Mike Parker: The most important stockpile lies between your ears
I was reading through some of my old columns when I came upon one I had written in January 2011 – my last semester of teaching at Farmville Central High School. I wrote:
“The beginning of each new semester brings the painful realization that most students arrive at school without a consistent background. References I could confidently make 20 years ago that brought the light of recognition to my students seem lost in the darkness of today’s ignorance.”
When I taught Elie Wiesel’s “Night,” a question on my reading guide asked:
“Why does Wiesel sympathize with Job? What literary term does Wiesel use at this point?”
“Mr. Parker, what job is he talking about?” at least one student would always ask.
“Not ‘job’ – Job, the character in the Bible,” I explained, which led me into a summary of the Book of Job and how Job suffered even though he was a man who loved God and ran away from evil.
“Wiesel expects his readers to connect the undeserved sufferings of the Jews in the concentration camp to the undeserved sufferings of Job. He is using an ‘allusion.’”
Of course, when the reader does not recognize the reference, “allusion” does not come into play.
College students I taught were little better off. When we studied “A Poison Tree” by Blake, I usually had to pry to get some student to connect the “apple” in the poem to the traditional, though not biblical, apple of temptation in the Garden of Eden.
Early in my teaching career, I could trust that students had read Connell’s “The Most Dangerous Game,” Poe’s “The Raven,” London’s “To Build a Fire,” and Twain’s ‘Huck Finn,” to name but a few. This consistency in background allowed teachers to build on a foundation – to connect pieces of literature students already knew to those we were studying.
Teachers fought – and still fight – a two-fold battle. First, teachers deal with students who have never studied some of these pieces that most teachers expect them to have read. Second, teachers deal with students who study them – but then fail to recall anything.
A comment that fretted my patience was: “We studied that last year, but I don’t remember it.” How could any student who studied the struggle between Rainsford and Gen. Zaroff forget those characters?
“Yeah, I remember that story about the little dude whose big brother was mean to him,” another will comment about “The Scarlet Ibis.”
“That ‘little dude’ has a name,” I replied.
“Yeah, I know, but I learned that last year and I don’t remember it.”
“Then, you didn’t really learn it, did you?”
I seldom could make a historical reference confident that the students would make the connection. After all, they learned history last year … or last semester. Teaching students became like “50 First Dates.” Everything seems new to them.
Parker Maxim No. 147: “Knowledge is not merely knowing. True knowledge is knowing that you know.” Frankly, sometimes I would be happy if they just knew.
When I taught “The Raven,” I told my students:
“If I walk up to you 20 years from now and say: ‘Quoth the Raven,’ I expect you to respond, ‘Nevermore!’”
Then I added: “But speak up. By then, I will be 80 then and will be a little deaf.”
The late Frank McCourt, teacher and writer, reported that one of his teachers in Limerick, Ireland, told his students:
“You have to study and learn so that you can make up your own mind about history and everything else, but you can’t make up an empty mind. Stock your mind, stock your mind. You might be poor, your shoes might be broken, but your mind is a palace.”
That lesson is one all teachers – and parents – should stress. Minds should be finely furnished palaces – not empty warehouses draped with cobwebs.
Mike Parker is a columnist for the Neuse News. You can reach him at mparker16@gmail.com.
