Mainely Middle
Journal of the Maine Association for Middle
Level Education
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2003/2004 |
Make a Joyful Noise... Please!People often comment in wonder and perplexity when I say that I teach eighth graders. Many cannot fathom that I would choose, let alone enjoy, working with a group of children who often appear to be genetically programmed to question my authority. Yet observing how each teenager blossoms during this developmental period is what can make coming to work so very rewarding. I am often struck by the contrasts in their outward behavior. Last year, my English students and I explored the power of writing an essay. These kids had lots of ideas, many strong opinions, and generally craved to be heard. They also relished a good debate, so took on any number of controversial topics. What I hope to have shown them through this course was that if they could take a stand and substantiate it in a reasonable and organized manner, they were more likely to be "heard" than if they just argued, spouted and spewed opinions. For the final assignment, I encouraged them to take on the big issues. I wanted them to give voice to topics in which they felt absolutely passionate. A good number of them did. Within the context of this work we also had many lively conversations. It was evident that most of the students recognized the value of both writing and discussion as forums for articulating their beliefs. Here in the classroom, they were speaking up and out confidently. In the midst of honing their expression of outspoken opinions, however, another characteristic of this age group asserted its presence. During a performance of the bands' and choruses' winter concert, I was to bear witness to some of these same students muting their voices to the point of disappearing. I must confess that I brought along some papers to grade during the concert. I worked away as I listened to the younger classes, students I did not know, sing and play their instruments. My interests were more centered with the sixth through eighth grade chorus, in which I knew quite a number of the participants. When it was their turn in the program, I put away the papers and settled back to give them my full attention. This chorus of perhaps twenty-five stood on risers set up in front of the stage. Arranged by height, therefore mostly by age, my most familiar students graced the back two rows of the group. They were still clearly visible to us all. But I quickly found that they were not so audible. As I strained to hear a distinctive voice or two, I probed all of the young faces. I tried to determine if there was a difference in personalities that encouraged or precluded individuals from truly singing out. What I observed instead was further evidence of the changes over this developmental period at work. The sixth graders all presented as enthusiastic and LOUD. Their self-confidence was evident in their eager up-turned faces, their smiles, their subtle movements in rhythm with the beat of each piece. Silliness took over the seventh graders. Sure, they sang, but they cast side-long glances to their peers just as often as they looked for direction from their music teacher. Goofy giggles, shrugged shoulders, and rolled eyes syncopated musical numbers almost more regularly than a recognizable downbeat. And then there were "my" eighth graders. These 13- and 14-year-olds, who on other occasions would burst into my classroom belting out their favorite song lyrics, share breaking news about relationships, or expounding their personal philosophies; these youngsters who craved opportunities to brazenly test adult waters; these individuals who so frequently sought out the spotlight: these same children stood, during this performance, still as mice on the back risers of the platform. Their eyes were downcast. Their mouths barely moved. Their hardest work seemed concentrated on not drawing any measure of attention to themselves. As the chorus moved through their musical numbers, I searched the memories of my own early teens for clues as to why this would be so. I too had sung in a number of musical groups. At seven, I had joined a community children's choir and remained a member for years. In junior high school, I was a member of the chorus, as well as performed in a production of Guys and Dolls. During my freshman year in high school, I had auditioned for and was accepted into an elite school chorus called the "Tower Madrigals." But after only a month or so, I quit. As I listened to the rest of the concert this past December, I pondered whether having given up on the Madrigals was due to self-consciousness, along the lines of what I was then observing in my cherished students. I didn't think so. Yet I didn't think that it was entirely different, either. The activities and the time commitments associated with my involvement in the Madrigals had set me apart from my peer group. At the time, I was quite the follower, wanting to do what the crowd was doing. I remember making up excuses about not having the time. But in reality, the reason I quit was the fear of being known for doing something different &endash; something not generally accepted as "cool." As the chorus wrapped up their part of this winter concert program, I felt more than a slight twinge of regret over my own past uncertainty. I considered how I continued to love to sing. Yet I hadn't pursued it in any structured way as a pastime in my young adult life. And now that I was being asked, in middle age, to sing solos in church, I was finding it a joy but also a considerable challenge to do well. I wondered if that would have been different had I kept my commitment to the Madrigals in high school. I found myself aching to take each of these hesitant eighth graders aside, and beg them not to give up on this means of self-expression &endash; not to worry about what other people thought. I wanted them to see that they should allow themselves to shine in whatever activity they chose to take on. I yearned for them to channel some of the energy and confidence I had seen demonstrated in the safety of my classroom, and apply it in this more public venue. I realize that the contrast in these youngsters' ability to give voice is largely symptomatic of the developmental period. I am far from being the only person to witness children showing both these sides of their personalities at this age. What worries me, though, is that students will not see that favoring their quieter side may have long-standing repercussions; that they might miss opportunities. I would like to think that in communicating to them my own sense of regret, that I could spare them some of their own. My new hope is that the work we have done in the classroom has truly taken hold. Yes, I want these kids to be able to compose a decent essay. I am also hopeful that they now realize how important it is to speak up for what they believe. But beyond that, my wish is that these children will always believe in themselves enough to "sing out" in whatever ways are most genuine, even when the currents are flowing in another direction.
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