The Queen was in the parlour
Eating bread and honey.
The King was in the Counting House
Counting out his money.
As a consultant, I often recounted this story when in the company of Ontario teachers who were panicked by the number of Expectations (outcomes, standards, what you will) they had to address. The panic is different in the elementary and secondary panels, but equally formidable. The elementary teacher is obliged to address dozens and dozens of Expectations from different subjects; the secondary teacher may address three complete sets of Expectations in different courses, and for over a hundred students in each semester of the year.
My story was about a time when I took some senior high school students to a “conference” at the University of Guelph. The conference was a marketing tool. Students could chose to attend workshops or demonstrations in a subject they might study should they choose to go to Guelph.
I thought, heck, I’m not going to listen to some English prof, so I headed to a Physics demonstration on the electron microscope. The fellow there had a stack of large photographic images in front of him, taken by the microscope. The top photograph in the pile, he pointed out, was an image of a small blemish on his arm. But when we looked at it, he drew our attention, not to the blemish, but to the space surrounding it, and to another “spot” in that space.
He carefully set that top image aside, and showed us the second photo which enlarged, and focused on the new “spot,” but again, after pointing it out, he moved our attention to the surrounding areas, and to another tiny spot. Naturally, the next image (#3) was of that spot, further enlarged and with larger spaces surrounding it and, of course, a new spot for our attention. On to image 4….and so on, and so on, and so on for several images that followed.
This raised, for me, an epiphany, and I asked a question something like this: “So what you’re saying is that, depending only on what visual aids we can devise, I could look further and further into my surface and discover there almost an infinity of space?” Yup, he replied.
Needless to say I was struck, like Hamlet, by an understanding that stops action dead in its tracks – which is just about how teachers have felt about the new standards curriculum.
Only, gazing at the standards curriculum is knowledge of a different sort. It’s sort of like someone put on a pair of goofy analytical glasses that made them think they could see infinitely into the structure of learning about language, literature, culture and self, and the wonky glasses engendered a gleeful curricular madness that got set to paper and has become the new “vision” of English. And now we are panicked, gazing at it all. But our inertia is not like the intelligence that paralyzed Hamlet. Our paralysis is more like what we feel when we meet a Polonius: “My God, the man can’t be serious!”
Some time ago, John Steinbeck wrote his take on the Arthurian Legend. In it, Sir Kay was the knight who stayed home to count the equipment and monies available for quest. The rest of the knights and ladies went out on quest, and are remembered for the adventures Sir Kay missed.
So much for the bean counters, and the curriculum model that envisons countless things to do.