These days, it seems like the only qualification someone needs to opine on what’s best for our nation’s schools is their own dimly remembered time as a student. Combine that with volatile, emotionally charged topics like politics and religion, and suddenly, everyone’s an expert and no one will listen to anyone else.
Well, listen up, smartasses: I’m a teacher. I’m in front of kids every single day. And if I can’t hang the Ten Commandments in my classroom, then how the hell am I supposed to get my students to stop coveting their neighbor’s wife?
Being an educator has always been tough; in today’s environment, it’s nearly impossible. So, when red-state governors proposed mandating that a poster displaying the Ten Commandments be hung in every classroom, I let out a huge sigh of relief. Finally, someone who gets it. Someone who gets that, yes, smartphones are a problem, artificial intelligence is concerning, the growing politicization of curriculum is alarming, and pandemic-related learning loss still presents challenges. But the biggest issue in K-12 education today, bar none, is our students’ constant, invasive daydreams about a new life with their neighbor Brian’s underappreciated wife, Denise.
Go ahead. Walk a mile in my shoes. Enter my classroom, with my students, and try to teach my lesson about the rise of prairie populism in the late nineteenth century. Floor is all yours. The second you utter the name “William Jennings Bryan,” you’ve lost the class. “He doesn’t treat Denise right,” mutters one student. “She’s an angel,” says another. Still others simply gaze listlessly out the window, sketching themselves and Denise in a two-seat convertible, zooming down the open highway.
Um, sounds like we’re thinking about a different “Brian,” guys.
And look: This isn’t a religious thing. Separation of church and state? No one’s a stauncher advocate than I am. In fact, like most of America’s teachers, I am a godless communist (well, I try to be—it can be tough to make all of the meetings). But the real world has a funny way of challenging ideology, and frankly, I can’t think of a text more relevant to today’s classrooms than the Ten Commandments.
Oh, you got them to stop coveting Denise for a couple of seconds (good luck with that) and think you’ve got the classroom running smoothly? Try and take a beat to review your lesson plan or—god forbid, have a sip of your coffee—and the moment you look up, the students are smelting a golden idol to Mr. Roberts, the physical education teacher. Is Mr. Roberts in great shape? Sure. Is he—when you think about it—probably the most logical person in the school community to make a false idol of and worship as a god? No question. But as I tell my students constantly, it’s about context, and every second spent lovingly sculpting Mr. Roberts’s biceps or sharpening the line of his jaw is a second we don’t get to spend on civil service reform under the Chester A. Arthur administration.
But maybe this isn’t actually about the kids. Maybe our nation’s classrooms are just another political football you’re using to try to score points. That’s fine. That’s the way these things go. But don’t pretend you actually care about our nation’s children, or our nation’s children’s neighbors’ wives.
