Teaching evolution

“Tight!” a student said when he saw the big “A” at the top of his report card.

“What?”

“Tight. You know, like good, bad, cool or hot.”

I remember when those words stood as paired opposites, not as a list of affirmatives. Guess they evolved.

Since I’m not a science teacher, I was fairly confident that I would never have to teach the theory of evolution. Though it’s been a hot topic in the public school system for several years, it only recently made an appearance in my classroom. And I must admit, I believe the problem all along has been one of placement. Evolution does not belong in science classes – it is clearly a topic for language arts.

Language has consistently evolved over the centuries, particularly the English language. Recent mutations have reformed once fossilized terms such as mouse, virus and web. When “log” attached itself to “web” a new subspecies emerged: Blog. Generational usage accelerates the process even more, morphing words like far out, rad or right-on into the bomb, sick or fat. Even tight.

Unfortunately, some words have evolved into totally unacceptable expressions and if they slip from a teacher’s unsuspecting lips, they are likely to inspire complete chaos during an otherwise orderly lesson.

Side-glances shoot across the classroom like heat-seeking missiles, exploding contorted targets with uncontrollable giggling. Children wait attentively for teachers to stumble into some sort of faux pas (though they wouldn’t know that phrase if it fell on their paper). They live to tumble out of their seats with laughter, and the more severe the teacher’s facial expression, the funnier the situation is, of course.

Three such words lie innocently in English explanations of ancient peoples who like their descendants played kick ball, gathered fruit and nuts or used hoes for digging furrows. Our culture, or at least a subculture of our society, has so perverted the language with innuendo and double meaning, that history classes can present minefield-like challenges. (I’ll bet you know exactly which three words I’m talking about.)

Whether teaching language arts or history, I try to avoid those verbal landmines.
“Shut up” is another phrase best left out of the mix. Aside from being unprofessional and discourteous, it is something I suspect most kids hear a lot at home. And it doesn’t make sense, anyway. Shouldn’t we say shut down, not up? You turn the volume down on your iPod when you want less, not up. Maybe if I said, “Shut down,” they would know I mean, “Stop talking.”

But even that is a weak form of communication. Telling kids to stop talking is like telling someone to go on a diet – it’s an inactive command, like, “stop smoking” or “stop laughing.” It’s nearly impossible to accomplish because to do so, one does nothing. It’s much easier to complete a task that involves an action.

“Put your pencil down, and look at me.” Translation: Be quiet.

“Exercise, take a walk, chew gum, crochet, knit, breathe deeply.” Translation: Don’t overeat.

However, justice is not lacking in the clamoring classroom. One of my favorite etymologically evolved terms segues quite nicely between whine and response, and students instinctively know what it means without me explaining after they say, “I forgot my homework.”

And I say, “Bummer.”

Bummer is a wonderfully rubbery word that bounces responsibility right back to the complainer, leaving room for neither sympathy nor blame.

It insinuates, “That’s too bad, but it’s not my responsibility. You will have to accept the consequences of your choice.”

In other words, the buck stops there. Just as it does when one caffeine junkie petitions another with, “Bring me a buck.” We all know that doesn’t mean a male deer, antelope or a dollar.
Language is based on experience.

So evolution has bounced through my classroom door and out again, along with the backpacks and book bags of students set on change. And as surely as language will continue to evolve with the next phonetic fad, so will the next few weeks – from test-filled, pencil packed, schedule-squeezed hours into relaxed, swimming-hole summers of sun.

So much for Homo sapiens.