Democracy and Cookies

I have done my fair share of offending people this election season, so I don’t imagine that my discussing democracy with my class would inspire confidence from my critics. Since I didn’t want to ignore the democratic process, but I just couldn’t muster up the courage to speak objectively, I chose a third option. We would practice.

I told the class that I had 12 cookies, but 22 people. “What should we do?” I asked. “You decide.” Then I sat down.

They started talking to each other and it got pretty loud. Some of them talked about the cookies and some of them didn’t. I let the stew cook for a while, then I stood up. “Now I want you to get into groups. You can choose whichever group you want. Groups can be as big as you want. Choose one leader for every group.”

We ended up with six parties. Seven-year-olds come up with much better names than “The Baked Good Distribution Party” or the “The Confectionary Allotment Party.” Two of the party names included the word monkey.

Each party leader got a thirty second speech to convince the class that his or her party was the best. I was impressed with the solutions they came up with. 1) Divide the cookies into fourths and hand them out until there aren’t any left. 2) Give each person half of a cookie, the give the rest to hungry people. 3) Divide the cookies into fourths, give every student a fourth, and then give the rest to poor people. And so on.

Then I gave my speech. “If you vote for the Bushman party, the twelve tallest students will get a cookie.” I lined up the class from tallest to shortest and pointed out who would get a cookie for voting for me. Then we voted.

I got 13 votes—one more than I was expecting.

I handed out one whole cookie to the twelve tallest students and watched as their faces reflected their thoughts. They weren’t allowed to eat the cookies just yet. They could only look at the cookies and each other.

“Mr. Bushman, that’s not fair,” said one of the non-cookie-getters.

“It seems fair to me,” I said. “We voted on it, and that is what the class decided.” I looked around the class, and not even the cookie-getters were satisfied. “Should we try again?”

This time, the class rallied against me. “Russell” led the amalgamation party—called the Wild Cats—and I led the Bushman Party. I allowed open discussion to continue, the Bushman Party went to one side of the room, and the Wild Cats went to the other.

I changed my stump speech. “I will give a whole cookie to everyone that votes for me,” I said. The class ran to my side.

“That’s impossible,” said Russell, “he doesn’t have enough cookies.” The class returned to Russell’s side.

“All I need is twelve of you. The first twelve to vote for me will get cookies. I can promise you that.”

The very last minute of the exercise was the most interesting. I let the students battle it out for themselves. Some students weighed the options carefully, some just went wherever their friends went, some followed the majority, some sought class-equality (no pun intended), and some sought self-interest.

When the time was up, we took a vote. The Bushman Party won. There was some cheering, some murmuring, and some heads on desks.

At this point, a good teacher would have broken up the cookies and given everyone an equal share, regardless of the vote. A good teacher would have talked about how we need to be mindful of others as well as for ourselves. A good teacher would warn against selfishness. A good teacher would discuss the pledge of allegiance, asking what is meant by the phrase “justice for all.”

I’ve never been the kind of teacher that uses the usual lesson on holidays. On Columbus Day, we read a story from the perspective of a displaced Native American family. On September 11, we discuss prejudice—especially again non-Christians. During Red Ribbon Week, we talk about capitalism.

The way I see it, there will be days set aside for the three ships and the first Thanksgiving. There will be plenty of time to talk about how evil terrorists are and how great America is. There will be ample discussion about how yucky smokers look. I’ll leave the easy stuff for third grade.

I like to think I am a good teacher.

Halloween Part 1

It was nice to find a costume that utilized my natural strengths. It was hard to pretend that I liked honey, but everything else came quite naturally. Oh, and using the restroom was tricky because the zipper was in the back. I got really good at holding it.

After having our school Halloween Parade, I decided it was time to scare the Winne out of my class.

Before school, I set up a single light bulb onto a radio controlled module that would allow me to control the intensity of the bulb from anywhere in the room. I hid the controller in my Winnie Nuck Pooh hands so the students never saw it coming. I also had a radio controlled module that was broken, but still makes a fantastic clicking/tapping sound.

I turned out the overhead light, played some ambient horror music, and paraphrased the story of “The Cask of Amontillado” by Edgar Allen Poe. For those of you unfamiliar with this morbid tale, Montressor takes his friend-turned-enemy (Fortunato) deep into a catacomb, walls him up behind masonry, and leaves him for dead. Too morbid for seven-year-olds? Maybe. Effective at making kids shake in terrror. Yes. Oh baby yes. As the duo went deeper and deeper into the catacomb, the single light bulb got dimmer and dimmer. Eventually, the light was out and they were ready for the climax. When Fortunato is completely walled up he begins to tap again the wall. Cue the clicking module. The kids were totally spooked. I screamed, they jumped, then we all had a good laugh.

Even the most frightened of children begged for more.

To make the day all the more zany, I went to the temple as a Ward assignment. I couldn’t stop thinking of R.L. Stein references and movie taglines. Here’s a sample:

• Grant Bushman: Helping the Dead on Their Day.
• It really is the day of the dead.
• Helping the dead never looked so good.
• Once a year, the dead do some work for themselves.
• You scratch my back…
• A Halloween deal the devil didn’t count on.
• Death is only the beginning.

If you have any other additions, feel free to leave a comment.