The Noise Contradiction

My students and I are conflicted about noise, in different ways. First of all, there's noise, and then there's noise. I also think that noise in the context of a special education classroom is different than it is in other classrooms.

Noise vs noise: I constantly militate against the idea that learning = silence. It's mostly in my own head, because as a practical matter, kids make noise by default and teachers require then to stop making noise in order to accomplish some instructional basics. But I do remind myself, often, that kids learn from each other and from their own expressions, thoughts, and ideas, and they can't do this silently. Engagement is learning is noise. However, as we all know there is a qualitative difference between the sound of kids learning and the sound of kids making a racket. I try not to wish for quiet, never mind ask for it, when kids are engaged. I get a good chance to practice this when I substitute teach: the class "feels" a little out of control, but when I am subbing for Art, they're *supposed* to be talking, moving around the room and showing each other their work. I talk myself down. Then it's easier to stop and listen when it's my math lesson, being observed by my advisor, to make sure that it's "engaged noise" I'm hearing.

Noise in context: The children in my class are often very sensitive to noise. Even engaged noise can be overwhelming, and it has a visceral effect on the students who are most sensitive. I can feel them tense, feel their affective hackles go up, and the engagement with any academic task evaporates immediately. Then the cycle begins: it's noisy and it sounds like this:

Student 1: "Can you PLEASE be quiet, I can't do my work!"

Student 2: "I'm not making any noise, YOU are!"

Student 1: "You are TOO, you're kicking the table and humming!"

Student 2: "Well, you're shouting, YOU be quiet!"

Of course, this is all at top volume, so everyone else in the vicinity is now disturbed. It's like someone kicked over the project in the block area: instant, utter destruction of nominal, fragile quiet.

The "calm noise" of our classroom is shattered in this precise way, many times a day. We are addressing it through a social-emotional curriculum unit, looking at conflict, the causes of conflict, analyzing conflicts students have had, and throughout the day, identifying instances like these and looking for opportunities to be a conflict solver.

While there are many self-defeating behaviors and habits that you can see in a special education classroom, this one seems to me to be the worst offender. Is there anything more ironic than kids who need quiet, who crave it, who physically react to its absence, being the destroyers of their own quiet? It's not because Student 1 was too impulsive in asking for quiet, or didn't ask nicely, or Student 2 was defensive and didn't respond well. They all need help with the social and emotional and self-regulation skills that will both help them not make the noise and get past the noise. This, more than any specific learning challenge, is what makes it so hard for these kids to do all the normal school stuff that they want and need to do. This is why we forgo reading time for talking about conflict and how to avoid it. It may not be the root of the problem, but it's close.

Noise: Yours and Other Peoples'

It's Sunday and some sadistic soul has parked on the street outside our apartment. Their car alarm, I think, is set to honk the horn rhythmically for several minutes and then cut off for one minute. I called 311 with a noise complaint- the cops have not shown up yet. We're going on four hours now, and it's hellish. Only 60 seconds of relief every few minutes. My head hurts.

Our students often complain about noise. I think some of them with attentional issues are in a 12:1 setting because noise affects them so profoundly. Classrooms are noisy. At PSOhYes, the student I worked closely with often deplored the noise, sometimes loudly (which was necessary to be heard, in fairness!), and he was right. I can see how it can be hard to work if you're sensitive to noise, which he was.

Isn't that the received wisdom about kids, though, that they can't concentrate when it's noisy? I feel like that old truism is why we had to do math in silence when I was a kid, and why we still have quiet reading time today. At moments, it's how we ask students to show us that they are working very hard. We try to tell ourselves now that a certain quality of noisy chaos is a sign of engagement and signifies learning. I believe this; I think it's true, even though it's hard to tolerate for very long. But what about kids that really can't handle noise? And then, what do you when those selfsame kids are the ones making the noise?

We had been preparing for the last few weeks for a grade-wide exposition of social studies projects that was really a big deal, and happened last week. Activity in our room was frenzied and sometimes very noisy. The energy level was high and approached frenetic as we ticked down to the event. The kids were wired, even as they occasionally put their heads in their hands, heads on the table, heads under coats, to get a little down time.  

In addition to parents, administrators and teachers from other schools came. Classrooms were rearranged; work our students did was placed in other exhibits; our classroom was "invaded" (it felt like) by other kids' work and many, many people. Our students knew how to check out for a few minutes when there was no one around, but now there was no escape. It was a long two days.

I'll be curious to see what happens to the noise level when things get back to normal. Will the class be quieter than other classrooms? Or will they make their own noise until they can't stand themselves anymore and then shout for quiet? Or something in between?