Two Hands Clapping

Lisa Cochran  and I taught our 36 honors freshmen the blindfold game on the first day of the new semester. We split the class in half: ‘teachers’ and ‘students.’ The ‘teachers’ have to get the ‘students’ to do something -- say, get into a circle and recite the alphabet. The trick is, the ‘students’ are blindfolded, and the ‘teachers’ aren’t allowed to talk.
     Smart kids, like the ones in this class, quickly figure out that the ‘students’ have to drive the process by asking yes-or-no questions that the ‘teachers’ can answer with a simple signal, like one clap for yes, two for no. They also realize, after a little practice, that yes and no aren’t sufficient. You need a third signal: say, three claps for ‘ask that question again a different way.’
     We often build a classroom contract around the rules the participants discover. For example, if more than one ‘student’ asks a question at the same time, or more than one ‘teacher’ tries to answer it, the signals are incomprehensible. Thus they learn that only one person can talk at a time. More importantly, they realize that, as in the game, learning in the classroom depends on students asking questions.
     Then, after two days of practice, we tried it on a real assignment. We passed out a copy of ‘Ithaka,’ a poem by a Greek named Cavafy. We chose it not only because we’re reading The Odyssey, but because it embodies the lessons we want to teach: Don’t rush through your journey; see and experience all that you can; realize that any monsters you encounter may exist only in your imagination; and value the journey itself more than what’s at the end of it.
     Lisa and I sat down and shut up.
     At first, nothing happened. The kids chatted, waiting for us to start the lesson. So we stood up. They instantly quieted down. There was an uncomfortable minute of silence. Then someone noticed that each of their poems was numbered from one to eight. Did they want us to split up into eight groups? One clap.
     Dutifully, they found their groups. When one formed up near me, I turned and looked at them. One of them said, ‘Do you want us to read this out loud?’ One clap.
     They started reading, and instantly, all the others started reading it out loud. When the first group finished, they looked at me. ‘Is that what you wanted?’ one asked. Three claps.
     Did we want them to read it by alternate lines? Alternating groups? One word per person? Three claps each time. It was frustrating. Lisa came over to me and whispered, ‘I think we should leave.’
     So we walked out of the room. There were startled cries, and a few kids stared at us out the window of the door we left by. We went back to the English office and spent an anxious five minutes -- we felt like we were shirking. Then we went back.
     ’They’re back,’ one student shouted, and we were besieged with new questions, all of which began with ‘Do you want us to...?’ Then Lisa heard one boy saying to his group, ‘Some of us could be narrators, and some could be the travelers, and some could be the monsters.’
     She pointed at him. The kids shifted their attention away from us -- the critical moment -- and we slipped out for another five minutes.
     When we came back, they were acting out the poem. We sat down and watched. When they finished, one of them asked, ‘Are we done?’ Two claps. Groans. We left.
     The last time we came back planning to take charge and debrief. But when we got there, they were deep in a discussion of the the poem, connecting it to their summer reading. And then, hesitantly, one girl said, ‘You know, it also connects to what’s happening here in class today. Maybe they want us to learn something by ourselves, instead of always waiting for them to tell us what to do.’
     We stood on our chairs and applauded.