A Process Open to Possibilities
“I finally learned to make stuffing as good as yours!” my mom exclaimed during a recent phone conversation.
I had to laugh. What she referred to as “my stuffing” is in fact the stuffing she taught me to make. Her comment evoked memories of standing at the kitchen island as a teenager, chopping celery, green bell peppers, and green onions alongside my mom. I remember dumping bread cubes into the tray and mixing the vegetables in by hand. From the years of catering to her vegetarian daughters, my mom had modified the traditional recipe by replacing chicken or turkey stock with a mixture of boiling water and butter to soak the bread before popping it in the oven.
I have completely taken over the stuffing preparation for holiday meals. So much so, that my mother now identifies it as my recipe. At first I wondered what could possibly have caused her to think my stuffing is different from hers. Then, I start to identified choices I have made over the years to make the recipe my own.
I insist on using bread cubes from the bakery section of the fancy grocery store. I start early, so I can slowly chop the celery, peppers, and onions into tiny pieces. I choose how much bread to add based on the amount of green vegetables I chop, so the ratio is just right. Starting with the bread and adding in the vegetables never works out well. My mixture of boiling water and butter is almost entirely butter. I set a timer to remind me when to remove the foil cover and crank up the heat to crisp the top. I can almost smell the warm freshness of veggies and toasty bread soaked in butter.
It seems my mom is an expert teacher. She modeled so that I understood each part of the process well enough to make moves of my own. She was happy to hand over control, rather than hovering over my shoulder. She was available when I had questions. (I still call her every year to ask what temperature to heat the oven.) She gave me the opportunity to make something that mattered to me. My mom not only taught me how to make stuffing, but also helped me take ownership of the family recipe.
How do I encourage students to take ownership in the classroom? Isn’t this the ultimate goal? Thinking about my mom’s exclamation causes me to reflect on the possibilities for my students. For students to take ownership, they do not need a precise recipe. Rather, students need a process that is open to possibilities. Students need room to make their own choices. Students need a teacher who will hand over control, but remain available to answer questions. And perhaps most importantly, students need opportunities to create what matters to them.
As I head back into the classroom this January to continue writing with my sixth graders, I am carrying with me the desire to give students the ownership my mom gave me. Then one day, maybe, I will write a piece as good as theirs.
Christy Rush-Levine
Featured Contributor, Choice Literacy
No comments:
Post a Comment