老师读懂了学生

老师读懂了学生 Let me tell you about a recent student of mine. We’ll call him Jack. He’s a quiet boy， our Jack， 1)self-possessed， responsible enough generally， 2)amply courteous， 3)eminently likable. In my 4)normative-level senior literature class， he was attentive and receptive but disinclined to push himself. He found a comfortable pace and stuck with it. The 5)snarky might be tempted to condemn him as undistinguished， B,/C+， just another kid―any of these 6)tantamount， in the current climate， to pretty heavy condemnation. More and more of late， I find myself compelled to defend kids like Jack. Through the year， Jack ambled along at about three-quarters speed. Over the first few months， I waited for signs of 7)ignition. When he handed me a sub-mediocre paper as the last of the autumn leaves were skittering down the street， I deemed it reason for a sit-down. We had a pleasant talk. He agreed he could be doing better， acknowledged he had it in him， said he recognized the benefits of working hard; cause enough， I thought， for cautious optimism. We parted pals. But nothing changed. A nudge here， a prod there， even a mild 8) remonstration or two…nothing. Fair enough， I thought. A student， particularly a senior， is allowed to govern his own engagement， to deem my class not his bag. As long as something is. I left him to his own recognizance. But across a long and mild winter came evidence of nothing from our Jack in the way of bags， no bag in any direction. Spring eased in―9)nary a whiff of fervor regarding anything. Then in May， a new generation of leaves greening the trees， with the effect of a revelation， I happened to learn that 10)reticent Jack did have a passion after all…happened to learn because he mentioned it. He had， as it turns out， a big bag， a let-the-world-go-on-without-me bag， a calling. I even liked that he hadn’t bothered to tell me about it until our time together was almost over; it was， after all， his. And it served， as far as he knew―or would at least let on―no useful purpose beyond the gratification of doing it， which he articulated poorly， which bothered him not in the least. He wasn’t being coached or spurred or assessed by an adult. No competition awaited for which he was preparing. He’d had no special training for it; nor did it play even an oblique role， as far as I know， in any of his college aspirations. The pleasure and satisfactions were his alone and for themselves， and more than enough. In May， I learned that Jack draws. But it’s more than that: Jack draws pictures of three dimensions. He creates detailed paper models， sculptures really， with ordinary printer paper， pencils and pens， scissors and Scotch tape. He does it purely because he enjoys it. From the Hogwarts Castle to the Statue of Liberty to a life-size， wearable baseball cap， and on and on， some no bigger than a deck of cards， some as big as a 11)collie. Something strikes his fancy， he sits down and makes a model. If it takes a week， it takes a week. If the phone rings， he lets it. If the homework gets short shrift， so be it. And they are exquisite， these Jack originals. They are beautifully， masterly done. You should see them. Everyone should see them―the 12)Fabergé eggs of paper sports cars and 13)Millennium Falcons. On that note， though， Jack doesn’t seem to care much either way. It’s nice that people like them， but that’s not why he does it. The fun， the satisfaction， is in the doing. It began a few years earlier. His family was on vacation at the 14)Jersey Shore. Time ran short at an amusement park， if I have it right， and Jack was unable to go on a ride he’d been eager to try. The family headed for the car with a 15)crestfallen kid in tow―which， I’ll point out， is a kid for you: Fun all day at an amusement park， and he’s glum about the one ride he didn’t get to go on. Well， thinks the parent， too bad. But， thinks the kid， I really， really， really wanted to go on that ride. Mid-mope， Jack gets back to wherever it is they’re staying and， not knowing why， reaches for pencil and paper and creates a meticulously detailed drawing of the ride， a longing drawing， a demonstration of frustrated ardor. A love letter. And， he realized at the end， it came out great. It was fun to do. Time and the world had vanished. Finished， he looked at the picture. Felt a measure of pride in his handiwork. Realized sitting there that the itch was not entirely scratched. Realized that the ride had a left side and a right and a back， so he drew them too. When he was done， there they lay on the table， four sheets of paper with drawings on them. Then he had an idea， a delighted little 16)zing: The ride doesn’t lie flat on a table. It stands upright. It has three dimensions. He went for scissors and tape. Bliss does not have to be big and important. Nor must it bring one 17)accolades of any luster to matter. Bliss is more than its own reward. Whether Jack goes on to become an artist or an architect or an engineer or anything else directly consequent to his enthusiasm for model making does not matter. He has learned something about passion， about focus， about clearing a space in his life and doing what he does purely because he loves and believes in it. He has 18)honed a set of abilities too. In choosing and doing for himself， he earns his confidence and self-worth. Very good things， these， and， I hope， lifelong. 我来告诉你最近我一个学生的故事。我们就管他叫杰 克吧。他是个文静的男孩，我们的杰克，沉着冷静，通常来 说，很有责任心，很有礼貌，十分讨人喜欢。在我的规范性 高级文学课上，他很专心，学得也不错，但不太愿意刻苦学 习。他遵循着一套自己觉得舒适的学习方式。一些尖刻之人 也许会说他是个平庸之辈，成绩大概在C+到B,之间，不过 是个普通孩子而已―这在现在看来已是很严厉的批评。最近，我发现自己越来越禁不住想保护像杰克这样的孩子。 这一年，杰克以大概四分三的速度缓进。在最初的几个月，我等待着燃烧的苗头。秋天最后的黄叶飘落在大街上时，杰克交给我一份中等偏下的论文，我认为该和他坐下聊聊了。我们的谈话很愉快。他承认可以做得更好，他知道自己有能力做到，他说意识到了努力学习的重要性;我想，这样情况还算乐观。我们结束了谈话，成为了朋友。然而没什么改变。我不时给他一些提醒、一些激励，甚至试过给他一两个温和的忠告―仍然无济于事。我想这也很合理。一个学生，尤其是一个高年级的学生，应该让他自己决定学习的投入程度，或判断我的课并不适合他。只要有适合他的就行。我让他自己去发现。 然而，度过了一个漫长而温和的冬天，还是没有一点迹象明杰克的兴趣爱好在哪里，没有任何方向。春天悄悄地来了―没有一丁点热烈的气息。 到了五月，树上长满了绿油油的新叶子，或许是受到这萌芽的启发，我偶然得知这个沉默寡言的杰克总算找到了自己的兴趣所在……我偶然得知是因为他跟我说起这件事。终于，他找到了自己最大的兴趣爱好，为了它可以放弃全世界，他的天赋。我们一起相处的时间快要结束时他才告诉我，我觉得挺好的，毕竟，这是他的兴趣。但据他所知(或至少他是这么说的)，那没什么用途，除了做这件事带来的满足感外。他对此说得模糊不清，这也让他很苦恼。没有成人指导他、鼓励他，或对他进行。 他不需要准备什么比赛，也没有什么特别的训练，据我所知，那兴趣对他的学术抱负更是毫无帮助，其中的乐趣和满足感是属于他自己的，属于他和他的兴趣的，这样就足够了。 在五月份，我得知杰克会画画。 但不仅如此:杰克画的画是三维的。他创造出精致的纸模型，其实就是雕塑，材料是普通的打印纸、铅笔、钢笔、剪刀和透明胶带。他做这些完全是出于热爱。他的作品包括了霍格沃茨城堡、自由女神像、跟实物一般大小，可以戴在头上的棒球帽等等，有些只有一副扑克牌大小，有些则有牧羊犬那么大。要是有了灵感，他就会坐下来做模型。如果需要一星期来完成，那他就会花一星期的时间来完成。电话响了，他也不管;如果因此落下了功课，他也不在乎。这些杰克的原创作品很精致，很漂亮，手工精湛。你应该看看这些作品，所有人都该看看―纸跑车上的法贝热彩蛋和千年隼号。但在这一点上，杰克似乎也不太在意。别人喜欢固然很好，但那不是他做这些模型的原因，其中的乐趣和满足感才是真正的原因。 这一切始于几年前。杰克一家到泽西海岸度假。在游乐场玩耍的时间过得飞快，我没搞错的话，杰克当时很想尝试一项机动游戏，但他玩不了。家人拖着这个垂头丧气的小孩上车。我要说清楚的是，这个小孩跟别的小孩无异―在游乐场开心地玩了一整天，却因为一项没机会玩的游戏而难过。哎，父母觉得真糟糕;而小孩真的很想、很想、很想玩。杰克闷闷不乐地回到他们住的地方，不知道是什么原因，他拿起铅笔和画纸，细致地画出了那个机动游戏，一幅充满渴望的画，表达了一份受挫的热爱。一份写给机动游戏的情。最后，他发现这幅画太棒了，而且这过程很有趣。仿佛时间和整个世界都消失了。完成后，他看着画，为自己的手工作品感到自豪。他觉得这幅画平铺在那里好像还差点什么，他想到这个机动游戏还有左、右、后三个面，因此他把那三个面都画出来了。他画完后，把这些画都放在桌子上，四张画了画的纸。突然，他有一个想法，既兴奋又激动:这个机动游戏不应该平铺在桌子上，应该竖立起来，应该是立体的，于是他拿来剪刀和胶带。 喜悦不必是大而重要的，也不需要有荣誉的光环才显得有意义。喜悦关乎的不仅是得到的奖赏。 不管杰克将来是成为艺术家、建师、工程师，还是从事其他与模型建造爱好相关的职业，都不重要。他已经知道什么是热情，如何专注，怎样在生活中留出空间做自己喜欢和相信的事。他还练就了一套本领。杰克通过为自己选择、为自己而做，获得了自信心，实现了自我价值。这是多么美好的事，我希望这一切可以伴随杰克一生。 文档资料:老师读懂了学生 完整下载 完整阅读 全文下载 全文阅读 免费阅读及下载 感谢你的阅读和下载 *资源、信息来源于网络。本文若侵犯了您的权益，请留言或者发站内信息。我将尽快删除。*