Breaking Bad and Me - How Walter White can inform my teaching...

     First, I should admit that I love that hat. Seriously, Walt, great hat.
     Secondly, this has nothing to do with the realities of the evils of crystal meth. It's bad. I know.
     But, damn, Walt's a good teacher.

    I wrote the above about a month ago after watching the first season of Breaking Bad. I'd been enjoying the show on so many levels - MacBeth parallels, tremendous acting, frantic pacing - but I couldn't shake the fact that Walt was a high school teacher, and so am I. I found myself wondering if I could discern anything about education from the show. I don't think Vince Gilligan intended that, but I found myself bringing that to the show myself. Not the few scenes that take place in the high school, but the relationship between Walt and Jesse.
     Then I realized that I'd better watch the rest of the show before I tried to tackle this. Now I've caught up on the first four seasons and am ready to sort out my thoughts on Breaking Bad - Educational Treatise.
     There are several questions the show raises (and sometimes answers) about teaching and education. Who should be a teacher? What sorts of experiences are truly educational? What is the right relationship between teacher and student? Diving into them has been an opportunity for me to reflect on the nature of education.
     Who is Walter White? We don't know much back story. He's a bitter, failed chemist who came to teaching probably through telling himself that he was too good for the corporate rat race. It's hard to imagine that he hasn't had multiple conversations about how the "intangible" benefits of teaching make up for the lack of prestige and money. But then again, he's not the only public servant in the family, and Hank clearly has top dog status at the beginning of the series. His job is glamorous, heroic, and masculine. Walt is openly hostile to the way Hank seems to be "stealing" his son's attention and affection. Add to that the fact that Hank's stories and the actual events of the series seem to disprove all of Hank's bravado and the importance of his job, and it's easy to see why Walter is too smart to accept his position at the bottom.
    So, wait, who is Walter White? He's not in teaching for the kids. If he loves anything other than his family, it's chemistry. Woe betide the high school teacher who loves his subject more than his students. I tell people often, I spend so much more time with my students than I do with English. His awkward performance at the pep rally really speaks to his lack of connection to what we would think of as the life of a school.
     And yet, does he seem like the kind of person (removing his felonies from the equation for now) who should be teaching high school students chemistry? He's personable, nerdily charismatic, and a full-fledged expert in his subject. Why shouldn't he be? But his actions reveal his character: vindictive, arrogant, obsessive, and, if not immoral, then at least an equivocator. He's not a man I'd want grading my lab report.
     But his relationship with Jesse is deep. It's not a coincidence that Jesse never stops calling him "Mr. White," nor that he continually reaches out to Walt for help - "Let's go get a beer" - when his life is falling apart. Mr. White is his touchstone and the foundation of his well-being. Jesse's been rejected by literally everyone in his life - even his skeazy meth-head buddies - and yet he stands by Walt from beginning to end. And Walt does the same for him. How does that make sense?
     Walt doesn't like Jesse personally. That's clear. They're not friends. He doesn't gush about Jesse's talents. Jesse doesn't remind him of himself. All of the typical teacher-student relationship cliches are missing. The only clue is when Walt tells Jesse that he never "applied himself". Tired turn of phrase, but maybe it has a deeper meaning here. Walt sees the ability in Jesse; Walt doesn't seem to be the kind of teacher who would see this in everyone. This is not his stock phrase. Jesse had an affinity for chemistry, but Walt couldn't get Jesse to bring it to the classroom. When do they connect? In the RV. The lab is a classroom, and Jesse is a willing - if truculent - student. When the two work side-by-side, Jesse learns. He eventually matches and possibly even eclipses the master.
     So Walt's expertise can only truly have an influence when put to practical use. Jesse's experience is an apprenticeship and allows moments at various times for various kinds of instruction. You see it when Jesse tells the RV mechanic to "fix the buzzer on the key thing." You see it when he lays out his larger business plan Combo, Badger, and Skinny Pete. You see it when he negotiates his way past Hank in the RV standoff. You see it when he removes the toddler from the meth house after the ATM incident. He's learning more than just the technique for 99% pure crystal meth; he's learning responsibility, professionalism, and business acumen. His learning puts him out-of-step with his two remaining dealer buddies, and they're not capable of his sort of ambition. Even when he tries to re-submerge himself back into that world, it's clear Walt's education has left a mark. He can't be satisfied in his semi-functional meth-house no matter how much pizza and video games with prostitutes are available. Walt's shown him the other side, and he cannot go back. Education is supposed to work like this: open a student's mind, and he will find his own way out.
     We used to discuss the different sort of "voices" that teachers use on their students. There's parent voice, child voice, and adult voice. The only effective voice - according to the Ruby Payne theory - is the adult voice. If you want proof, I still have the video my Mixed Media Ninjas made explaining it to the whole staff. I think that Breaking Bad elaborates on this. Walt is not a surrogate father for Jesse. He's a business partner. No matter what emotional cataclysms either finds himself in, the other is involved only as an equal. Contrast Walt and Jane's father. Jane's father is (justifiably and nobly) intervening with his daughter. He's set her up as the landlord and is shepherding her to her meetings. He obviously loves her deeply - even so deeply that he's unable to drag her from the house and fatefully waits "until tomorrow" after finding her relapsed with Jesse. When Walt finds Jesse passed out with Jane, his complaint is not one of the existential disappointment and pain that would come from a son's downfall, but instead, the practical reality of a momentarily unreliable and irresponsible business partner. He's not going to drag Jesse to rehab; he's just going to consider a different way of doing business. When he does force Jesse into rehab, it's not out of any concern for Jesse. It's a business investment. And his "accidental" negligence towards Jane? Savvy business decision.
     Walt's not jocular or buddy-buddy with Jesse. He's demanding and clear. Their relationship doesn't reflect any of those three Ruby Payne voices. Jesse is Walt's apprentice, and Walt's high standards are only going to matter because he has an equal stake in the game. They're not pretending or practicing. They're producing, and their relationship reflects that reality.
     What do I take away from all this? I am going to consider the power of being side-by-side with my students, of meeting them truly where they are to help them see the "reality" of what I'm teaching. I'm going to work to make my students feel the authenticity of what we're doing so that they can begin to make their own choices and changes.
     I'm not going to become a meth producer or its English teacher equivalent.
         
   

Duality

     Why questions. Why questions? Why question?
     Complicated language, English.
     Today, I listened to a podcast about linguistic analysis.  Specifically, it was about the "gendering" of languages like Latin, Spanish, and German. Instead of asking what the masculinity and femininity does or is in those languages, the podcast was asking a more difficult question: why do human languages have them in the first place?  The conversation smoothly moved into one about the naturally dual nature of our consciousness. There's no simple answer to the difficult question, but what answers there are seem to lie deeply rooted in our minds.
     I wonder if it's a defense mechanism - an evolutionary safeguard. If there's anything that is fundamental to the human condition, it's categories. We organize the world - us and them; good and bad; with and against; right and wrong - naturally and ceaselessly. These categories are primal. But do they make any sense? Our very facility with language makes us assume that categories are meaningful (most words are categories, right?), but in that sense do they ignore reality?
     Let me put it like this: categories are shorthand ways of dealing with the world, but that doesn't mean that the things we place in categories belong there or actually share anything.
     I just listened to lots of analysis of the NBA draft, and I root for a baseball team that cannot figure it out. Sports fans and executives are constantly "typing" players. This team needs a rangy, long-armed jump shooter, while that one needs a big who can space the floor and run on the break. The Royals have needed starting pitching since 1994 and have drafted every type of player conceivable. And yet if the people were reducable down to these categories, why can't we simply put sports teams together by formula? Surround a superstar big man with above average slashers, shooters, and plus defenders, and you'll have a winning team. Except when you don't.
    That's where "chemistry" is invoked. It's the wild card that fills in the gaps of logic that these types of people are the winning type while these others aren't. Analysts want to know why this team won that game that time while ignoring that the elements involved are completely unreproduceable. Our need for order in the universe forces our minds to believe that we can exert control where we can't. Decisions will be made, shots will be missed, great hitters will strike out. Unpredictably. Afterwards, we'll think we should've predicted it. Next time, we'll know what's going to happen. And because the outcomes are so simple - win or lose - we'll judge from the feedback even though we probably won't do so accurately.
      I feel like parenting is a similar game with a similar problem.
     There are so many right ways to parent and so many wrong. So many decisions that will be pivotal and so many others that only seem so. What type of child do I have, what are the right ways to nurture and develop her? But what I have is a person - individual and unlike any other. I don't mean that in the smarmy, "we're all special" sort of way. Instead, I mean that most of what puts us in the category of "human" is superficial compared to what makes us the individuals that we are. When I spend my energy trying to figure out the type of person I'm raising, I can lose sight of the actual person I'm raising.
     A psychologist I know told me that there was a school of thought in psychology when he was in college  that saw all psychology as individual. That one can only analyze and treat a person's psyche, not the type of person that he is. I am not a psychologist, and I may not have even described that correctly, but it rang in my ears. What value is there in "typing" yourself or others? I can only see expedience. It eliminates the need to actually know anyone or yourself. I find myself caught in ruts so often because doing something different is not what my type of person does.
     Ultimately, it's probably a function of our brain's need for categories. I need the world to fall into categories - loved and hated; success and failure; moral and immoral; grown-up and child - so that I can sleep at night believing that my life is predictable.