The Rules of the Classroom

My twenty-five rules for the classroom respond to particular episodes in class which, frankly, I can no longer tolerate. In toto, the rules embody contemporary education as an unintentional Theater of the Ridiculous.

The rules could have continued as long as I have students to teach, students remain teenagers, and teenagers remain teenagers (that is, persist being their lovable selves). But I reached the bottom of the board. . . .

Two years prior to the incarnation of the twenty-five rules, I had written twelve rules that reflected other irksome classroom realities. I composed them one afternoon before a parents Back to School Night. I wanted to give the Moms and Dads a humorous view of my classes rather than bore them with a summary of the curriculum. My first rule captured the genuine banality of the classroom: DO NOT DROP PENS.

Before we submerge into this prosaic reality, I would like to offer a rule or two for reading this short essay. Try not to draw conclusions about me as a teacher after reading it. Nor should you try to fight my rules. They grew organically from my classes. Their importance is not absolute. I am not calling them commandments. Thirdly, do not expect me to offer advice to future and fellow teachers.

Understand that a particular environment shaped my career, as much my generation (Baby Boom) shaped my attitude. I was once a student and have not forgotten that experience. My experiences are not my students’.

Now, back to the dropped pen, the most frequent classroom event, one to which teachers embarrassingly contribute. It certainly is something that the education technician cannot imagine when he or she contemplates strategies for greater student attention and subject retention. Nor would students report such an event to the parents who contemplate Ivy League greatness for their kids. But I can imagine:

“How was school today?”

“I dropped a pen in Mr. C’s class.”

“That’s interesting.” (Do I detect parental sarcasm?)

“He lectured the class for ten minutes about it.”

If I “go off” on this matter, perhaps this dialogue would happen. What would my “lecture” have pointed out?

1. The petty distraction is still a distraction.
2. The student’s pursuit of the dropped pen initiates bodily movement, which distracts students AND the teacher.
3. Repetition of petty distractions destroy my concentration and rhythm.
4. (I get feisty) I accuse students of deliberately dropping the pens.
5. A challenge: can we have one period without dropping a pen?

Some students see the rule and, believing it a real rule, think that I will given them a detention. No, I explain, this is a rule without punishment because, well, we, as students and teachers, part of our being human, means that we cannot prevent our pens from falling to the floor. It is less a rule than a grand ideal.

Next to the dropped pen rule I have placed a photo from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Dr. Heywood Floyd travels to the Moon and has fallen asleep while making some notes. His pen floats in zero gravity. The stewardess comes up and plucks it in mid-weightlessness and places it into Dr. Floyd’s pocket.

Teach in zero gravity: the only solution to the dropped pens in class. Future teachers in outer space will never understand my pain.

Robert Castle has had three books published in the last few years: A Sardine on Vacation, fiction (Spuyten Duyvil); The End of Travel, nonfiction (Ravenna Books); and Odd Pursuits, a collection of stories (Wild Child Publishing). He has been a regular contributor to Bright Lights Film Journal and Unlikely Stories, and has had a feature, "Half-Baked Ideas," published in The Circle Magazine. His essays have also appeared in Archipelago, elimae, Film Comment, The Paumanok Review, The Film Journal, and Eclectica magazine.

Email: Robert Castle

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