"Even in heaven they don't sing all the time"
Quite frankly, Michael Mazenko’s essay, “Awaiting—still—a renaissance of wonder,” irritates me. Teachers like Mazenko, who denigrate teenagers, irk me. During my thirty-three years of teaching, I’ve heard disparaging remarks like Mazenko’s too often: young people have lost their passion, their curiosity, their skills, and their hearts
Michael Mazenko writes,
"As a high school English teacher, I start the year by reading Ferlinghetti's poem aloud. During the discussion that follows, I ask my new crop of teenagers what they wonder. I'm always met with silence — silence and faces as blank as sheets of loose-leaf paper before an essay.
"My God," I tell them, "have we killed it in you already?"
Sadly, they don't wonder. Or they wonder innocuous, mundane things like, "What's our homework?" or "Is this on the test," or shockingly, "Do we have to know this?"
I tell my students that in order to be effective readers, to be effective students, to be happy and successful adults, they need to wonder.
They don't always get it. Something has been lost in their journey through school and through life — a journey that is supposed to be about discovery."
Just because teenagers don’t behave like kindergartners doesn’t mean that school has “killed” something in them. I’m a mother of a tenth grader. I was 39 when my son was born, and I’m 55 now. When my son was three years old, I too experienced what Mazenko calls that wonderful “second childhood” when the “world was huge and fascinating.” Now that my son is 16, I am re-experiencing the world through the eyes of a teenager. The world is still huge and fascinating—but now it’s full of danger.
Since the heady days of kindergarten, my son has gained new knowledge—none of it discovered in the classroom. He now knows death—of two grandparents and an uncle. Kids at his school have died—one was accidentally shot by a friend and one died in a car accident. He has seen friends succumb to the lure of drugs and alcohol. He knows kids who have experienced trouble with the law. Many of his friends have watched their parents’ marriages fall apart. He has learned that some neighbors and cops don’t like teenagers. He has become aware of his own intellectual and physical limitations: he has dyslexia and has broken bones and needed stitches. He remembers 9/11 and the explosion of the Colombia. He has watched TV images of the devastation in Iraq and New Orleans.
If a teenager is reluctant to jut his hand up in the air when his thirty-seven-year-old teacher asks him on the first day of school, “What do you wonder?” I suspect it isn’t that school has damaged him. I suspect it’s simply that the teenager has faced the tragedies in life. A teenager’s silence and blank face don’t mean “only innocuous, mundane things” float in her head.
Mazenko revels in his child’s statement, “Daddy, I wonder if there are any worms under that moss over there.” Yesterday, I was struck dumb by my own child’s statement, “Mom, I wonder if Robbie will go to jail.” You see, two days ago, my son’s buddy killed a five-year-old whose spontaneity and enthusiasm made him forget to look for cars as he rode his bike into the street. My son’s sixteen-year-old friend couldn’t stop his SUV in time, and now must live with the horrible reality that a car—even when driven slowly and carefully—can kill.
When I look at today’s 16-year-olds, I feel none of Michael Mazenko’s despair. He states, “I worry when my students stop wondering. That lack of discovery can lead us into the drudgery of adulthood.” Teenagers haven’t stopped wondering. In fact, they wonder so profoundly and so deeply that they can’t always find the right words to express their thoughts. True, they don’t jump out of their chairs like a five year old and ask about “flowers and trucks and tea sets.” They may be reticent—and even surly—but to be silent and awed by the world’s complexity doesn’t mean our students have entered the “drudgery” of adulthood.
Mazenko asks us, “Remember how fun it was to play tag? Remember how exhilarating it was to run through the sprinkler? Remember the insane joy of rolling down a hill? Remember when you just instinctively ran after lightning bugs at dusk?” I ask, “Remember how frightening it was to be a teenager? Remember how you worried about sex, violence, death, and war?”
Teenagers know the joy of life, but they wonder about its darkness as well. As teachers, we must help prepare them for adulthood (which has been anything but drudgery for me, by the way). We do so by offering them the great ideas of the past, as well as the exciting technology of the future. We share with them all the wonders of science and math and art and poetry. We must inspire them and show them that even though danger has always been part of human life, humans don’t need to be squelched by fear.
I am reminded of words from another poem by Ferlinghetti,
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind happiness
not always being
so very much fun
if you don't mind a touch of hell
now and then
just when everything is fine
because even in heaven
they don't sing
all the time
Michael Mazenko writes,
"As a high school English teacher, I start the year by reading Ferlinghetti's poem aloud. During the discussion that follows, I ask my new crop of teenagers what they wonder. I'm always met with silence — silence and faces as blank as sheets of loose-leaf paper before an essay.
"My God," I tell them, "have we killed it in you already?"
Sadly, they don't wonder. Or they wonder innocuous, mundane things like, "What's our homework?" or "Is this on the test," or shockingly, "Do we have to know this?"
I tell my students that in order to be effective readers, to be effective students, to be happy and successful adults, they need to wonder.
They don't always get it. Something has been lost in their journey through school and through life — a journey that is supposed to be about discovery."
Just because teenagers don’t behave like kindergartners doesn’t mean that school has “killed” something in them. I’m a mother of a tenth grader. I was 39 when my son was born, and I’m 55 now. When my son was three years old, I too experienced what Mazenko calls that wonderful “second childhood” when the “world was huge and fascinating.” Now that my son is 16, I am re-experiencing the world through the eyes of a teenager. The world is still huge and fascinating—but now it’s full of danger.
Since the heady days of kindergarten, my son has gained new knowledge—none of it discovered in the classroom. He now knows death—of two grandparents and an uncle. Kids at his school have died—one was accidentally shot by a friend and one died in a car accident. He has seen friends succumb to the lure of drugs and alcohol. He knows kids who have experienced trouble with the law. Many of his friends have watched their parents’ marriages fall apart. He has learned that some neighbors and cops don’t like teenagers. He has become aware of his own intellectual and physical limitations: he has dyslexia and has broken bones and needed stitches. He remembers 9/11 and the explosion of the Colombia. He has watched TV images of the devastation in Iraq and New Orleans.
If a teenager is reluctant to jut his hand up in the air when his thirty-seven-year-old teacher asks him on the first day of school, “What do you wonder?” I suspect it isn’t that school has damaged him. I suspect it’s simply that the teenager has faced the tragedies in life. A teenager’s silence and blank face don’t mean “only innocuous, mundane things” float in her head.
Mazenko revels in his child’s statement, “Daddy, I wonder if there are any worms under that moss over there.” Yesterday, I was struck dumb by my own child’s statement, “Mom, I wonder if Robbie will go to jail.” You see, two days ago, my son’s buddy killed a five-year-old whose spontaneity and enthusiasm made him forget to look for cars as he rode his bike into the street. My son’s sixteen-year-old friend couldn’t stop his SUV in time, and now must live with the horrible reality that a car—even when driven slowly and carefully—can kill.
When I look at today’s 16-year-olds, I feel none of Michael Mazenko’s despair. He states, “I worry when my students stop wondering. That lack of discovery can lead us into the drudgery of adulthood.” Teenagers haven’t stopped wondering. In fact, they wonder so profoundly and so deeply that they can’t always find the right words to express their thoughts. True, they don’t jump out of their chairs like a five year old and ask about “flowers and trucks and tea sets.” They may be reticent—and even surly—but to be silent and awed by the world’s complexity doesn’t mean our students have entered the “drudgery” of adulthood.
Mazenko asks us, “Remember how fun it was to play tag? Remember how exhilarating it was to run through the sprinkler? Remember the insane joy of rolling down a hill? Remember when you just instinctively ran after lightning bugs at dusk?” I ask, “Remember how frightening it was to be a teenager? Remember how you worried about sex, violence, death, and war?”
Teenagers know the joy of life, but they wonder about its darkness as well. As teachers, we must help prepare them for adulthood (which has been anything but drudgery for me, by the way). We do so by offering them the great ideas of the past, as well as the exciting technology of the future. We share with them all the wonders of science and math and art and poetry. We must inspire them and show them that even though danger has always been part of human life, humans don’t need to be squelched by fear.
I am reminded of words from another poem by Ferlinghetti,
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind happiness
not always being
so very much fun
if you don't mind a touch of hell
now and then
just when everything is fine
because even in heaven
they don't sing
all the time
posted by Cheryl Makovsky at 11:42 AM
6 Comments:
Thanks for sharing another perspective on this article. When I originally read it I thought about it on one level, now I'm thinking about it more deeply.
I'm still not sure that Mazenko was being as disparaging as you think he was, I think he was expressing concern. But you certainly bring up many things for him - and us - to contemplate. Have you considered sending this to him (or submitting it to the Post)?
I think we all wonder, and I think high school teachers are constantly trying to figure out how to tap into the wonder of teenagers. Come to think of it, perhaps you might consider sharing this directly with your students as well. That might tap into that wonder just a bit . . .
As always, your writing is thought provoking - and amazing. Thanks for sharing it.
Cheryl, I love how you bring things back into reality and the bigger picture of life (at least you do for me). I think you are right on with your analysis. Sad as it is, growing up is also a loss of innocence and a time of maturing. I think this all goes back to how we teach students. going beyond the curriculum and hopefully teaching integrity, honesty, empathy and helping them cope with some of this new wonder they have come to know :)
Wonderful entry, Cheryl. I'm just beginning that journey with Niko.
I also like how you mention that many of our teenagers are often at a loss for words when trying to communicate their thoughts. Probably one of the most frustrating things for them since I believe that most of them feel deeply and experience the world with a greater sense of "emphasis" than most adults.
After reading what you had to say about Michael Mazenko’s post, I decided to check it out for myself. I have to say, what I read was a little upsetting. As a student, I know how hard it is to show passion in everything we do (like Mr. Mazenko seems to expect). Often times, we have other things on our minds, or the subject we are discussing hits a little too close to home for us. Silence does not mean a lack of passion, merely a lack of words to express it. We go though the monotonous and laborious schedule of school everyday. Most of us cannot express the love of knowledge that teachers like Mazenko want from us. We’re teenagers. We can’t even find the right words to ask a person out on a date, let alone go into a deep conversation Ferlinghetti’s poem right after school has started. Some times, we just don’t have the energy to be deep thinkers and functional speakers.
It was quiet discouraging to read what Mazenko thinks of teenagers. As you stated, “Just because teenagers don’t behave like kindergartners doesn’t mean that school has “killed” something in them.” We are interested; we just have difficulties saying so. Our “mundane” questions are often an escape from the realities of the world that we face every day. Sometimes, we need something simple in our lives. Your son is 16, and has already faced many hardships. Most of us have. Poems can bring up the oddest, and most painful memories for us. Simple phrases can make us worry. We give simple answers because thinking too hard about it might be too painful.
Perhaps I am just repeating everything you have already talked about, but to hear that a teacher has lost hope I his students saddens me. Do we always wonder aloud? No. However, it doesn’t mean we aren’t still wondering. We’re teenagers, we’re always questioning everything. We can’t always see the beauty in the world because we are starting to see the harsher side of it. You’re right; we know the joys of life, but we still see the dark side of it. Simple answers don’t mean simple minds. They mean that we are trying to make something in our lives just a little easier. At least for the class period.
-AvereeL
"If a teenager is reluctant to jut his hand up in the air when his thirty-seven-year-old teacher asks him on the first day of school, “What do you wonder?” I suspect it isn’t that school has damaged him. I suspect it’s simply that the teenager has faced the tragedies in life."
Well said. Long before it was diagnosed in this country, I had Asperger's. I'd been bullied at home, in the neighborhood, and (less often) at school. Had someone asked me, at age sixteen, what I wondered, it might have occurred to me to wonder what it would take to make me feel safe around other people.
Would I have said as much to a teacher, on the first day of class? Absolutely not. With my background, I'd have been a fool to hand an adult that kind of insight into my personality, even in private. And to be honest, at that age I was so angry and self-repressed (with good reason!) that I couldn't have articulated what I felt, even had I wanted to.
But I wasn't damaged by school. Rather, I brought an existing set of problems to a school that, it seemed to me, wanted students to live in a stunningly weird projection of adult fantasies. What teenager would think up something as bizarre as Homecoming, with an elected king and queen and court? And how did that fit with the god-awful world I lived in?
I did fine in classes with where the subjects didn't touch me emotionally, but my sophomore year English class was a real minefield. I often had strong reactions to the works we read, but the teacher was the sort who might respond to criticism of a work by disparaging a student's maturity. For someone as vulnerable to criticism as I was, it wasn't even remotely a safe learning environment.
And then late in the year, we had to audition for next year's English Lit class by writing an essay analyzing what I remember as a rather fluffy bit of nothing selected by the English Lit teacher. Sometimes, when something doesn't make sense to us, or just seems too weird, people with Asperger's balk. We're told we have to do something, we know there's a lot at stake, but we just can't do something that doesn't make sense to us. So we either don't do it, or we sabotage our own work.
I balked, big time. Fortunately for me, the English lit teacher turned out to be a very understanding sort who, unlike the Am Lit teacher, respected her students and gave them room. I'm heartened to see that there are still wise teachers like her in the classroom.
As a student and struggling youth,I see Mr. Mazenko's argument as valid. Before this year I had difficulty seeing the sadness in life but now have come to understand its cruelty.
Mr. Mazenko points out the problem in schools in which all we care about is "what's our homework?". School has become way too stressful if which every student - including myself - tries to play the college game yet lack the desire to wonder.
I have friends who will be in all AP classes next year, friends who are spending money to study over the summer, and friends who have no social life. We all need to relax and wonder.
Holden Caulfield had to learn of the cruelty in nature the inability to protect innocence in others, but he can still admire his sister as she innocently rides the carousel. Students like me can follow Mr. Mazenko's idea and just live on, admiring the world.
Students don't answer in class because they don't wonder. Students need to wonder even if they have problems because without wonder, we will become "phonies" in adulthood.
We need to wonder in life, becuse without it, we become the stressed out students eventually to become unhappy adults. Mr. Mazenko feels concern for students or else he would not have become a teacher and he would not have written the commentary piece.
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