A tribute to my Homeroom...

It’s broadly accepted that intellectual humility is the ability to recognize that one’s beliefs and ideas may be incorrect. Because there are various frameworks and tools for defining and measuring intellectual humility, each with their strengths and limitations, it is not obvious which types of interventions might work best for encouraging its practice in schools.

But could it be as simple as asking your students - what do you think? Simple is not a term usually associated with education. Education is messy and complicated because people - especially teenagers - are messy and complicated. As educators, we often find ourselves lost in the fog of pedagogy, tirelessly trying to find the perfect approach to teaching. We hear lectures and read essays about how to bring student interest into classrooms, or how to create a more inquiry driven environment. Despite the wisdom to be found, I can’t help but to think we may be overcomplicating things.

Here’s what I mean…

Each morning around 7:30 AM my group of seventh graders would pile into the classroom. After a brief hello and good morning, I would take my seat and observe and listen to the exchange of conversations among students. This valuable time allowed me to take a pulse of the classroom. In one corner a group of students could be heard discussing current-events, while another was reflecting on a controversial Dungeons and Dragons ruling from the day prior. Then there were the one or two students scattered on their own, lost in a story, drawing, or thought. What are they thinking about? Why are they drawing that particular image? What is driving their storyline? Why do students care about what they care about?

The conclusion of morning announcements indicated that homeroom was now in session. At this time, students would take their seats and clear their desks. On our first day, I asked the following question: “What would you like to learn about this year?” With dumbfounded looks, one student responded, “Isn’t it your job to tell us what we should learn?” On the surface, this may seem like a simple, straight-forward answer, but it isn’t.  I let the question simmer. There was silence as I took a slow pace, weaving in and out of the rows of desks. Silence can be awkward, but it can also be mysterious and exciting. Students looked at one another puzzled, unaware of what was unfolding before them.

 “Well,” I started, “what do you think? Is it my job?” Not expecting this response, one student sat up straight, cleared their throat, and answered, “I guess I never gave it much thought.”  Another student began, “It should definitely be his job to tell us what we should learn about. He is clearly older and has more experience than we do.” A girl from the other end of the room responded, “You’re not wrong…he is older and does have more experience…but shouldn’t we also have a say?”  A third student joined, “If we were the ones who had a say or control in our learning, then why would we need teachers?”

As more students began to contribute to the conversation, I realized a phenomenon was emerging. Could it be so, that one simple question could spark such curiosity? If so, why? In her essay, Children’s Need to Know: Curiosity in Schools, Dr. Susan Engel, Professor of Psychology at Williams College, argued that complexity, unexpectedness, and uncertainty draws students in and leads them to explore the world around them. There is something to be said for that. Perhaps, as children get older, they begin to realize just how little they know about…everything. The unexpectedness that Engel describes is a journey into the unknown. It’s a call to adventure.

Without realizing it, the students were playing. From then on, each morning students requested to vote on a new topic to discuss. Over the course of the year, we investigated lighter topics such as the legitimacy of homework, the rationale of the five-day school week, and the ground rules for recess. Heavier issues included questions such as, “Do we care too much or too little about climate change?” “Is religion good or bad for society?” and “Why do kids give up?” As conversations took course, the rules of this “game” emerged, with little direction provided by me. If interruptions seemed more frequent or responses flirted with the line of disrespect, the students brought these observations to the forefront of the discussion. For example, students agreed to no longer interrupt one another and to put more effort into listening. Also, before making assumptions, they pledged to ask clarifying questions. And, perhaps most impressively, to consider remarks offensive if such remarks involved ill intent. It’s worth noting again - these students were in 7th grade.

In his paper, The Psychology of Intellectual Humility, Dr. Mark R. Leary argued that social learning probably plays a role in intellectual humility as children observe how teachers handle certainty and uncertainty, approach disagreement with others, and change or not change their minds when evidence presents itself.  For some reason, unbeknownst to me, students wanted to know my opinion during discussions. The idea of teachers sharing their opinions or why students care about them is a thought-exercise I am still working out. Nonetheless, I shared my two-cents if asked, answering questions thoughtfully and truthfully, even at the risk of saying something potentially unconventional. Shamelessly, I owned my fallacies and admitted my lack of knowledge, if warranted. If teachers expect their students to acknowledge their shortcomings, then maybe teachers ought to do the same.

I am lucky, though. Not all teachers have the luxury of a supportive administrative team, who is as curious as their teachers and students. During one-on-one meetings, I brought my homeroom discussions to my Head of School’s attention. This eventually led to a self-invitation to be a part of the next discussion. He, too, engaged with the students in such a way that allowed conversations to be fruitful and less intimidating. Perhaps, without being told, students knew that their Head of School supported them. 

By June, I received many emails from my students, as well as their parents, stating that homeroom was the highlight of their year. One parent described to me how their dinner table conversations changed. Their child not only described the discussion of the day from class, but also began to inquire what their family members believed. I had a student write to me, “Thanks to our homeroom discussions, I have decided to join a summer debate club. I feel more confident in myself. Because of this year, I discovered a part of myself I didn’t know existed.”

These comments are not meant to pat myself on the back, but rather to show that students, as well as parents, are hungry for difficult discussions and are eager to learn from those who think differently. To say I was impressed with my students would be tremendously understating their approach to constructive dialogue. They showed the potential of acting intellectually humble.

This substack is a tribute to those students. Despite concerns for the current generation of youth - my own included - I am optimistic. I see a future in education where children, adolescents, and adults alike are not only able to handle deep and difficult discussions but will seek such discussions because they see value in doing so. 

What do you think?

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