If you are a fan of P.G. Wodehouse, you'll recognize this as the phrase Jeeves uses to describe how he manipulates manages Bertie Wooster in his capacity as a gentleman's gentleman. Keep that in mind as the story progresses.
One goal I strive to accomplish each year is getting my little charges to broaden their intellectual horizons by interacting with one another. However, as I've mentioned before, middle schoolers are wily little critters who are naturally distrustful of adult intentions and suspicious of any social interactions that smack of grown-up intervention. Usually, when I ask them to pair up for partner work, they automatically hew to their close circle of friends. Efforts to mix them up randomly by counting off, rolling dice, matching kids up by sock color and the like are usually greeted by responses ranging from "unenthusiastic" to "passive-aggressive," replete with heavy sighs, anguished looks, and monosyllabic answers. Good times, good times!
Today, I took a different approach. Step 1: I told the kids I was going to tell them something very, very politically incorrect. That got their attention. Step 2: I asked if anyone knew what a 'Chinese fire drill' was. This got a huge positive reaction from a portion of the class, usually the "goofy boy" population. Step 3: For those not in the know, I explained what that term meant, adding for emphasis that I was NOT suggesting that ANYONE should EVER EVER EVER get out at a dangerous intersection, run around their vehicle, and re-enter by another door, especially since I like my job and want to keep it (An aside: All I need is to have a TV anchor outside Upper Socioeconomic Middle School, intoning, "Several students were seriously injured today after attempting what is known as a 'Chinese fire drill,' which they learned about from their social studies teacher..." The thought gives me chills. Seriously.). Step 4: Introduce our class activity, now renamed the "social studies scramble," in which they would change seats and partners between questions. The kids had fifteen seconds in each round to find new seats and new partners, followed by thirty seconds to share answers.
Well.
You'd think I'd promised everyone a double-dip ice cream cone and a free pony by their reaction. The same kids who baaaarely have the energy to drag themselves to their seats when *I* partner them up were running around the room like their hair was on fire to get to a new partner. Even the most reluctant, unenthusiastic kids were racing around with the best of them. AND, as a nice little side bonus, I overheard the incessant talker who got put in the Cone of Silence and wasn't allowed to participate say to himself, "I really wish I was doing this." Then he perked up and asked me, "Can we call it the Cone of Shame?" (a la Dug in Up.) Being ever munificent in victory, I graciously acquiesced.
So let me recap what, exactly, we did in class today:
The kids answered questions.
They shared their answers with partners.
They changed partners between answers.
And I got them to think it was the greatest thing since the ball-point pen.
I am the MASTER.
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