New Metaphor: Curriculum and Mortgage Contracts

At the very beginning of this course, I approached the topic of curriculum with a great deal of hesitancy. I chose the cell phone contract as my metaphor because I saw it as something that I was still trying to make sense of and honestly, I saw it as something quite separate from myself. I bought into my cell phone contract because it was something I felt that I needed, but I didn’t have an emotional or personal connection to it. My perception of curriculum has changed a great deal, and now I see it as something that I am very much intertwined with. I no longer view it as an external document that I need to decipher, pick and choose from, or wrestle with, as if it were separate from myself. Because I’ve realized that I am part of the curriculum I deliver, I feel as though my new metaphor for curriculum would be my mortgage contract.

Again, like the last metaphor, I know it seems like an odd and negative comparison. So many people lament over their mortgages, and there are many ads and commercials that depict people celebrating the end of theirs, as if it were some prison they’ve escaped from. However, I have a very different perspective about mortgages, specifically my own, which I only signed in May of this year.

To me, my mortgage contract is an investment in myself and in the life I am building with my partner, and as such, it really is a source of pride for me. As a student for six years and then a beginning teacher for three, like so many of us, I rented a few different temporary homes over the last nine years, both by myself and then with my partner. At first, there were a couple of very scary student homes which included an absentee landlord, a bullying landlord, pink mold, difficult and highly volatile substance-abusing roommates, small confined environments, and one break-in. Owning my own apartment became a major goal that I was finally able to accomplish this year, and when I signed the papers, I didn’t feel dread; I felt elation. Virginia Woolf’s quote about needing a “room of my own” became a running joke between Mike and I, but there really was sincerity in it.

The reason why I see a connection between this contract and my curriculum is for so many reasons. To begin with, I work very hard for both and seek out help and support from many people during the process. In deciding which home to buy, Mike and I looked for months, carefully budgeted, and reached out to friends and family for advice on how to make the right decision. Our parents in particular helped us navigate the entire process, offering encouragement and reflecting on their own experiences with buying their first homes. Our real estate agent, our expert, was very patient and extraordinarily kind. More than two months after we purchased, he even called me frantically on the first day of the flood in Calgary when we were evacuated and I had to talk him out of coming to get us and taking us in. My financial advisor worked with me for a long time to get all of the papers in order, answering every one of my million questions, and at every step, people kept congratulating us on our first home. As a result, I have so many positive associations with that mortgage contract even though it is a huge, scary responsibility. However, as with curriculum, although it is ultimately my responsibility, many people and texts impact the decisions I make about how to run my classroom and design curriculum.

When I first became a teacher three years ago, many people helped me figure out how to deliver the curriculum, and I still felt like a student teacher those first few months. One ally in particular was (is) my very supportive department head that handed me all sorts of binders, textbooks, and Alberta curriculum documents that he was supposed to. I was grateful to have a starting point, but it was these mountains of scary papers outlining all the objectives (many seemingly ambiguous, as Popham might grumble about) my students were expected to be arriving at by the end of the course that admittedly made me curl up and cry in my bathtub more times than I’d care to admit to. Luckily, he also handed over his external hard drive with every lesson he had ever created and said I could ‘take anything.’ I’ve since learned that there are very few teachers willing to do this, as they see their curriculum as just that; theirs and theirs alone. He also began, I now realize, my education on what curriculum actually is, although I am just realizing it this summer.

As my mentor, and teacher in many ways, he was doing more than what Dewey calls for, by “endowing the educator with sufficient equipment [to] properly perform [my] task” but he was also helping me with my emotions, which were certainly not “tak[ing] care of themselves” (Dewey, 39). He would often come to check on me in my classroom after school and say very helpful things such as “you clearly care about the kids. They talk about you. You’re connecting with them,” “just remember that you can shut your door and teach them what they need,” and “don’t waste your time planning that- just ask them what they want to do and you can build it together.” When he would say these things, I always assumed that he was just trying to make me feel better, but now I understand that curriculum is, or should be, much more holistic and organic. I don’t need to feel guilty, as though I’m straying from a lesson if “in the very process of teaching and discussing, unexpected opportunities emerge for making a valuable point, for demonstrating and interesting idea, and for teaching a significant concept” (Eisner, 111). I am still learning to embrace a more “imaginative curriculum” that is “open-ended” (Eisner, 114), and let go of control and realize that I am not letting go of my professionalism. This is why Apple’s work also really spoke to me, especially where he writes, “professionalization has been important not only to teachers in general but to women in particular” (Apple, 175). I did think that being professional meant that I should unquestioningly accept the “longer hours and intensification of work” (Apple, 175) so that I could establish myself as a teacher in our school. I have one older male colleague who still, three years later, makes comments to me such as “you almost look old enough to work here!” or in some valley-girl voice, “do you like, totally, feel stressed?” and I’ve realized that I don’t need to become busier to combat this.

Honestly, curriculum and mortgages also certainly provide stress, but usually it is ‘good stress;’ motivating stress.  The curriculum, which I now see as ‘my’ curriculum, or ‘our’ curriculum with my students (really, depending on the day, I think. If it’s a quiz day they may argue that it is most certainly ‘my’ curriculum in that moment), needs to be carefully maintained. With my mortgage, for the first couple of payments, I frantically called the bank when I saw that no money was missing from my account. Twice they assured me that it would be taken out at midnight on the due date, and then had to explain that it would be taken out on the first Monday at midnight if the due date is on a weekend day. I was nearly in tears the first time I called, thinking that I had done something wrong and I was worried sick that I would be penalized, and really, just look irresponsible. Although it turned out to be fine, and I was doing everything right, I am still always diligent to check and make sure that everything is running smoothly, and am also making plans for some renovations to the condo so that I can continue to invest.

This ‘good stress’ also certainly applies to curriculum for me. I worry a lot about my students and if they are getting everything they need out from the curriculum and me. Since I’ve been in this program, there have been several moments where I’ve thought about how I really need to get down to work in August and lesson plan for September. However, at the same time, I know that I need to start shifting my practice so that it includes more direct input from my students, so they don’t feel like “the incarcerated adult…a prisoner” (Jackson, 121), and this really isn’t something I can plan and have in place for by September. Freire’s “Pedagogy of the Oppressed” especially struck a nerve with me, and reminded me why I wanted to become a teacher in the first place. It brought me back to my desire to facilitate really pivotal discussions with my students where they engage in critical thinking, and this can’t always be lesson planned ahead of time.

For instance, if I keep trying to plan out every minute of every lesson, I think the dialogue, as Freire claims, will be “reduced to the act of one person’s “depositing” ideas in another…a simple exchange of ideas to be “consumed” by the discussants” (Freire, 158). Rather, this September, I want to strive for dialogue as “an act of creation” where I work to help establish “a horizontal relationship of…mutual trust” (Freire, 159). I know that I’ve struggled with this in the past few years because I’ve felt the pressure to establish myself as a teacher and be taken seriously as an authority, which can be difficult when most of my students tower over me and so many parents ask me how old I am before they talk to me about their child’s progress. I need to remember to have humility, as Freire reminds me, and focus on our task of “transform[ing]…together…to liberate, and be liberated, with the people-not to win them over” (Freire, 160).

 In summary, my perspective on what curriculum has radically changed this summer. I am grateful to have new understandings in the earlier years of my career and I feel as though my new challenge is to ensure that I don’t fall back into old habits and old stresses. I’m excited to tell my students that I’m a student again, and that we are going to try some new things, with their input, and that I’m excited to learn (and be vulnerable) alongside them. 

So Much Depends On...

In my understanding of curriculum, I strongly believe that so much depends on emphasis placed on issues of equity, inclusion, and access. Even in my first few encounters with the readings, this assertion was feeding my irritation with the gendered language that I felt, overwhelmed the texts and often distracted and irritated me as I read. I felt immediately distanced from the early thinkers such as Bobbitt, Dewey, and Tyler because they only referred to learners and educators with male pronouns. For instance, in our first reading, Bobbitt states that education has the double-function of not only to “hand over to the new generation a proficiency that is equal to that of their fathers, but it is also to lift the proficiency of the sons to a height much beyond that of their fathers” (Bobbitt, 16). I paused to think how the young women during Bobbitt’s time must have felt in these environments; that education was solely a place for the male mind, experience, and development. Again, I mostly enjoyed exploring Dewey’s article, and agreed with his stance on many points such as the importance of helping the child know themselves and harness their personal interests and power, but I kept being interrupted by the focus on the student as a young man; “To prepare him for the future life means to give him command of himself…to train him that he will have the full and ready use of all of his capacities” (Dewey, 34). Each time I hit a “him” or “he” I thought about how girls’ capabilities were perhaps ignored, silenced, or re-directed.

Of course, I understand that the context within which these thinkers were working was hugely patriarchal, and male-centered, a reality that many cultures still wrestle with, including our western world. However, this understanding does not excuse the voices that were likely silenced or edited as a result of this environment. In reading Maria Montessori’s work, I noticed that even she participates in this gendered language, such as in her discussion of the scientist as “the type of man who has felt experiment to be a means guiding him to search out the deep truth of life” (Montessori, 22). However, I’d like to think that this participation was a tactic used as an access point into this entire male-centered discussion about curriculum and education. I can’t imagine that it would have been easy for her to assert herself as a doctor, an educational expert, an author, or in any of her other roles.

The experience of navigating these early readings reinforced for me that whenever we approach, create, and/or deliver curriculum, we must be cognisant of the language we use and that the curriculum is accessible for every learner. We need to remember to always use inclusive language, and constantly keep in mind that our students come from different genders, racial and ethnic backgrounds, religions, socio-economic standings, abilities, identifications of sexualities, etc. I believe that inclusivity is still something that many educators still struggle to balance and achieve. This is why in teaching, it is so important to be self-aware, and constantly reflective of what we are saying, how we are saying it, and perhaps, what we may be forgetting to say. When we bring in ‘knowledge,’ we need to encourage students to interrogate and be critical, and offer ample opportunities for engagement with a variety of perspectives, including their own. Consequently, we must also be willing to have difficult conversations and create a welcoming space where learners can question what we do and say.

We also need to ensure that we are validating, empowering, and thanking students for being willing to be vulnerable when discussing intense subject matter in the classroom. Sometimes, when students voice their interpretations, it can also be very emotional as they bring their lived experiences to say, their readings of a text. This is why I disagree with Dewey’s ideas about how “emotions will for the most part take care of themselves” (Dewey, 39). In my context, the role of the teacher is very much about helping learners to navigate their emotional experiences, especially as students develop their identities, and this openness to allow space for their self-discoveries functions to rework the curriculum as more meaningful and personalized. It almost seemed to me as though Dewey was advocating for children to talk about what they are excited about rather than what they are scared of.

Another important point of access in education is the physical classroom space as a potential venue for celebrating diversity and promoting equity, which is why I also take issue with the trivialization of the role of the classroom environment that Jackson writes about in “The Daily Grind.” One of the major strategies that I use to try to make the curriculum more inclusive is to make my classroom space reflect the diversity of the learners, and I don’t believe that they are mere “surface adjustments” (Jackson, 119).  For instance, I have my students help me to create an inspiration wall every semester, filled with quotes and images that will inspire them throughout the year, I have multiple LGBTQ positive space messages posted (which some students have asked for personal copies of), I have posters advocating for an end to violence against women with messages such as “Just because you take her home doesn’t mean you get to help yourself,” and as a result, several students have disclosed to me that they have survived sexual assault and I have been able to direct them towards resources and intervention. Our classroom space has allowed me to help serve my students better, showcase the work that they do, has been the catalyst for meaningful conversations, and the walls (hopefully) represent who they are. I believe that so many contemporary classrooms operate in this manner; they are not merely places where educators “change the color of the drapes in order to make the room more ‘interesting,’” (Jackson, 119), but rather are spaces of potential for questioning, relating, and empowerment.

Perhaps most importantly, however, is to remember that the responsibility to ensure that the curriculum is equitable, inclusive, and accessible is not only the responsibility of the educator; the student must also fully participate and build meaningful curriculum with the teacher. I believe that this collaboration is necessary if we want to encourage learners who are, as Maxine Green describes, ““open to the world,” indeed condemned to give meaning to it” (Green, 131). I really enjoyed her discussion of Karl Rossman from Kafka’s Amerika and how we must help our students break with egocentrism and learn when they are “committed to act upon [their] world” (Green, 136). Freire builds on this notion of the importance of transforming the world, especially in his emphasis on breaking silences, and particularly how people cannot say words “for another, in a prescriptive act which robs others of their words” (Freire, 157). Similarly, Sumara and Davis also speak to the necessity of breaking silences in order to interrupt heteronormativity in curriculum and “assist in the important work of eliminating homophobia and heterosexism in society” (Sumara and Davis, 326). 

To help build learners up and empower them to foster change, we need to work with them to create a curriculum that is made up of their own preoccupations, passions and fears, represents their diversity, and ensure that the students feel they are in a safe space to do this authentic work. Keeping issues of equity, inclusion, and access at the forefront of our minds while we collaborate in designing student-centered curriculum will create a powerful learning environment. 

Curriculum Metaphor: Curriculum and Cell Phone Contracts

In trying to decide what would best serve as a metaphor for curriculum, I believe that it is important for me to choose something for comparison that I don’t fully understand or have a complete idea of how it functions, who put it together, if it is equitable, and so on. I think this is important because, as a newer teacher, I feel as though the curriculum I deliver is something that I continue to grow to understand, learn how to navigate, and balance with what I feel my students need or want. This is how I arrived at the idea of a cell phone contract as a metaphor for curriculum.

I realize that this metaphor perhaps resonates as having a slightly negative connotation because so many of us have a story of how we once, or perhaps many times, have felt great frustration with cell phone companies and the contracts that we are ‘locked’ into. Cell phone contracts, and certainly curriculum expectations for teachers are things that we tend to gripe about at some point. However, a cell phone is something that I imagine many of us feel that we need, and without this service, we would struggle to navigate this digital world. Similarly, I find that this is the way many people in the teaching profession feel about curriculum; it can be interpreted as an overhanging burden, as something that we must adhere to, and yet of we were to go without it, we would feel stripped of something that we use everyday.

Many teachers that I have worked with lament that they feel stuck with the curriculum that they have, and I often feel tied to ministry expectations as well. Teachers may feel as though their creativity is being encroached upon and that their input about what curriculum should look like is not being valued or heard. For instance, I especially feel this way when I teach my grade twelve students in Alberta, who are faced with a 50% English Provincial Diploma exam at the end of my course. This test takes place over two days and is comprised of three essay assignments and a reading comprehension multiple-choice examination where students read a selection of poetry, short stories, and various other excerpts and respond. Because this exam is weighted so heavily, throughout the semester, my students and myself grow quite anxious about the exam, and a lot of my course focuses on how to best prepare them for this test, especially for the three different types of essay writing. I experience a great deal of pressure to ensure that they feel confident and capable for this exam, and as a result, I feel as though I am creatively restricted with what I can do with my students. Additionally, I feel added stress because I am not allowed to see the test ahead of time, I am not even allowed access to the area of the school where my students write the test on exam day, and afterwards our department discusses the results of each class. Like a cell phone contract, I want to communicate more frequently and deeply with my students about what particular interests they are fostering in the course, but I constantly have to budget the “cost” of the time spent on this.

Another reason why I feel as though a cell phone contract works as a metaphor for curriculum is because as with cell phones, some people are more comfortable with the simpler cell phone models that they’re used to with basic functioning. Some individuals only use their phones for talking and checking the time, while others look forward to getting the newest, most exciting model with new apps, better video quality, and even waterproof screens. This metaphor to helps me to understand aspects of the teacher in this discussion of curriculum because teachers seem to be on a spectrum of understanding. Some prefer to use the curriculum as they always have and they may be reluctant or nervous to try implementing new curriculum or new initiatives that are encouraged by the ministry, a school board, or a school’s administration, while others are aching for innovation and new directions. I know many teachers who feel unsupported when they are pushed in new directions, and told to use new tools that they are unfamiliar with, particularly with technology. Some of my own colleagues are worried that our transition into a one-to-one, Project-Based-Learning focus next September is more about optics rather than authentic learning, and they perceive this change as a problematic moving away from ‘the basics.’ Many feel  they are being pushed into something that they don’t feel ready for, or are not convinced that the shift will best benefit students. Because of this, I believe that just as it is important to meet our learners where they are, we must also exercise this approach with teachers. A lot of change is expected of us at once, and there is a steep learning curve, much like with navigating new cell phone contracts.  We have to research what we should expect of our service, how to effectively negotiate a better plan, and what device to choose to best suit our needs, etc. 

On a more positive note, an important connection I see is that cell phone contracts, like curriculum, can be personalized. With a cell phone contract, we can pick and choose which features we want to spend more time with, and often with curriculum, teachers feel that once they understand the dynamics of their classroom, they have a certain amount of freedom to focus on the outcomes that they feel their students need to concentrate on the most. Also, like the recent modifications that major cell phone companies have agreed to make after pressure from the masses (shorter contracts, limits on over-billing), teachers may also feel that when changes need to be made to curricula, that there can be opportunities for their voices to be heard, whether it be by a provincial, district, or school level. However, more importantly, what this metaphor helped me to unpack in terms of understanding the learner perspective, is that this individualization can be very important, especially with students with personal education plans and learning differences. Often, these students need to advocate for themselves, or have family advocate for them, to have the curriculum modified for their specific needs, just as we sometimes may have to do the same thing when we call a major provider and negotiate or demand for better service.

With both curriculum and cell phone contracts, if one of these is not working properly or effectively for you, it poses the potential hazard for there to be a high ‘cost.’ With a cell phone contract, if you ignore or are unfamiliar with the conditions, you may be faced with an expensive bill. With curriculum, if a teacher or a student does not find the curriculum meaningful, the cost of this disconnection can be detrimental. 

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