Can I come up with something so compelling that my students are powerless against its curiousness?
Like some sort of pedagogical epistemologist, can I distill down the essence of inquiry to a single statement?
Can I teach calculus by saying one thing, on the very first day, that forces my students to derive the rest with only mild shepherding?
Here are my candidates:
How many humans have there been, total?
How do ants work?
I read a lot about how to teach math. I worry a lot about how the narrative will go. I make sure each lesson is connected, and that students have the chance to come up with at least the impetus for new skills before I lay down the soul-crushing blow dealt by dry-erase-marker-cum-Thor’s-hammer that is “Notes: Chapter 2.3 – The Product Rule.”
Can a course be motivated by one, beautiful question? Will it grow and send chutes into the unploughed earth rendering it mathematically fruitful?
Hello! I teach physics, calculus, object-oriented programming, and gastronomy at a rural Iowa high school.
I write for Edutopia, which is as close to George Lucas as the restraining order will let me get.
I love curing bacon, the Oxford comma, and getting students into the narrative arc of a lesson. I hate traditional grading, non-sparkling water, and being boring. [Warning, my proof reader is paid a teacher's salary]
I feel a little silly putting this here, but I've been asked about reproducing this blog's material more than once, so here's the copyright info: United States fair usage applies. An email would be nice for anything using more than a few paragraphs.