Oct. 26, 2005

Teachers must dream about waving arms, flailing hands, wiggling fingers and that &8220;oohh, oohh oh&8221; sound every single night.

Whichever power player in the American education system of yore decided that requiring children to raise their hands before answering questions in class was a good idea could have never expected the end result.

Knowing the answer, or for that matter even hearing the question, is no longer a requirement for raising your hand.

Perhaps it&8217;s a sign of attention deprived children, or maybe just kids who want to be right and do what they think they are supposed to do but it seems like some fourth-grade hands are up more than down.

I sat in the back of Mrs. Tuccio&8217;s room Tuesday morning while she reviewed the kids on the body parts of animals in science class. At the height of the discussion I couldn&8217;t even see the teacher through the up-stretched arms.

Before science, the kids did popcorn math (much to my disappointment there was no actual buttery treat). Mrs. Tuccio writes a subtraction problem on the overhead and everybody works it. When you&8217;re done you move your head in a popping motion.

The kids are familiar with the game, but some still managed to fling their arms in the air in addition to popping, just to make sure Mrs. Tuccio knew they were done.

And finding volunteers to work the problems in front of the class wasn&8217;t difficult.

There&8217;s good and bad to be found in this over-willingness to answer questions.

Class participation is always a good thing, even though I didn&8217;t realize that until my lack thereof started lowering my grades in college.

Being ready to take a stab at the math problem, even if you get it wrong, is the first step to learning.

And, at the very least, a kid who raises his hand is paying attention to what&8217;s going on.

But why do they raise them before the question&8217;s been asked? Is it competition to beat out the next guy?

All too often, raised hands fall quickly if called upon because the owner realizes he or she doesn&8217;t have the faintest idea what the answer is. Now the teacher has wasted valuable minutes and the class is distracted. Off-base answers do the same thing.

Anyone who knows me well knows I struggle with a passion for being right and a disdain for being wrong much more than the average person.

The fear of being wrong was enough to keep my hand firmly in my lap through most of grade school and college.

Of course, when I&8217;m sure of myself &8212; and that happens a lot &8212; you&8217;d better believe you&8217;ll hear the answer.

Yet, nine times out of 10 I dreaded being called on in class &8212; especially to do math problems on the board. Waving my hand in a desperate attempt to draw attention never entered my mind.

There are a few in Mrs. Tuccio&8217;s class who share that same makeup, but they tend to get lost in the sea of hands.

I&8217;d willing to bet those kids have the right answer on their paper, while the one at the board has forgotten that you can&8217;t borrow from a zero.

On that day when the educational orbits align perfectly and the kid with the flailing arm becomes the one with the right answer, I guess the teachers&8217; dreams will transform from nightmares to peaceful slumbers.

Julie Finley is the education reporter for The Natchez Democrat. She writes a weekly column based on experiences with Marty Tuccio&8217;s homeroom class at McLaurin Elementary. She can be reached at 601-445-3551 or

julie.finley@natchezdemocrat.com

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