Teaching Moment #481: Warrants and pictures of dogs

Rhetorical warrants, for those ignorant, backwoods simpletons who frequent this site, is the connection between the argument one makes, and the evidence one uses to make it. Sometimes stated, sometimes not, the warrant is often an argument in and of itself.

For example, when you tell the boss, "Sorry I didn't get those TCP reports done, but last night was two-for-one at the bar and grill," your (unstated) warrant is, "When choosing between doing my job or drinking, I choose drinking." Or when a kid tells me, "I don't have my book for this class; my mother never takes me to buy books until the last minute," the (unstated) warrant is that Mom's driving is the only way the kid can get his school supplies.

Or take Manny, in my comp class. He sees a picture of my pet Chihuahuas on my computer desktop and snickers, pointing at me. "You care more about those dogs than you do us, I bet," he jeered. "True," I acknowledge. "But what gave it away? The picture?" He nodded, and I immediately scrawled the argumentative map on the board:

CLAIM: Teacher likes dogs more than us.
EVIDENCE: The desktop picture of them.
WARRANT: ?????

Not more than ten seconds passed before Manny grabbed the chalk and stepped up for his generation:

WARRANT: Desktop pictures measure one's love for the living beings in his life.

"What can I say?" Manny tossed off at me on the way out the door that afternoon. "I rule."

Yes you do, Manny. By the way, you've got some toilet paper hanging out the seat of your pants. But still.

No Jedi Left Behind

Scene: Dagobah. Yoda sits beneath Luke Skywalker's X-Wing, calmly chewing his walking stick. In the distance, Luke can be heard doing calisthetics and crying.

LUKE: Uhhhhh, this is taking forever! I wanna be done nowwwww!

Suddenly, the blue, glowing form of Obi-Wan Kenobi appears.

OBI-WAN: You're having him stand on his head again?

YODA: Good practice, it is.

OBI-WAN: What is it with you and the head-standing?

YODA: What help can I be for you, Master Obi-Wan?

OBI-WAN: Oh, well, just a few things. There's some paperwork you need to fill out for the Council.

YODA: Paperwork?

OBI-WAN: You know, just the usual progress reports, standardized test scores, and, uh, Luke's IEP. It needs to be updated.

YODA: A whiny little bitch, he can be.

OBI-WAN: Yes, well... (spreads documents on a log) Okay, let's see. How is Luke getting at saber fighting?

YODA: Progressed that far, Luke has not. He must still learn--

OBI-WAN: You know, uh, maybe if you cut it out with all the rocks...

YODA: My own counsel I will keep on how I am to train! (swats Obi-Wan with his stick)

OBI-WAN: Okay, okay. I'm just saying...

YODA: Yes?

OBI-WAN: Well, it's not like he's going to be fighting the Empire by heaving boulders at them, is he?

YODA: What else do you want? Valuable time, you are wasting.

OBI-WAN: Rightrightright. Um, this is sort of hard to say, but...

YODA: Well?

OBI-WAN: Well, Luke didn't make Adequate Yearly Progress.

(beat)

YODA: You are speaking of what the hell now?

OBI-WAN: He didn't leap the minimum required distance in his fitness test, and he still can't throw people around with the Force. You failed him, Yoda.

YODA: I failed him?

OBI-WAN: Look--

YODA: Came to me at the age of twenty-two, he did! Normally, training starts at age five. Undisciplined and uncouth he was. A complete fricking slack-jawed yokel! And now he can use the Force and react faster than anyone else alive!

OBI-WAN: I know, but--

YODA: My fault the Empire took over, it was not! My fault he comes from an unstable home, it is so not!

OBI-WAN: Look, guy, demographics are not destiny. You can't use all that as an excuse.

YODA: Excuse! (seriously pissed now) You were the one who offed his father! Nice job, professor.

OBI-WAN: Um. (clears throat) I mean, the Council is spending all this dough to keep you here on this planet. We paid for the logs, the rocks he's throwing around, the gruel you have him eat and that nifty white t-shirt of his. We need to see some quantifiable results.

YODA: To have him at a Master level by now, unrealistic it is.

OBI-WAN: That sounds like the Union talking...

YODA: Something you want. The hell what is it?

OBI-WAN: I...uh, I didn't quite get that...

YODA: Spill it, hippie!

OBI-WAN: Look, I didn't want it to come to this. But the Council is going to have to take over if you don't get him ready to fight Vader by the spring semester. We feel that, by making this a mandate, you'll be forced to deliver and your instruction will improve more readily. (pause) Merit pay, you dig?

YODA: (heaves deep sigh) A proposal, you have come to give me?

OBI-WAN: No, look, this is totally bitching! We've got this program called Jedi Mastery Manager, and all you have to do is set your learning goals to whatever assessment you give him!

YODA: More paperwork up your butt, you can shove--

OBI-WAN: Like, say, when he does that whole fight-in-the-tree-and-it's-your-own-face thing? If he fails, we key in the skill he's supposed to be learning--

YODA: (looking over Kenobi's shoulder) "Acknowledge your own weaknesses so as to face your shortcomings and achieve inner peace"?

OBI-WAN: That's labeled JC-24.7. And we plug it into the computer and we can tell where you totally suck--

YODA: To hell, you can go.

OBI-WAN: I mean, where you rock as a teacher, right? And where, you know, uh, you can use a little help...

YODA: The student, Luke is. Up to him it must be. A Jedi must know discipline.
OBI-WAN: Rightrightright. No argument here, guy. Except...

YODA: Except...?

OBI-WAN: I mean, this is Response to Intervention we're talking, right? So what have you done to get him to take all this seriously?

(Long, awkward silence. Yoda stares angrily. Obi-wan shifts uncomfortably.)

YODA: Are you high or something?

OBI-WAN: Not since before I died. Anyway. Guy. The Council is totally behind you. We think you can accomplish miracles. Except, you know, unless you don't. Then we'll have to contract this school out to a charter.

YODA: What freaking charter? All the other Jedi are dead! He's about to fight his own father and you idiots want me to document whether or not he can walk a straight line!

OBI-WAN: Well, obviously you haven't been keeping up with the reform literature, guy.  Haven't you heard of that Hutt Success Zone on Tattoine? They're working miracles with those underprivileged Jawas. And, oh! There's also the KIWP schools!

YODA: Kiwp?

OBI-WAN: Knowledge is Wookie Power, man! They've got those hairy bastards levitating two inches off the ground! And they have kickass t-shirts too.

YODA: Yes. T-shirts.

OBI-WAN: So? Can the Council count on your assured success in the face of impossible odds?

(one more long pause)

YODA: I quit.

OBI-WAN: Ok. No problem. We've got a replacement lined up anyway. Graduated from the Harvard School of Business! Meet Professor Jar-Jar. He'll be materializing in just a--

YODA: Thank you, no. (impales self with lightsaber, falls to ground dead)

OBI-WAN: Hmm.

The End

"Paper and pencil, you do not have. For this, sorry I failed you I am."

Former-Student-Turned-Marine Inspiration

Today, an old student of mine who'd served in the Marines after graduation came back to school for a presentation on American veterans. He’d served his country in Operation Iraqi Freedom, undergone training and come back alive to tell his story and keep a national perspective in mind for the younger generation. After the presentation, he shook my hand, said he was doing good and offered to tell me more about his experiences.

I wanted to tell him how proud I was about how far he’d come, about how hard he’d worked, and about how well he’d conducted himself in what must have been a beyond-harrowing experience. I wanted to tell him he did his high school, and his country proud.

Instead, I said, “Joe, you’re doing well, not good. Your grammar sucks.” And I wrote him up and kicked him out of the building.


"Yeah, you're a hero. Now sit up straight."

Resource Center Inspiration

Today I wound up having to sub for a special ed resource study hall. It was a lot of walking around, checking work, prying earphones from kids' heads, stuff like that. But then one student, Luis, approached me about a paragraph he was writing for his English class about entering the Air Force after graduation. He gave me a stick of gum, we sat down and went to work.

It's been so long since I had a student ask questions like "What do you think of this word here? Is it a decent transition?" and "I'm not sure this word here means what I think it means--how can I find a better one?" and actually seem interested in the answers. The paragraph itself was an exercise in obviousness and basic thought, but it was honest, it was thoughtful, and the kid seemed to honestly want to make it as good as it could possibly be.

We toiled. We rewrote. We revised. And we finished.

It was definitely one of those moments that puts the whole educational mission in a new focus, fueling me with the inspiration and ardor necessary we all crave on a daily basis. A Teaching Moment for both student and instructor.

Anyway, you're not supposed to have gum in study hall. So I wrote him up and kicked him out.