“objects in the mirror are closer than they appear“ explain as a metaphor
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Objects in the Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear
Objects in mirror are closer than they appear. Somehow I find that statement--one that is etched on the passenger side mirror on every car in the US--the perfect metaphor for my life right now. I often don't realize what others are saying or the important things in my life, and yet, they quite often are right under my nose, waiting for me to peer down and notice them. Sometimes the choice is in front of me, much closer than it appears. Like the phrase, which may cause someone to misjudge the distance between his vehicle and another car, we often misjudge the impact of others on our lives until we come near collison. As a teacher, I recently have come close to colliding. Yes, I have learned to judge my surroundings carefully and be precarious of those around me. Yet, the distance I seem to have placed between myself and the objects behind me (my students) is closer than I thought. Allow me to explain.
This distance is in the voices of every young person in our nation who spoke at a rally against gun violence recently. It's in every sign a young person held. It's in kids standing up for what they believe is right. And it's right here in the four walls of my classroom, Room 211. My students' voices, their beliefs, their ideas are closer and louder than we, adults, realize. Objects in our mirrors are closer than they appear.
This metaphor surfaced with the most recent assignment I gave my English classes--a mock trial after reading Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. In my nineteen years of teaching, I've conducted many mock trials. It's always been a favorite lesson for students because there's some real world application--especially for those aspiring attorneys who like to argue. I have always had control and order over the trial by serving as the judge. No one could mess with Judge Pace. I even have been known to order the bailiff to throw an unruly member of the court out of the courtroom from time to time. I held the gavel; I delivered the sentence. Even last year when my student teacher did a mock trial as the culminating activity for her In Cold Blood unit, I was the judge. So when I introduced the idea of the mock trial to my classes, suggesting that we would put Victor Frankenstein on trial, one of the first questions one student asked was "Who gets to be the judge?" I started to respond with "I do," but I didn't say a word. You see, a few days prior to this conversation, Dr. MIchael Gill, Hanover County Public School Superintendent, published his montly blog post that encouraged teachers to allow students to have voice and choice in the classroom. I've always prided myself on asking students to evaluate an activity or give me feedback and even have designed papers and projects where they have significant choice, but never have I given up the title role of judge or "teacher" for that matter. After all, I went to graduate school and have a teaching license and get paid the "big" bucks; I should be in control, driving the car, right?
This past month, I realized how incredibly wrong that idea is; I became a mere passenger in my classroom. The attorneys decided Victor's charges, the order they would call their witnesses, and what legal jargon they would use to try to hoodwink the other side. The jury deliberated--some classes taking far longer than others to come to a consensus. The bailiff swore in each witness on the holy book of Frankenstein. The court reporters took photographs of the trial and documented everything in newspaper articles. The court recorder typed the entire trial as it was unfolding just in case we needed to go back to what was stated. And a student wore my black graduation robe and held the gavel to have full command of the classroom....I mean, courtroom. That left me to....well, watch. I had no role in my classroom except that of a mere spectator. And it probably was the most fun that I've had in 19 years of teaching. One version of Victor Frankenstein came donned in a lab coat and goggles, pleading insanity. Another monster was so lonely he cried. Attorneys were passionate, questioning and sometimes even leading the witnesses. Not one student in the room looked bored, unethused, or pained. A 200 year-old book came to life in a way that was inspiring, and I was a mere bystander in my own classroom.
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