Forest Lessons, No 4
An anarch's chronicle of public education.
This week in class we covered the Crisis of the Third Century. For those of you playing at home, it was the period of ancient Rome where the pressures of sheer size, free for all imperial succession, rebellion, and devastating plague nearly destroyed the empire. For my part, I was fixated on Edward Gibbon’s description of Marcus Aurelius, the last of the Five Good Emperors. On Monday, I started with him because the students needed to appreciate how far Rome had to go.
Severe to himself. Indulgent of the imperfections of others. Beneficent to all mankind.
The thing about teaching ninth graders is I really don’t know where they come from before they get to me. From everything I’ve heard middle and grade schools in our town are not great. They’re focused on discipline and behavior, which is to say keeping the kids quiet enough the teachers aren’t driven to drink. From what I see, my colleagues at those other schools are alcoholics or worse. Other students are from out of state, immigrants, migrants, or previously home schooled. Point is, they’re my problem now. Or at least my problem for 45 minutes a day five days a week.
In any case, they’re getting both barrels. Smacked in the mouth. The real shit. I don’t care about the achievement gap, test scores, or whether or not they even like school. In my domain, I reign supreme. That means they’re going to learn something, even if it kills me. Especially so. For most of the week I hit them with Edward Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Perfect for 21st century high school freshman, don’t you think?
“If you guys were in college, this would probably be your textbook.” I drop it on the desk of the nearest student. Thwack. “There are six of these books. I’m reading them cover to cover. When you graduate, check in with me about my progress. It’s gonna be a long slog, but stop doom scrolling TikTok and get on my level.”
They seem to like my curated readings of Uncle Eddie. His writing is like a forest full of weird bugs and funny looking trees the students can’t help but ask about. Melancholy. Antipathy. Spirit. Confidence. Those are some of the words that stood out to them, no matter the class period. To those that ask for help I walk them through the meaning, the context, and what Gibbon is trying to say. Then I order them to write it back to me in their own words. I talk. They talk. We talk. They write.
When I’m between classes I’m out on the front porch. Dozens of students stream by this way or that. One of them gets my attention.
“What are we learning today, Mister?”
This question keeps coming up more and more. I give them a preview. Spice it up a bit. Wink and nod and suggest a deeper meaning I refuse to spoil quite yet. They smile and dish out a fist bump as the bell rings.
“Alright, I’ll see you guys later.” I head back into my classroom and yell out, “SALVATE!” The students respond, “SALVE!” Or try to. They don’t quite remember the Latin greeting, but they’re trying. They’re getting better. A few of the brighter ones smile when I joke we’re making this place a little more classy.
Classy. Classical. Latin. Get it?
I like my classrooms loud. I like my students active. Frankly, it’s all I can do to build rapport. One of them in my first period is a particularly active young man. He hits the iron before class everyday and by the time he gets to me he’s a volcanic stream of power. What are we learning today? I’m learning how to be indulgent of their imperfections. It’s a good thing I am, because despite his happy feet and energetic disposition he’s remembering stuff. Severus. His sons. Why didn’t they keep the good of the empire as their goal, preferring the corruption of craven familial advancement? I’m certainly not doing this by the book. I don’t care. He learned something in a place he might otherwise not. So often not, these days.
What are we learning this week? How to indulge each other’s imperfections, like Marcus. They like Marcus. They know he was a good guy who tried his best in difficult circumstances. He’s an example to follow. One of my brightest borrows my copy of Meditations.
Friday was Diocletian. I explain how he solved the Crisis of the Third Century with two basic principles: thoughtful organization and hard work. I ask the class how many times they think he visited Rome, the capital of the empire. They’re shocked to hear it’s only once. It’s not really even the capital anymore because the center of the empire is wherever the emperors are working. It’s where the work needs to be done and so the person that needs to do it is there. This is how empires thrive, when the leadership treats it like a garden. Flowers cared for decades by the hand of a master are beauty beyond compare.
More than a few seem to get it. Certainly the best like the young man, in his free time, diving into the Spanish Civil War. He wants more challenging content, so I hit him with the hardest subject I can imagine. This is the same kid that listens to Morrissey and The Smiths. He’s in my face before class every day asking what we’re learning. I like him.
Social studies isn’t just about names, places, dates, and other such social study. It’s Mr. Dubois in History and Moral Philosophy. It’s figuring how we should live together, what are our values, and where do they come from. They read more Gibbon, find out Diocletian died a gardener. A few laugh. One in particular is tickled silly by this fact. I ask her what she would do, given then same chance as the emperor.
“Play music.”
I ask others what they would do.
“Draw.”
“Play soccer.”
“Fish.”
“Dance.”
As for me? Sit on my home porch, drink whiskey, and read my goddamn books in peace.
A lot don’t know what they would do, their faces twisted like the first time they tasted an orange. They’ve never considered the question before. I smile warmly, remembering my beneficence to all mankind, and suggest the lesson of Diocletian is no matter what life one might lead remember to hang on to at least one natural pleasure. In a world that’ll crush you, find the one jewel that keeps you human. It leaves room for God to come in.
“What are we learning today, Mister?”
Everything, if I can help it.
Thanks for reading! Forest Lessons is a regular feature of The Partisan. It’s a chronicle of my week to week teaching experience in rural Florida. Everything at The Partisan will always be free, but if you’d like to support my work you can do so below.
I’m cheap, but appreciate the consideration more than you know. Kindly share my work as well. Public education is a mess. I’m not solving that, but I can inspire a few students to do something great with their lives. Maybe you too?
Wow! So interesting. Also, when I type "Phisto," my phone changes it to History, which is perfect 😆 You and coldsummer1816 teach History, Holly teaches English -- when I was in 9th grade, Social Studies class was where we discussed current events! Those kids are lucky to have you as their teachers.
I really appreciate and look forward to your posts. I teach sixth, seventh, and eighth grade social studies. I started last year after spending several years teaching elementary and I much prefer the middle grades - they are developmentally at a stage where they are instinctively oppositional, which suits my own personality.
It’s amazing how much you can accomplish and how much you can wake kids up by being enthusiastic about the subject matter. Like your ninth graders, my sixth graders arrive to me as complete novices - because of the standardized test obsession, most of them come to me having never had social studies instruction (!), and so 80% or more are unable even to locate our state on a map when they get to me. I try to strike a balance between “knowing the facts” and deeper thinking, especially since my students come to me without any historical, economic, or geographic knowledge or historical thinking skills. I am required to teach American history but pepper in lessons on other major historical or current events with similar themes or that are necessary to explaining causes of events in the U.S. (ex: we study the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars with the Louisiana Purchase and study the Enlightenment before learning about the Declaration of Independence). We study differences between modern American regions and their landscapes and economies, and I give quizzes which require students to memorize the names and locations of the fifty states, as well as the continents and oceans, etc. It’s out of vogue to require memorization but I find it to be valuable in helping kids understand how to remember information and we talk through explicit strategies for creating schemas to make the information more easily retrievable. Knowing also helps them to feel powerful, especially when they can apply the basic geographic facts to understanding a historical event we are studying.
My favorite activity I have started doing to wrap up a lesson is called “ten second takes.” I pose a question based on the day’s lesson and a random student begins, and gets ten seconds to articulate their opinion about the topic. Anyone in the class can raise their hand to rebut or elaborate on their point, also in ten seconds (I use a loud timer to add urgency and drama). For example, this past week my eighth graders studied the Mexican-American War, and I asked if they believed James K. Polk had a good idea in starting the war. I like the activity because it forces them to think on their feet; one kid said that “getting California and New Mexico was a good idea and good for the US but the country should not have gone to war to steal it from Mexico” and a couple of kids immediately pointed out that he offered to pay for it, and that he was positing an option that did not exist in reality: the US could either fight and win the land, or not fight and go on without it. It was a proud teacher moment for me. Like you, I am now at a point where kids ask me about what we are going to learn that day when I see them in the hallway. They come to me with questions about current events. I think they like me because I really try hard to avoid dumbing down or moralizing situations.
Really great to hear from someone else in a similar position who is making it work and enjoying their job despite the amount of nonsense going on in the education system at large. Hope your year continues to be great - your students are lucky to have you. And please keep posting about teaching - there are so few voices of happy and intelligent teachers out there.