Cell Phones in the Classroom

I know this topic seems relatively minor to write about and maybe it is, but teachers taking away student’s cell phones has always seemed to rub me the wrong way. Before you jump to conclusions, let me explain.

Would it be convenient for student’s cell phones to magically disappear at the beginning of class? Maybe, but it wouldn’t immediately result in the full attention of the student to the teacher’s lessons. To think that it would is wishful at best and maybe even lazy. I have had the opportunity to meet individually with adolescents as well as in a classroom setting. I know how it feels to have prepared a detailed lesson only to have a small percentage of the students actually pay attention rather than stare at their cell phones. I also know the temptation to blame this all on cell phones, but cell phones were not my problem… I was the problem. I wanted to use my position as the teacher like a crowbar to leverage the attention of my students rather than engage them as people worthy of my respect.

Once I began looking at this issue and trying to actually see my students as people who deserved my respect, I saw some pretty remarkable changes. Of course, there are some students who were going to gaze into their phones like a fortune teller’s crystal ball even if I lit myself on fire at the front of the classroom, but there was a significant majority of students who voluntarily put their phones down and even participated in the lesson. I only saw this transformation when I made some changes to my approach to them as a teacher.

I realized that the way I was teaching was based on an unrealistic expectation I had for my students. I believed (maybe on an unconscious level) they will become enamored with my lessons simply because the content speaks for itself or that they will pay attention because that’s just what you do when you are in a classroom environment or because I was such a powerful presence in the room. Ok, maybe there is a little sarcasm there with that last one, but maybe not as much as I’d like to believe. These expectations excluded my responsibility as a teacher to respect my student’s fundamental agency and to improve my presentation style to better engage my students.

After mentally chewing on this for a while, I walked into my class and told the students that I would no longer ask them to put away their phones and I basically explained to them how I came to that decision. I started asking more questions, but not the kind of leading questions that I already knew the answers to. I asked questions that left space for more of their personal opinions, beliefs and experiences. I listened carefully to every student response without trying to judge them or think of what my next statement was going to be. Not only did I see an increase in student participation (and less cell phone use), but I also learned a lot from my students. I learned that, even though I was a teacher, I was also a student. Additionally, I learned that, even though they were the students, they were also the teachers. This was a change that I had to make on my own and it greatly affected the dynamic in class.

In summary, if you notice that your students appear to be doing nothing but looking at their phones, I’d suggest not to install a mandate to put all phones away or take the phones from them, but be more engaging. Look at how you can improve. Be brave and try something new. Try to be less ‘Judgey McJudgerson’ and put down your unrealistic expectations. Just accept your students as they are and you will see changes as well.

"Rob, Are You Awake?"

I’ve never really been afraid of ghosts. I may freak myself out occasionally with a scary movie or some misplaced sound in the middle of the night, but I’ve always been able to explain it away and really just forget about it within a short amount of time. If anything, I’m probably more of a skeptic when I hear ghost stories from friends and family. That is until I had an experience that was so real and terrifying, that I could not just explain it away.

In the summer of 2009, I lived alone in a two bedroom townhouse. I loved living by myself and I quickly made friends with my neighbors. There was a small courtyard in the middle of several other townhouses with the same floor plan as mine. I became good friends with the couple that lived directly across from my place. He was involved in the shipping business and she was his girlfriend who had recently moved there from Brazil.

I was asleep when my phone rang. It was 4:00 in the morning and I saw that it was my friend from across the courtyard. I answered to my friend saying, in a serious and worried voice, “Rob, I need you to come over here right now!” I didn’t even hesitate. I got out of bed, put on my shoes and ran over to his house.

Our townhouses were exactly the same; the front door opened to a staircase that led to the two bedrooms on the second floor. When I knocked on the door, my friend opened up and said, “I don’t know what’s going on man? She’s been like this for about an hour and I don’t know what to do!” He opened the door a little wider so that I could see the top of the stairs, where his girlfriend was standing. I said, “Hey there is everything alright?” still not really understanding what I was doing there in the middle of the night. She didn’t respond. She just stood there with an expression on her face that I can only describe as empty with a hint of nausea.

I started up the stairs and asked again, “Is everything alright?” She looked at me and asked, “Are you awake?” I laughed a little and said, “Yeah, I’m awake, you’re awake, we’re all awake here.” She didn’t crack a smile. She just looked directly at me and asked, “Rob, are you awake?” There was something about her using my name that just felt odd. I answered again, “Yes, I’m awake. Are you awake?” She did not respond. A few minutes later, she shook her head, looked at me and said again, “Rob, are you awake?”

I didn’t know what to do. I figured she was sleepwalking or not feeling well. I told my buddy that I didn’t know what to do and that maybe he should wait for the morning and if she hasn’t gone to sleep yet, to just take her to the doctor. Then I left and went back across the courtyard to my house.

The next day, he took her to the doctor who said that since she wasn’t a danger to herself or others and that all her vital signs seemed fine, that she would go to sleep when she is tired. Of course, that made sense, but she didn’t sleep for a full four days and the only words she would say to anyone is, “ROB, are you awake?” Why she only used my name and was asking if I was awake, I wasn’t sure, but I figured everything was fine since eventually, she finally went to sleep and, besides a little joking about the whole thing, we didn’t really talk about it much again.

Two weeks later, I was getting home pretty late, so I went straight to my room to get ready to go to sleep. Not long after I laid down on my bed, I heard something downstairs. I thought for a minute that it might be my next door neighbors, but then I realized that they had been on vacation for nearly a week and wouldn’t be back for another few days. I decided to ignore it, blame it on the pipes in the walls or the fridge kicking on downstairs. But then I heard something again except this time it sounded like someone was walking around in my house. With this thought, I was wide awake. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming up my stairs toward my bedroom. The footsteps began to increase their speed, to a pace that sounded like someone running up the stairs to tell me the house was on fire and to get out, but I froze and couldn’t move an inch. My hands clinched the sheets at my sides, holding tight like my bed was an unsafe carnival ride in a mall parking lot. The racing footsteps reached the top of the stairs and I looked intensely at the doorway in my room, completely expecting to see whatever intruder was there to murder me. But as I stared at my doorway, I saw nothing. For a brief second, I almost would have preferred to see someone… anyone there besides just open air. And as I stared at the doorway, completely perplexed at what had just happened, I heard the most frightening sound I have ever experienced; I heard the distinct whisper of a male voice in my right ear. As if it couldn’t get worse, the words I heard were in a different language; a language which I later concluded to be Portuguese.

In the days that followed, I met with a doctor to be evaluated for schizophrenia, only to find out that I was healthy and free from any mental illness. To this day, I’m not sure that an “all clear” diagnosis was what I wanted to receive. But in answer to the question, “Rob, are you awake?” I can most definitely and unequivocally answer, “Yes.”