On the first day of class I have my Biology students put their name on a 3x5 card. I ask them to write two questions on the card, with just two criteria that the questions have to meet. "There are just two requirements for these questions class," I explain. Still, it doesn't matter how much emphasis I put on this point. So; over the years it's become a bit of a game. "There are two, and only two, conditions that your question has to meet. Two." I write the two conditions on the board.
1. Ask questions that you sincerely, genuinely, care about.
2. Ask questions that you would not be embarressed to have read
in class.
That's it. Ask away.
In the classroom I thought I was going to teach in, back while I was still in college, twenty-four children would promptly put pencil to paper and pose the puzzles that've perplexed them perpetually.
Doesn't happen. Not even close. Maybe three kids start writing. Six hands shoot into the air. Another six kids blurt out questions. "Does it have to be a science question?" "Do we have to know the answer to the question?" "Is this class going to be hard?" "Could our Sun become a black hole?"
Early in my career, this interruption to the plan would frustrate me. Now, I anticipate it. It is part of the lesson. It is what I call the Star Trek Principle and I've written about it in another post.
I remind them that I've asked them to write their questions on the 3x5 card. I draw their attention to the two conditions that their questions must meet. Any question that meets both criteria is acceptable. "No; it doesn't have to be a science question. No; you do not have to know the answer. "
"Is it OK if we know the answer?"
"TWO CONDITIONS!" "Read the board. Again!"
At this point I may have to remind myself of the Star Trek Principle.
Many are now on task. Some are finished and anxious to share their work. Some are stumped. Paralyzed by the open-ended nature of the simple assignment. As necessary I'll offer an example.
"Here is a question that I really, really care about," I pose. "Will I live to be an old man?" This kind of question, and this question in particular, stirs even the most incurious. With no appreciation of the softball they've just been tossed, teenagers jump to be the first to respond. "That question's already been answered, Mr. Frazee!" "Just look in a mirror, Mr. Frazee!" So clever. But; it's the first day of school, and everyone is still pretty good natured. Harmless fun.
I collect their questions and read most of them, depending on the time we have. I'm not critical of any of them but some stand out. Everyone recognizes a certain kind of question. Whoa. Good Question, we intuitively respond. We classify them according to the kinds of questions that we think science could help us answer and those outside of the realm of science.
We identify vague questions; "what happens to me after I die?" Whoa. Good Question, but unclear. Do you mean, "what happens to the organic molecules that make up the tissues of my organ systems?" Or; does the me you refer to mean your metaphysical soul? These are important questions, asked by countless inquisitors across millennia. My classroom addresses the realm of science. Science cannot answer all the questions that are important to us, but it has its part.
I use this activity to help students appreciate the fact that they arrive in my classroom with questions that are important to them. We may or may not be able to address those wide ranging questions within the context of my classroom. We can learn the skills and strategies that have enabled scientists to make meaningful progress.
1. Ask questions that you sincerely, genuinely, care about.
2. Ask questions that you would not be embarressed to have read
in class.
That's it. Ask away.
In the classroom I thought I was going to teach in, back while I was still in college, twenty-four children would promptly put pencil to paper and pose the puzzles that've perplexed them perpetually.
Doesn't happen. Not even close. Maybe three kids start writing. Six hands shoot into the air. Another six kids blurt out questions. "Does it have to be a science question?" "Do we have to know the answer to the question?" "Is this class going to be hard?" "Could our Sun become a black hole?"
Early in my career, this interruption to the plan would frustrate me. Now, I anticipate it. It is part of the lesson. It is what I call the Star Trek Principle and I've written about it in another post.
I remind them that I've asked them to write their questions on the 3x5 card. I draw their attention to the two conditions that their questions must meet. Any question that meets both criteria is acceptable. "No; it doesn't have to be a science question. No; you do not have to know the answer. "
"Is it OK if we know the answer?"
"TWO CONDITIONS!" "Read the board. Again!"
At this point I may have to remind myself of the Star Trek Principle.
Many are now on task. Some are finished and anxious to share their work. Some are stumped. Paralyzed by the open-ended nature of the simple assignment. As necessary I'll offer an example.
"Here is a question that I really, really care about," I pose. "Will I live to be an old man?" This kind of question, and this question in particular, stirs even the most incurious. With no appreciation of the softball they've just been tossed, teenagers jump to be the first to respond. "That question's already been answered, Mr. Frazee!" "Just look in a mirror, Mr. Frazee!" So clever. But; it's the first day of school, and everyone is still pretty good natured. Harmless fun.
I collect their questions and read most of them, depending on the time we have. I'm not critical of any of them but some stand out. Everyone recognizes a certain kind of question. Whoa. Good Question, we intuitively respond. We classify them according to the kinds of questions that we think science could help us answer and those outside of the realm of science.
We identify vague questions; "what happens to me after I die?" Whoa. Good Question, but unclear. Do you mean, "what happens to the organic molecules that make up the tissues of my organ systems?" Or; does the me you refer to mean your metaphysical soul? These are important questions, asked by countless inquisitors across millennia. My classroom addresses the realm of science. Science cannot answer all the questions that are important to us, but it has its part.
I use this activity to help students appreciate the fact that they arrive in my classroom with questions that are important to them. We may or may not be able to address those wide ranging questions within the context of my classroom. We can learn the skills and strategies that have enabled scientists to make meaningful progress.