Teaching a sense of wonder

Teaching a sense of wonder

Photo by NeONBRAND on Unsplash

Originally published 25 July 1994

What should sixth graders know about science?

E. D. Hirsh Jr. thinks he has the answer. Hirsh is author of A First Dic­tio­nary of Cul­tur­al Lit­er­a­cy: What Our Chil­dren Need to Know, a com­pendi­um of core knowl­edge that he believes kids should acquire by the time they enter junior high.

His dic­tio­nary includes every­thing from proverbs to geog­ra­phy. The chap­ters on sci­ence lists 442 terms, from acid to x‑ray. It’s a good list, but, as Hirsch will be the first to acknowl­edge, a vocab­u­lary is itself no basis for lit­er­a­cy. What is required is an under­stand­ing of how the world works and our place in it.

If it were up to me, I would orga­nize the pri­ma­ry school sci­ence cur­ricu­lum around five key concepts:

1) The Scale of the Uni­verse. Every class­room in Amer­i­ca has a solar sys­tem mod­el, prob­a­bly hang­ing from the ceil­ing like a mobile. Hirsch’s dic­tio­nary has a solar sys­tem diagram.

The trou­ble is, the usu­al mod­els and dia­grams give no sense of true scale. In fact, they are huge­ly decep­tive. So get the kids out in the play­ground. Use a bas­ket­ball for the sun. The Earth is a tiny grain of sand 80 feet away, and the moon is a pin­point 2½ inch­es from the Earth. Have the kids walk around in this mod­el solar sys­tem and feel the vast­ness of space.

Alpha cen­tau­ri, the next-clos­est star, is a bas­ket­ball in Hawaii.

How many stars in the Milky Way galaxy? Make a spi­ral galaxy on the class­room floor with a box of salt. Astronomers esti­mate that there are a tril­lion stars in the galaxy. Have the kids fig­ure out how many thou­sands of box­es of salt it would take to have a grain for every star. It will blow their minds.

2) The Dynam­ic Earth. Soft-boil an egg and break it open. Now you’ve got some­thing approx­i­mat­ing the inside of the Earth.

We live on eggshell. The ground is lit­er­al­ly mov­ing under our feet. Every year Boston creeps anoth­er inch away from Paris. Los Ange­les slips an inch toward San Fran­cis­co. Every few hun­dred mil­lion years the face of the Earth is made anew.

Why don’t we notice all this mov­ing around?

With­out say­ing any­thing, set up a motor­ized tele­scope in the class­room and turn it on. It will rotate once a day on its axis. Soon­er or lat­er some­one in the class will notice that the tele­scope has moved. That’s when to talk about geo­log­ic and human time.

3) DNA. Every school in Amer­i­ca should have a stick-and-ball mod­el of part of a strand of DNA. A big mod­el, as tall as the class­room, a mod­el that shows every atom. Sure, it would be the most expen­sive teach­ing tool in the school, but it would be worth it.

There’s an arm’s length of DNA in every cell of our bodies.

Live with the mod­el in the class­room. Bask in its beau­ty. Do all the things teach­ers usu­al­ly do: Grow bean sprouts in Sty­ro­foam cups, keep tur­tles in a ter­rar­i­um, watch a but­ter­fly emerge from a chrysalis. But all the while keep an eye on that beau­ti­ful strand of DNA.

4) Evo­lu­tion. Kids love dinosaurs, so talk about dinosaurs. But not just the mon­sters of Juras­sic Park. Talk about all of the dinosaurs. Two hun­dred mil­lion years of dinosaurs. The big ones and the tiny ones. The rapi­er-toothed meat-eaters and the gen­tle nib­blers of plants.

Roll out a paper time line in the longest cor­ri­dor of the school. Start with Day One, the for­ma­tion of the Earth. Walk across 3½ bil­lion years of life, most of the way down the cor­ri­dor, before encoun­ter­ing any­thing but microbes. Give the dinosaurs their few feet of time. Find our sliv­er of space at the end of the line.

Con­struct a fam­i­ly tree of life on Earth. A big one, with a pri­mal bac­teri­um at the base of the trunk, dinosaurs on their trun­cat­ed branch, and every kid in the class at the end of a twig.

And send any text­book that calls evo­lu­tion a the­o­ry rather than a fact back to the publishers.

5) Com­mon Knowl­edge. Talk about the dif­fer­ence between the­o­ry and fact. Stress that all knowl­edge is ten­ta­tive and par­tial, but that some knowl­edge is more secure than oth­ers. The evo­lu­tion of ani­mals and plants across mil­lions of years is a strong fact, astrol­o­gy is poppycock.

Paper one wall of the room with the front pages of super­mar­ket tabloids: “Woman gives birth to dinosaur baby,” that sort of thing. Paper the oppo­site wall with posters of galax­ies, plan­ets, coral reefs, rain forests, dinosaur fos­sils, the human ner­vous sys­tem, and that famous face of Ein­stein with the big, brood­ing, curi­ous eyes. Ask the kids which world they pre­fer to live in.

That’s enough. I would­n’t care very much if a sixth grad­er did­n’t know the def­i­n­i­tions of acid and alka­li, or pis­til and sta­men. If the kid had a sense of scale, a sense of place in the web of cre­ation, a sense of won­der — that would be sci­en­tif­ic lit­er­a­cy enough for me.

The rest, the 442 def­i­n­i­tions, will come in their own sweet time.

Share this Musing: