Fish Out of Water
Or ‘a change is as good as a rest’. Or ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’. Opt for your preferred idiom as appropriate.
This week I’ve been thinking about learning environments.
It started when I listened to a podcast about seating arrangements. Which I had high hopes for but which was, in the end, rubbish. I had imagined innovative ideas for chair groupings that promote supportive and meaningful discussions and which cleverly, yet subtly, encourage all group-members to participate while simultaneously removing all barriers to communication, such as teachers and tables. Or brilliantly insightful yet effortless means of grouping students in new pair or team combinations which appear random but are in fact artfully contrived and yet the formation of which doesn’t require a degree in logic and probability.
No such luck.
Said podcast was in reality an unfortunate and unnecessary account of why it’s a good idea not to allow your entire class to sit on the back row if that puts them out of aural and vocal range of communication with the teacher. Or how strict to be if students are late. Which isn’t even about seating arrangements, but which I couldn’t even muster the wherewithal to note at the time.
Luckily for me, and you too, I suppose, if you’re still reading, an infinitely more interesting encounter with learning environments presented itself a few days later.
I’m taking a French class at the moment, and one night I joined a few of my fellow-learners for a post-lesson pint in the pub. Where I witnessed one guy’s behaviour in an entirely new light. I’d previously thought he was a bit of a standoffish know-it-all; he liked to loudly contribute his ideas and answers in class wherever possible, and enjoyed hilariously joshing around and translating phrases like ‘midnight at the oasis’ into French at any given opportunity purely for his own amusement.
Not really my favourite sort of person, I had thought. And yet…
In a different environment (in this case, the Wetherspoon’s round the corner from the language school), however, Ben seemed a completely different character. Outside the classroom and plunged into a situation with different rules and social codes, he revealed himself to be in fact quite shy, not nervously relying on loud translation humour to overshadow his own awkwardness, and willing to have much more interesting and genuine conversations (still, notably, in French).
The change of scenery encouraged Ben to relax, sure, but I think the difference was also in me; in new surroundings, without the distractions of classroom routines and activities, I noticed him differently, which allowed me to perceive theretofore unidentified elements of his character, and understand and like him more.
As a teacher, I think there is great validity in giving learners the opportunity to experience alternative environments, for how their engagement with learning and language is invigorated and refreshed, as well as for how they can newly relate to one another and the teacher. Changing the environment can energise an individual lesson or activity, but has much bigger scope for learning; it can highlight aspects of individual personalities or relationships that can sometimes be lost in the classroom.
Once in a while, I think the time-consuming upheaval of packing up and shipping out for the afternoon, fraught as it can be with risk assessments, emergency contact numbers or fraternising with public transport, is worth its weight in gold.
And, with that final idiom, here endeth the lesson.
