Algebra and I have always had a hate-hate relationship. So when my eighth-grade teacher called on me during class, I found my hand pushing my glasses up, inspecting the math problem on the whiteboard. My eyebrows furrowed. Why do teachers always call on me when I have no clue what the answer could be? I pretended to sneeze, my go-to move when I’m trying to gain the power of time. But alas, at some point I will have to say a random number just to get through this mental battle. I glanced around the room, eagerly trying to seek out some sort of hint of an answer, but I just found blank stares and some scattered snickers (and no, not the number one-selling chocolate bar adored by the citizens of the United States). However, one thing kept me comforted in this moment: at least I was not being recorded.
Speeches. Something I, fortunately, don’t get too squeamish about. Especially if I am performing as a character of some sort. So, when I got the chance to perform a self-written speech for a class based on a character, I went all in. But as I finished my reading, I turned to see a phone blaring at me. Nah, I thought to myself, there’s no way someone would record that speech. Right? I sat down and I saw the screen. I saw the red timer hit each second. My heart kept thumping quicker and shakier until I sunk down in my chair.
The video taken was not an embarrassing moment of mine, thankfully. But, even still, I did not give consent or permission to have it taken. It really made me reflect on my formative years in school and how there was a certain privilege I was able to grow up with. Unfortunately, it is becoming rarer and rarer within the school system – no matter private or public: the ability to exercise true and authentic education. What do I mean by that? Simple, I was able to make a mistake without the fear someone was logging the moment. I could learn without panic of being haunted by a video of a fumble I had made in a class. Because if class is not a safe place to learn and allow for a blunder, where is?
In an article by Dr. Robert A. Kenedy, Chair & Associate Professor of the Department of Sociology at York University, called “Why being wrong is good for you,” he wrote: “We don’t just learn more when we’re open to mistakes, we learn deeper. Research tells us that if we’re only concerned about getting the right answer, we don’t always learn the underlying concepts that help us truly understand whatever we’re trying to figure out. Mistakes need to be seen not as a failure to learn, but as a guide to what still needs to be learned… Mistakes can help us change deeply embedded norms. It was discovered in aviation, for example, that accidents sometimes occurred because junior pilots were afraid to correct more senior pilots when they mishandled problems; the same is true in fields such as medicine. By examining why those accidents happened, experts figured out ways to develop more flexible hierarchies, which creates better work environments overall.”
On March 27, 2024, I wrote an article that addressed my one fear, but as I write today, I find that I have a new one. This fear is not for me though. This fear is for every generation both younger and older than I. I am so extremely frightened that we have lost what it means to value another person and the mistakes they make in a learning environment. Why do we feel the need to record a moment when someone is sincerely trying to grow? Care about people and their innocent mishaps and you will uncover a flourishing society.
