Natural Resource

This is for all the smart kids out there.

Once upon a time in grade school, I got damn sick and tired of my teachers calling on me when they wanted to hear a right answer. The problem was not that I didn't know the answers, but that I did. Apparently in teacher school, they're instructed not to give away information for free, but to drag it out of students whenever possible, so any time a question had the group stumped, Mrs. Whoever would eventually come around to me whether my hand was up or not. It was my job to prove to the class that the material could be grasped.

This tactic fell under the heading "things you might not realize kids notice, but they definitely do." My classmates did; they teased me for being a know-it-all. I must point out, however, that they never rode me too hard because they could see that I got called on more than I volunteered. (It was another of those fine lines you walk in school: being smart enough not to act like you thought you were smart. [If you practice this CYA technique for too long, you'll forget you were smart to begin with. I've seen it happen.])

Anyway, I noticed my teachers' habit — it was obvious enough that even the kids who caught on to nothing else caught on to this — and it annoyed me. I was already under pressure to be a big sister and a good girl at home, in Girl Scouts, and in catechism (the Sunday school we Catholic kids attended on Wednesdays); why did I have to set an example in school, too?

I tried keeping my hand down in class, but that didn't work. I tried giving occasional wrong answers, too, so as not to seem so reliable, but Mrs. Whoever was having none of it. "I know you know this," she'd scold, and in the face of her certainty, I couldn't lie. I'd answer, sigh, and go back to discretely reading the horse story (or, later, the fantasy novel) in my lap.

This wasn't a great tragedy by any means, just one of those annoyances you live with. But I do recall telling one of my parents at least once that I sometimes wished I were dumb so I wouldn't have to know things. Whichever of them I told had a hard time answering me, because they'd both had the same "problem" as kids — and as adults, too. They ran a store, where they had to know things all the time, and I'm sure it made them tired.

College was a relief. There were plenty of smart kids for the teachers to call on if they chose, but most of the professors were willing to let a question hang in silence for a while. In the larger lecture classes, they didn't even call on us at all, just wrote notes on the board or on slides for the overhead projector. It was great!

I went on to graduate school, where work as a teaching assistant paid the tuition for seminars in which my classmates tripped over themselves to bellow offer their opinions. When I taught, I made a conscious effort not to call on the same people all the time, and when I went to class as a student, I let the boys do most of the talking. That one might get me stripped of some of my feminist stripes, but it's true. Letting somebody else sit in the hot seat was a luxury.

Many years after I'd soaked up all the formal education I could stand, I was browsing through some sort of material aimed at grade school teachers. I don't remember what or why. But when I came across the term "resource student," I froze, backtracked, and reread the entire passage. Resource student: one you know you can call on to get classroom discussion rolling.

Resource student! I was an ex-resource student! I was delighted to learn that there was a name for the affliction I'd suffered and that I was not alone.

And then, abruptly, I was angry. Resource? Why the hell did I have to be a resource for my teachers? Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? Or had their own education failed them so badly that they needed to lean on fourth graders for support? (Don't get me started on teacher education in South Dakota in the 80s. Just don't.)

Then, somehow, I found myself standing in front of classrooms again, teaching community ed classes in software use. And finally I began to see why one might be tempted to look to the same student time after time for answers. It's because a teacher wants to know she's getting through to at least one person at least some of the time. Even a confident instructor needs that reassurance once in a while.

So now I get it. That doesn't mean I have newfound love for my memories of being a resource student. I still don't think it's fair when children have to act as crutches for adults. I also don't have a remedy for the problem. Guess I just don't have the resources.

Today around the world: December 8 is when Christians celebrate the Immaculate Conception.