It’s years ago, a Saturday afternoon. I’m picking up my second grade son after an afternoon of play on the Lakeland campus with a classmate of his. On the way home, Wade says to me, “Dad, do you remember that time last year when you went to Chicago?”
“Yep,” I say.
“Where did you sleep?”
“The Blackstone.”
“What’s the Blackstone?”
“A hotel.”
“Well, what did you do there?”
“Went to a big meeting, a convention.”
“What for?” he says.
I’m stumped for a few seconds; how am I to summarize and to translate for a seven-year-old three days of educators—many of them quite powerful or famous—engaged in discussion to enhance development of general studies programs of colleges and universities spanning the United States?
“Well,” I say, “there’s this kind of argument that teachers in college have. “
“What?” he says.
“Well, some professors say that it’s better to teach facts and ideas. Other professors say it’s better to teach how to solve problems.”
Silence now. One thousand one. One thousand two. One thousand three. I sense Wade turn toward me, feel his eyes on me. “Well,” he says, “why don’t they do both?”
There it was staring me in the face. Easy as one, two, three. “From the mouth of babes.” The answer in the form of a question.
At first I laughed. Then I didn’t laugh. Haven’t I encouraged students, over and over, to remember that the answers are in the questions they dream up—not somebody else’s answers? And how is it that 300+ professors spent god-only-knows how many man hours on an enterprise for which the answer appears not even now, two decades later, apparent to them?
Yet, have you ever heard what the most common course is for persons enrolled in higher education? It’s plain literature, ink on paper.