I just returned from a wonderful vacation to Utah and Colorado, spending several days viewing incredible geological structures in Arches National Park, The Canyonlands National Park, Colorado Monument State Park, and Garden of the Gods. Although I’d seen two of these areas before, I just can’t get enough of their awesome beauty. Whether spiraling upward or diving into the cavernous landscape, these formations inspire me to great depths of appreciation of God’s artistry. (And as a side note, for those of you who see them as scientific formations from the evolving formation of Earth, I’m good with that, too.)
Another treat for me during these excursions is that I frequently see things in the rock. For example, there’s a formation in Arches that looks like the Magi, and I definitely see the two camels kissing at the Garden of the Gods. Other times, however, I simply see blobs of rock, which, on this trip, reminded me of the many clay formations I created during my elementary school days. You see, while other more talented classmates molded clay into recognizable animals, the best I could muster were snakes, worms, and, what I would deem to be very cool blobs. Unfortunately, my teachers weren’t as impressed, resulting in my less-than-stellar art grades. Yet, what many of us pay to see in our national parks do, indeed, mirror my long-ago creations. As a result, after what I saw the last few weeks, I’d like to officially call for a re-evaluation of my student artwork. Although I may not have created anything as inspirational as what took millions of years to form in Utah, I think I at least deserve a little more credit here!
Granted, there are many skills across the subject areas that fall on common agreed-upon standards. Most words are spelled correctly or not. Writing complete sentences is necessary to clear comprehension, unless there’s a stylistic reason for using fragments and run-ons. But the qualities of stylistic writing are frequently in the eye of the beholder. Many storylines rely on dramatic structure, but determining exactly where the climax of the storyline falls could be up to interpretation, not to mention the overall quality of the piece of literature, in general. I am not a Harry Potter fan, but, to me, it’s still high quality literature. The Twilight Series? Not even in the ballpark! But does that mean because I have an English teacher’s license that I have the right to put that “trash” stamp on the novel for everyone else? Is it based on my definition of effective style that I can evaluate what should appeal to my student readers and writers? Could I have received a higher art grade had my teacher looked at my clay blobs and thought, Wow! Those are really cool!
Putting my long-lived opinion of wishing we could throw grades out the window altogether, at the very least it’s not only fair but it’s necessary to put our own personal opinions on the doorsteps of our classrooms when it comes to areas of style, quality, effectiveness, and personal preference of some of the skills we teach. Instead, we need to encourage students to formulate their own preferences as they enter and continue their own reading and writing journeys. That’s not to say that we don’t share general opinions—or our own—but we do so in a way that validates the students in our classrooms as they come to terms with who they are as readers and writers. Approaching the instruction of our skill base this way may be our only opportunity to ensure that students value their language arts experiences so they will want to continue reading and writing on their own time outside the classroom. After all, isn’t that one of our ultimate goals?
