Lines and Circles
Where do you draw the line? Who is included in your circle?
No math, I promise. All lines and circles in this essay are metaphorical rather than Euclidean.
A buddy of mine was talking about how he can no longer memorize like he used to. He’s not sure where the line was between, “I can learn to recite an entire short story in three days” and “if I need more than three items from the grocery store I have to write down the fourth one.” In high school he absorbed the entirety of Edgar Allen Poe’s The Telltale Heart, all 2093 words, performed it in dramatic competitions. Fifty years later he has forgotten every syllable with the possible exception of the word “heart.” On the other hand, he points out that he has no trouble remembering the names of his children although, to be fair, he admits that there are only two of them.
He also said that the supposed tradeoff for no longer being able to memorize page after page is that older folks are said to have acquired wisdom. In exchange for being diminished cognitively we are now supposed to have gained perspective and insight. He also has a creative reframing regarding getting older, slower, dumber. Rather than focusing on being less able now, he is instead reflecting on how great he was. Or in terms I can understand, it’s not sad that the finish line for a 5K is now 30 minutes away; it’s great that it used to be just 20 minutes out.
As a young teacher I consistently made distinctions between good students and bad. Shame on me. I focused my attention on the kids who picked up on the lines and circles quickly. In my heart I disparaged those kids who needed me the most. I made a linear continuum of my charges and noticed when they changed places. Robin was in tenth place on that last test but has moved up to third. What a silly line to draw, placing the abilities of my students in a row.
I should have drawn the circle bigger. I should have spent more time with the kids who were behind. I should have been more inclusive. I should have gone after the sheep who was lost.
Some educators devote their careers to working with students who need help. But some teachers have given up, relegating those outside the circle of accomplished students as being “behavior problems” or “just not caring.” As if any child would choose not to read fluently. As if any young person ever woke up in the morning and thought, “I have an idea. I’ll pretend not to know my multiplication tables so that I will be put in the Slow Group and miss recess.” No child wants to be at the end of the line, that there is always an explanation for why a child is outsider the circle of success. Judging the students, focusing only on who is at the front of the line takes time away from helping.
Isn’t it obvious that the only way one team can win is if another team loses? If we place students on a line, the only way one child can move up is if another one moves down.
Where will you teach your children to draw the circle regarding those to whom you will extend a hand, an idea, a meal? Who should be included? Some families interpret “charity begins at home” by drawing the circle around their dining room table. Everyone else is excluded. Some families will spend three days cooking for a family reunion but would call the police if someone from a family down the street asked for a slice of bread. Some families follow the dictum of the Beach Boys and are “true to [their] school” but belittle students from the high school across town. Some families extend courtesy and sympathy only to those in their city or country, drawing a line at geographical boundaries.
I taught my children to draw the biggest circle possible, to include folks from down the street and across the planet. I used an example from Peter Singer’s The Life You Can Save. Singer writes about a child drowning in a pond. You are walking by and could easily save the life of the two-year-old. But you are wearing expensive shoes that would be ruined if you go into the water. Singer argues that there is a moral obligation to save the child, even though your pricey footwear will be damaged.
Singer makes an analogy to global poverty, advocating charitable contributions. He suggests that it is a moral imperative to alleviate hunger and reduce suffering—not just in your family or community but in the largest possible circle. I suggested to my kids that donating money to save the lives of children far away was worthwhile.
In every room someone is the smartest, someone is the dumbest. Even among Nobel Prize winning scientists or brilliant doctors, not everyone can be first in line. I also envision Jesus, Moses, Mohammed, Budha, Confucius, and Joseph Smith in a room. Our religious leaders would not discuss whom to exclude, who should be left behind, who should be deported, who should be discriminated against. Rather they would be talking about how to expand the circle, how to include everyone.
We may no longer be able to memorize stories like we used to, but if we have learned anything over our lifetimes and through the generations, it is that everyone everywhere is entitled to our support. Saving a drowning child does not take bread out of the mouths of my kids.
We should teach our beloved children to help make the circle as big as possible.
