know that it's okay to contradict a teacher.
The students start out reluctantly until a few of them suggest that there is a personal benefit in helping others as well. "That's what so cool about the IMPACT program. We get to do stuff that helps others out." Typically, I would scoff at this comment, consider the student a suck-up and awkwardly steer it away, but the excitement in his voice suggests he's either genuine or a really good actor.
"Where do we get that message that the good life is more money?" I ask the students.
A few mention media sources, another talks about her parents. Then one student says, "You guys tell us that. Teachers are the ones who tell us that we need to work hard so that we can go to college, so that we can make a lot of money. They even tell us stories all the time to help inspire us."
When the dialogue is over, there is a sense that we pursued a question that all students should explore. It convinces me that philosophy ought to be a mandatory class in middle school. Yet, I am also convinced that educators must be willing to have the same discussion.