Have you ever had that moment when you are direct instructing and the learner seems disconnected from what you are trying to communicate?

If you have had moments like this, most likely you pause to reflect on what the barrier is. You may ask yourself “Do I need to review their background knowledge and search for gaps?” “Do I need to adapt my approach for a different learning style?” “Do I need to change the language that I am using?”

Usually when we go through this process, we are relating it to our own experiences of learning - “What would I need to understand this concept?” “What do I need when the material is moving too fast?” This is great when we can relate our learning processes to our students, but how often do we assume we have this commonality?

The more I teach students who are educated in different systems and countries, I become more intrigued by the neurological process of learning. I often wonder how the experiences in one’s culture or education system shapes the rooms and pathways in our minds. How their experiences shape the way they organize information and categorize problems then approach their solutions.

Our society is becoming increasingly visual and digital. This has undoubtedly affected the way our students learn and their brains react to their environment. But what about the way the synapses connect in the minds of students who come from different educational and cultural backgrounds. What background knowledge do we assume they have? What metaphors do we assume are synonymous with all learning, but are simply a result of the education and society we participate in? For example, I often relate my learning to a computer filing system where files are linked by outcome, content and experience tags.

Here is one example of learning difference between cultures. A few years ago I was volunteer teaching in a Nepal in a grade 3 English class. I had observed the teacher for a few classes and noticed that much of the teaching was straight from the text book provided to the students and was based on rote memory strategies. This was not my style of teaching, so I thought I would try it my way the next day to see what would happen. The lesson was on synonyms, so I decided to take the information from the textbook and reorganized the main information into a mind web for the visual learners. None of the students seemed to understand what I was doing, even the teacher looked confused. This is when it became apparent to me that even presumed simple learning strategies are not innate. These students were used to rote memory, copy and repetition methods, and this visual strategy needed more introduction to be effective. Or perhaps these methods were not as effective for these students because that already had acquired learning strategies, which I then needed to regard as their ‘type of learner’.

In primary school, students are learn how to learn. Some of us may assume that students in our classes who have immigrated from different countries have learned to learn in the same way as students born in the country. So next time, instead of asking questions such as “What would I need to understand this concept?” “What do I need when the material is moving too fast?”, I contemplate the type of system that student may have come from before asking, “What would this student need to understand this concept?” “What does this students need when the material is moving too fast?”

A simple paradigm shift, but a worthwhile one at that.

I saw true beauty of humanity in a classroom today that brought tears to my eyes.  

Curry, colours and kindness. These are the first things I notice when I arrive at the Seniors’ Center for the English Conversation class. The smell of curry lingering in the air. The bright warm colours of saris, skirts and hats. The kindness in the eyes of the aged Bhutanese and Nepalese eager to learn and speak a few words of English with trusted teachers. All of it is beautiful.

Those of you who are familiar with the Lethbridge area will know that many of these people lived for many years in refugee camps, with little or no education. The students greet us with laughter and clapping of hands. I can see their pure joy and happiness to be among one another. The students giggle when the teachers point out that all of their names start with J. Some students who understand laugh in amusement. Others follow suit even if they are unaware of the joke at hand. The students stammer through sentences such as “My name is ___” or “I have a ___”, but each one comes to the front of the class with a smile and a confidence to state their words. All of it is beautiful.

These students are referred to as babies, as their language skills are very basic. Many still rely on repetition and mimicry of body language to reciprocate in communication. One tiny old man sits in the seat next to me. It takes me a few minutes to realize that his hand motions are not a game of charades, but sign language. When it is his turn to say his sentence - “I have a whale” - (seeing as the toy he holds in his hand is just that), he is able to sign his sentence with guidance from the teacher. All of it is beautiful.

These students are not here to advance their careers or because someone is making them. They do not need to learn English, they have supports and translators that help them navigate through daily life. So why are many of them there, especially in the winters of their lives? They are there purely to learn and to embrace the relationships around them. This is education at its best. Education that is not motivated by the desire for success and that is chosen by the student. Even though many of them have struggled and lived though many hardships, they choose to learn a few words with so much happiness everyone in the room could feel their warmth. All of it is beautiful.

Language is such a beautiful, delicate gift once you realize the complexity of it all and what the world would be like without it. The way it defines our relationships, identity and every minutes of our lives. What a gift it is that I am writing this blog to share a personal experience.

In my adolescence, I was an avid painter. Many, including myself, thought I would pursue art as a career. I must admit now, I have a room dedicated to art but the brushes and tubes collect dust. When some people have asked if I paint anymore, they looked disappointed when I reply no. One person said “That is too bad. That is like putting diamonds in a cupboard”. Flattered as I am at the compliment, I disagree because it led me to something even greater.

I believe painting used to give me a way to see the beauty that exists around us. In a world where one can be easily drawn into the sadness and hardships present in today’s world, it is at time necessary to intentionally seek for the good and beauty that exists. The beauty I used to seek through images and colours, I now find in teaching. I see the beauty in helping raise a generation that cares for one another. I see the beauty of helping students of all kinds fight through their struggles. I do not need painting as my window to the greatness and beauty the world holds, I find it in my classroom every day. That is where true beauty can be found.
 
Jessica Marcotte
@jmarcotte85