Pace
The other day, I said to Diane, “There’s an epidemic of slow drivers.” Every time I drive somewhere, I inevitably end up behind someone driving at least ten miles-an-hour less than I believe we should be going. In my more frustrated states, I shake my head and lift my hands in helpless gestures, hoping that the drivers look in their rearview mirrors and recognize just how much they are inconveniencing me. In my more philosophical states, I think—it’s good for me to slow down. And so I back off and see what I see out the windows.
And today, forced to drive slow, I thought about pace—how that driver ahead of me has some pace that works for him. And simply, his pace is not mine. That got me thinking about pace in general and how one person’s seldom matches another’s.
Students and teachers deal with issues of pace all the time—one student learns quickly, another more slowly. One student needs careful, hand-holding attention, and another wants autonomy. A classroom may be filled with a mix of various paces; and as a teacher, I try to find some rhythm that 1) matches the whole class and 2) accommodates individual needs.
Diane tells a story that happened about five years ago. She took our two nephews—Christopher, ten, and Michael, eight—to New York’s Museum of Natural History. They were lagging behind her; Diane snapped her fingers and said, “C’mon. Pick up the pace.” Christopher, the older one, looked down at the ground, trying to find something called pace that he could actually pick up.
Correction: Diane informs me that I am mixing up my museum stories. Apparently, Christopher was only seven years old, and Michael was not there. In fact, Diane says, it wasn’t the Museum of Natural History either, but it was a museum… The pick up the pace punchline—that’s accurate.
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