By Patrick T. Gallagher, Head of School
Early in my career, I had a student named Julián. He was born and raised in Latin America, and English was his second language. The course in English literature in which I taught him featured many classic poems, plays, and novels – material challenging even for those who had grown up speaking English only. Understandably, Julián struggled.
These were the days before just about everyone had a smartphone. Our students and teachers, however, were all fortunate enough to have laptops issued by the school. Faculty Room chatter often contended the devices might well be more trouble than they were worth: “All the kids do with them is instant message each other!” they complained.
For a time, AOL Instant Messenger (AIM) dominated real-time electronic communication. For us teachers at the time, it seemed a bit like passing handwritten notes in class, as many of us had done as students. (We could scarcely imagine that, one day in the not-too-distant future, handheld technology would enable real-time communications numbering trillions of texts a year.)
One day, I asked Julián to come see me during a shared free period. We both opened up our computers. Sitting across from one another, we started a conversation without speaking to one another. We communicated only through AIM – and Julián communicated like never before, probably sharing more in five minutes than he had in five weeks.
In time, we would meet again and would, intermittently, step back from our computers. As I noticed patterns in Julián’s use of the language, I would explain points of grammar, mechanics, and punctuation. Of course, I had done so before – sometimes writing on students’ submissions more than they had written themselves – but it was this approach, this technology, that finally represented the breakthrough for Julián. In the months that followed I marveled at his progress; the quantity and quality of his communication skyrocketed.
I do not wish to overstate the significance of this story, especially since much of the craft of teaching reading and writing remains more or less the same. Nevertheless, embracing the new is not always easy for teachers; nostalgia is a powerful force. Many first became teachers because of the impact of our own teachers on us, and – consciously and unconsciously – the appeal of the classrooms, studios, and labs we once frequented cannot but influence our own. Photocopiers were already ubiquitous when I started teaching, for example, yet I cannot tell you how many of my then-colleagues yearned for the pale purple and chemical smell of their old mimeograph machines.
In many ways, US savors tradition and relies on practices refined over generations. Our curriculum remains rooted in the liberal arts tradition. Our teachers share their expertise with passion and conviction. Yet the intellectual life of the School is anything but rigid or stale. The work of our faculty lays the foundation for students’ deep understanding, at US and beyond, as our work always faces forward.
In recent years, it has become commonplace to question schools’ methods. “Education will need to adapt to the changing needs of the future workforce,” as policy analyst and educator Alec Ross – among many others – asserts. So what are we doing to prepare students for careers that do not exist yet? For starters, we remain committed to the immersive, rigorous, and dynamic experience that has always been the hallmark of a US education. As I travel the country and talk with alumni, and as they revisit their mentors at Shaker and Hunting Valley, I know a great many US alumni are currently at work in careers that did not exist when they were students. Their critical thinking and their innovation – indeed their success – were encouraged and cultivated right here at US.
We strive to build capacities well beyond a given day or particular assignment. “People who have sought to teach critical thinking have assumed that it is a skill, like riding a bicycle, and that, like other skills, once you learn it, you can apply it in any situation,” writes psychologist Daniel T. Willingham. “Research from cognitive science shows that thinking is not that sort of skill. The processes of thinking are intertwined with the content of thought,” he adds, with “domain knowledge.” In other words, a boy cannot expect to engage in critical thinking without first knowing what he is talking about.
US has long challenged preconceptions. Leaning into change is one such way, and one our school stakeholders continue to exemplify today. I think of Julián when I reflect on the innovations large and small required of us as educators. Some colleagues at the time would have sooner banned laptops altogether than attempt to make constructive use of them themselves. Importantly, the lessons for Julián were the very same as those for his classmates, my students the prior year, even for my own peers and me decades before. The lesson for me was that I might need to learn something new in order to meet him where he was and help take him as far as he could go. Indeed, we are most effective when we work with, not against, technological innovations, and the US community is most fortunate to have such adaptive, resourceful, and committed educators working with and for our students every day.