Black boxes and brick walls

I wouldn’t know how to build this — or fix it. (Tyne & Wear Museum Archives)

In an ancient episode of The Simpsons, the family is supposed to be entering the “Witness Relocation Program” for their protection.

The government agents tell Homer and family that their new last name will be Thompson. There’s a gag in which the agents then try in vain (presumably for hours) to get Homer to respond to his new name. There’s no spark of recognition on Homer’s part whatsoever.

The reason I even know about this Simpsons bit is that a teacher brought it up one day in reference to his students. Teaching made him feel like the beleaguered agent desperately trying to convey information to a brick wall.

For inexperienced teachers, the art of helping someone to develop knowledge and skills can seem to be a bit of a black box. What happens when you try to teach someone a thing, and they just don’t get it?

An actual human being is not going to be a forever doofus like Homer Simpson. Real people grow and change. Teaching is actually an act of collaboration between teacher and student. The student, even if she is in a passive role, is constantly giving information, however subtle, about what she sees and understands. It’s the teacher’s job to pick up on these cues and adjust course accordingly.

Everything we perceive is colored by the experiences we’ve had and the knowledge and skills we possess. For that reason, two people can read the same paragraph and pull completely different things from it. And sometimes, the student doesn’t have a frame of reference for what he’s being asked to do. He did read the paragraph, but he can’t tell you what it said. He may be missing the language, the tools, or the context. So when he stares at you blankly or answers with some convoluted version of the question, those are clues that help us figure out where to go next.

It may seem so simple: Read the paragraph, answer the question. Study the sample problem, do the next one that’s just like it. Wind this end of the rope around this and then over that. Put your fingers just like this, and then strum. How do you break it down more than that?

The game that teachers must play is to find a way to break things down that seem already to be elemental. If step one is impossible, a teacher has to find a way to build a ramp up to it. This is teaching — not conveying information or showing someone how to do something. A good teacher can break open the black box and find ways of making information or skills accessible.

For example, when a child has difficulty reading, asking them to guess words based on context is a terrible long-term strategy. Instead, they must be taught phonics — they need to know which sounds are represented by which letters. Plus, they will be much more successful when they’re reading words that they’ve heard before — words they know — so that they can make meaning from the text.

Those of us who have already been reading for decades don’t think about phonics anymore. Therefore, it might be hard for us to help a struggling reader. We don’t know how to break down a process that’s become automatic.

The good news is that teaching itself can be learned. Teachers, parents, and coaches can learn how to organize and sequence material and pick up on cues that the student is ready (or not ready) to go on to the next step. “He just doesn’t get it,” is a cop-out. There’s always a way.

Teaching (or learning) can be depressing and demoralizing if it just doesn’t seem like there’s a path forward. But it’s never hopeless. Anyone can grow and learn. Sometimes, in order for the student to do so, the teacher has to go first. Teachers, just like students, are forever developing, forever improving. Even a brick wall can be broken down.

Is there any area of knowledge and skill that once felt like a black box to you? How were you able to break it apart and come to an understanding?