Getting Prestiged

No, that's not a grammatical error. "Prestiged" is, indeed, the word one of my clients recently used in a conversation we had about his favorite past-time, X-Box. I readily admit--and have admitted to him--I don't understand the first thing about how to play x-box. I tried once, and failed miserably. Got myself "killed" several times and my older two sons were watching with pity how my learning-curve went flatter and flatter. Not only did I give up, after about half an hour of trying, I felt supremely "bored" by this activity and had less of an understanding why my kids (and every kid their age and younger along with them) like this game so much. I shouldn't even call it "game." Because it's not about just one game (although, right now, my boys seem to prefer the games Sky-Rim and Portal). Rather than calling it "game" I should call it "play environment." In this environment other players are present, all of them connected by voice through head-phones, and on the screen by having taken the identity of a certain character that's part of the game. The environment certainly is no longer the living-or family-room in which they are sitting. Rather, it's the setting on the screen they're now part of. Only if we really allow ourselves to become part of that setting can we "master" the action, keep ourselves "alive." My own internal refusal to become part of it was amply visible in my on-screen spatial problems. I just couldn't figure out how to use my remote to steer that person on the screen. I felt dizzy at times, unclear what was left and right. All of those could be avoided, if I allowed myself (or knew how to) become part of the environment. I realize that playing a video-game well requires, more than many other games, a willingness and ability to be immersed in the currents of the game, to be moved by it, swept away and, only at the opportune moments, decide on a direction. Only sometimes is it a good idea to choose. It's almost as if the game and it's environment are "rocking" the player. I think it's no accident that especially boys like being "rocked" in that way.

But I'm getting off topic. Getting prestiged means that a player has reached the highest score/level of the game he/she is playing. At that point a player can choose to stop playing altogether or he/she can have their scores reset to zero and then start over again. My client told me he had gotten prestiged four times already with this new game. This means, of course, that he had been willing to play the same game four-times over, and it was clear he wasn't anywhere close to being tired of it. I mused out loud about this and said:

"Isn't it interesting that you're not getting bored by this at all, that you're willing to keep playing this, even though you have to do it all over again? What if school were that way? What if doing it all over again were not an issue at all? What if you got prestiged and then had your scores reset to zero only to start again?" "What's different?

He responded: "It's the intensity. School is boring. It does not pull me in. Doing something all over again when it doesn't pull you in is no fun; it's not even fun the first time around. And . . . it's no consequences, fake consequences. The consequences in the game are meaningless. You're not really dead, you know."

 . . .


 I was confused. What does it mean to say something is "intense" but has no real consequences or none at all? And what does it say about school where real consequences abound (everyone talks about them all the time) yet the intensity is lacking (hardly anybody really takes school seriously). Would school function better, if we decided to replace the real consequences of not studying with fake ones or none? Would there be more room for intensity, if the threat of real consequences were not there? So, I do get the intensity part. School fails at providing natural intensity. Instead school, and along with it many other learning environments, have been focusing on natural consequences. But they don't work. Sorry, folks! They don't. And even if schools do some "prestiging," i.e., they give out plaques and medals, certificates and ribbons, all that isn't worth much, if the intensity fails to be there. The mistake we continue to make is to think that the intensity is provided and created by the outcome. We continue to think that, just because there will be a medal at the end, a student or anybody else will make an extra effort to get there. But that is, for most healthy people (and I believe that most of our young people are healthy), a complete waste of time. They don't identify with the medal or trophy at the end. Getting prestiged in that way is not about the honor. It is about the intensity, the process.

One of my favorite teaching movies is "Dead Poety Society." One scene in particular plays out in my mind often. It's the one where the teacher (played by Robin Williams) has the boys run at and shoot soccer-balls as they yell out lines from famous poets and writers. Now that I'm thinking about it examples of "intensity as a learning environment" from this movie  are flying at me high-speed. The cave where they meet to recite poetry (and smoke and meet girls), the real father-son drama regarding whether or not one of the boys is allowed to take a main role in the school play, and, of course, the scene from the beginning, where the teachers leads them out to the old class-photos in the hallway and teaches them the meaning of "carpe diem," seize the day.

Some of these environments are carefully chosen by the teacher. Others are self-chosen. But they all have in common intensity and what might seem to some an almost criminal disregard for consequences.

The meaning of the phrase "carefully chosen" is especially important to me. I mean by it not only a cooly calculated didactic strategy. Rather, I mean love. Choosing these environments comes from a source of love and care for the students and their learning. This is not always expressed in direct love statements. It doesn't have to be. It's a love that helps the students feel challenged, respected, acknowledged, supported, understood and protected . . . all at the same time. Is that a tall order? Yes, it is. But it is not an impossible one. My oldest son's social studies teacher has figured it out (the only one for whom Noah does not mind writing essays; and he is a good writer), my middle son's music teacher (who has inspired Jacob enough to play the piano again; Jacob is very musical, my youngest son's kindergarten teacher who, even with kids that young, already shows how to respect and support them on their learning journey.

You see, what this requires from the teacher is a willingness to enter that zone of intensity alongside the students. It requires the insight that tough consequences alone, regardless of how "natural" they are, will not entice the students to learn more willingly and more happily. Many of our children's teachers know this and work on it every day. But even more are burned out, hopeless, feel unsupported and unclear themselves about how to do this. And some, perhaps, are afraid of introducing intensity in this way. Will my class-room go "helter-skelter?" Will I maintain my authority as a teacher? Will I meet the state-requirements for my subject area at the end of the school year? And so it goes. We can learn a great deal, I believe from how video-games work. I don't think they're made with love. But they're made with insight into what pulls in the mind and soul. We can learn from this. The question is: who or what will provide the intensity necessary to facilitate our learning? For the natural consequences of playing too many video-games, viz. that our kids may very well not learn everything they need to know to do well as adults, don't seem enough for us--parents and teachers--to facilitate our learning.