Return to: Homepage, Publications, or Newsletters

Table of Contents

• Physics for First-Graders
• Helping Children Develop Oral-Language Skills

---

Physics for First-Graders

Steven G. Hagerott

My car bounced into the circle drive of the lower-middle-class elementary school. It was located on the north side of Lawrence, Kansas, directly across from a dog food factory. As my car shuddered to a stop, I fought off the scent of steaming dog food and industrial smoke. I peered into the standard playground to see the conventional amusements: slides, monkey bars, swings, and. a merry-go-round. These amusements are usually assumed to provide mere childish recreations, an escape from learning. However, like many children's toys, they hide a wealth of potential lessons about everyday physics.

A group of 20 engineering students from the University of Kansas had volunteered to teach physics and science to children in grade school throughout the city of Lawrence. I was one of those dreamers. For one semester, we were put in charge of three hours of instructional time per week. A teaching module was available as a guide to those engineering students teaching fourth-, fifth-, and sixth-graders. For those of us teaching a combined class of first-, second-, and third graders, as I was, there was no direction.

I searched my memory for the activities that had sparked my interest in science at a young age. Did it happen in school? All I could remember about the first three grades was a disconnected series of chocolate milk breaks, recesses, and addition problems. My best recollection suggests that my interest developed through hands-on experimentation outside of school. Experimentation fueled by the insatiable curiosity of a child.

My earliest memory of such experimentation goes back to age 6. I became fascinated by a wood-paneled radio that we had in our garage, and I was determined to duplicate it. Digging through a junk drawer, I found what I thought were the two most necessary components: an electrical cord with an outlet plug and a speaker.

"What more could there be?" I thought, visualizing the talking box with a cord plugged into the wall of our garage.

I knew I must be doing something night because the construction proved to be so simple. The cord had two bare wires on one end and an outlet plug on the other. Coincidentally, the speaker had two metal tabs waiting to receive the bare metal wires to form the rest of my radio. I wrapped a wire around each metal tab of the speaker to complete the radio. I sauntered up to the nearest outlet and inserted the plug, expecting to hear blaring music.

Blaring music is not exactly what I heard. In a violent explosion of sound, light, and smoke, the outlet refused to cooperate. The victimized speaker smoked hotly in my hands, while the outlet was charred black from the scorching it received. My response was to scurry to my room like a chased cockroach to avoid the impending wrath of my parents, now that the echo of the explosion and the scent of smoke wafted through the house.

Hiding out gave me a brief interval to wonder about my error, and all I can remember thinking was, "Why? Why didn't it work? I had the cord, the speaker, what more do you need? I guess there must be more inside that box than just a speaker."

Curiosity, developed through active participation, is what kids need to get them interested in science. Because I didn't plan to subject these first-graders to a radio experience comparable to mine, I set my aim on the one thing every child knows intimately: the playground.

As I sat in my car in front of the school, I frantically searched for a lesson plan that would make use of the playground. My eyes scanned the contents of my car: a backpack and a towel. I looked out into the playground and eyeballed the monkey bars and slide. Perfect. A first-class series of physics demonstrations was being born.

I walked into a roomful of 24 miniature human beings intently involved with their coloring books. Bodies and tongues squirmed with every stroke of the crayons.

"Class, this is Steve. He is an engineering student at the University of Kansas, who will be teaching you about engineering and science for a couple of months," the teacher, Mrs. Tamerius, explained in that tone with which adults speak to children. I felt instantly awkward and childish. I had to teach children about things that engineers can barely communicate to one another without equations. How could I talk to these students without sounding like a dork?

"Hey, guys, what's up?"' I said, commanding the attention of all the little bodies.

"Hi, Steve," they all droned in a gradeschool singsong.

"They tell me that I am supposed to teach you about engineering and science this semester. Well, I think there is only one thing that you guys really need to learn, and that is one word: Why?" I paused as all the bodies squirmed in confusion. "Now, let"s go outside!"

Looks flashed from me to the teacher. Is this possible? It's not even recess. I watched the little minds flirt with the concept as the teacher looked at me and laughed.

"Everybody line up," Mrs. Tamerius commanded in her best drill sergeant tone. She was apparently as excited as the students were over what I was planning. The children were amazed at the opportunity to go outside during school hours. Little did they know that they were still going to be in school.

So my 24 midget followers marched behind me in single file, directly to the monkey bars. The monkey bars looked like a ladder lying horizontally-but held six feet above the ground by metal posts on either end.

"Okay, everybody,"' I screamed to start the discussion and try to get control of the situation. "I want everyone to line up in front of the monkey bars and prepare to hang from the bars.

The children fought to get into line. As they waited, they jumped up and down to burn off a little of their seemingly limitless energy.

"Okay. Now I want everyone to go halfway out and hang there. I want you to remember how your hands feel hanging from the bars."

Mrs. Tamerius and I laughed as the army of children assaulted the monkey bars and then, one by one, fell like paratroopers to the ground.

"Now we're going to do it again. But this time each of you will take turns wearing this backpack full of books. I want you to think about how this feels compared to the first time,"' I instructed, hoping something might be gained by this experiment.

I fitted the students with the backpack, one after the other. I let each one hang from the monkey bars and then moved on to the next. Assembly-line education at its best. Some of the boys tried not to let go in an attempt to prove their masculinity

"Is it harder to hold on?" I asked them.

"No, it's easy," some of the young boys lied as they grunted with effort.

"I can't hold on as long," the other students replied.

Then came the summary. "'Which way did you guys fall from the monkey bars?" I asked.

"Down!" came the synchronous scream from the group.

"And was it harder to hold on with the backpack or easier?"

"Harder!" came another chant from the bouncing crowd.

"'Okay, you guys, here's the important word. Why?" I waited as the seconds seemed like hours. I watched the students grapple with the question. They began to squirm as the thoughts began to flow. It was as if their minds could not fully function without a corresponding body movement. They offered bits of commonsense logic, such as "The books make you heavier." But they never quite hit the mark.

"'The reason why you fell down and why it was harder for you to hold on with the backpack was"--I paused momentarily to add more drama--"gravity!" I sounded like Beakman. "'Gravity pulls things down, and gravity is what makes things feel heavy. Remember this word because you're going to hear it every time I am here--gravity," I concluded proudly.

The experiments in the hands-on discovery of physics continued throughout the semester. I once had the kids take turns going down a slide with and without a towel. The slide and towel were used to show how gravity and friction work together. The swing was used to demonstrate how gravity, friction, and inertia work together. The merry-go-round was used to demonstrate gravity, friction, inertia, and force.

Each of these lessons began with the children giving me a cheering welcome. Most likely it was because they began to expect an entertaining hour.

A series of these experiments stressing applications continued, and the same terms were applied and repeated: gravity, friction, inertia, and force. The experiments involved toy rockets, hovercraft, and homemade hot-air balloons, to name a few.  At times, Mrs. Tamerius jumped in to translate when I got too technical and forgot my audience. In each lesson, every child ran through a battery of experiments, and the fundamental analysis of why concluded every lecture.

When bodily exercises weren't appropriate, the children would each construct something. We would have a classwide trial run of whatever the apparatus of the day turned out to be, and then we analyzed how it worked in terms of gravity, friction, inertia, and force. From first grade to third grade the answers would be barked out: "Gravity! Friction! Inertia! Force!"

The construction projects seemed to be special favorites of the students. Beginning with the analysis of why and using the four fundamental terms, the projects expanded to include such ideas as lift and how airplanes fly. Considering most children's immense fondness for paper airplanes, I set out to capitalize on this enthusiasm for a lesson.

"How many of you know how to make a paper airplane?"' I asked, expecting a unanimous positive reply.  To my surprise, only a few hands rose. I realized that these children were indeed young. Their minds, fresh and uncluttered, were innocent of much that I took for granted. In my lesson, they were going to experience for the first time something as simple as a paper airplane. I gently coached each student through the process of folding and forming a paper airplane. I inspected and repaired each student's airplane at the front of the class. The children would walk up to me like proud parents, presenting their newborn airplanes to me. A red stamp of approval indicated that the plane was certified for flight.

"'Can we color our airplanes?" the kids asked with artistic eagerness.

"Yes, you may color your airplanes," I droned in reply because they wanted to color everything they made. It must have provided the children with a sense of their uniqueness. Their eyes would glow with pride, and their tongues dangled from their mouths during the coloring process. I relived mv own childhood during these times. The memory of my failed radio flickered in and out of my, mind, as my childhood curiosity flowed through me again.

"Okay, everybody. Now we are going to line up and take turns throwing our airplanes," I announced. The children's eyes flashed at the idea of being ordered to throw airplanes in school. Smiles spread across the room like a wave. Chaos ensued as usual, and Mrs. Tamerius stepped in to help me regain control of the situation. Classroom management is definitely an art form.

"Now we're going to draw the forces that push or pull on the airplane to keep it flying. What things make your airplanes fly when you throw them?" I asked the students.

The words rang out like a triumphant battle cry from the crowd, "'Lift! Inertia! Gravity! Friction!" From first to third grade, the children cheered as they set about applying their knowledge. I helped out by drawing a large paper airplane on the board. Students would walk up to the airplane picture and write one of the terms, along with an arrow indicating the direction of the force. I then went from student to student and watched them draw arrows on each of their own prized airplanes. The four arrows stood out from the colorful creations. I questioned some students when they had a misplaced arrow.

"Does air friction speed up the airplane or slow it down?" I asked a third-grade student.

"It slows it down. Oops! That means it points backward!" he quickly responded.

"Does gravity pull the airplane up or pull it down?" I asked a first-grader.

"'Oh! I've gotta draw it pointing down like the backpack pulled me down!" the firstgrader discovered excitedly.

I glowed with satisfaction as the children went through the mental processes of understanding their airplanes. The concept of using arrows to show forces on something seemed natural to them, almost instinctive. I was amazed that every child in the first, second, and third grade rapidly drew the forces acting on his or her airplane. Although they didn't know it, they were actually drawing "freebody diagrams." Usually, freebody diagrams showing a body with the forces acting on it are not mentioned until the sophomore year of college. But for these youngsters, a freebody diagram was just a picture that showed how their brightly colored airplanes worked.

As the semester developed, the children and I became more attached. My lessons usually began with me sitting on a chair and the kids circling around me on the floor. I felt like a grandfather as the children fought to get close to me, to lean against me, to put a hand on my shoulder as I raised new questions or suggested new applications to them. That was how I ended my final class with "my kids." They circled around me with bright eyes and giggles. They looked at me in silence as I quietly spoke to them in the half-childish tone that I had become so comfortable with.

"What is the one question you guys are going to remember to ask after this semester?" I asked, hoping for the answer I wanted.

"Why!" the children shouted. My heart warmed; I felt a piece of my own childhood had been shared. My own love of childhood experiments had been reborn in each of the 24 children sitting around me.

"It is not important that each of you become an engineer or a scientist," I explained. "But it is important that you can think like an engineer or a scientist. That just means constantly asking the question, Why?" The children avoided making eye contact.

"Well," I continued. "This is the last time I'll be here. I was only supposed to teach for the fall semester."

"You're not coming back?" they quickly asked, shocked.

"I'll visit in the spring. I'll bring my hang glider, and I'll show you how it works," I responded, fighting down the lump in my throat and struggling to control my emotions. Hugs came from all around, as children grabbed my legs and told me how much they would miss me. I turned toward the door and waved goodbye to the crowd of children standing in silence.

Physics and other scientific knowledge can be taught to third-, second-, and even first-graders. It can be taught appropriately to anyone. Children absorb these subjects rapidly because they are naturally curious and given to experimenting. The scientific education we typically offer to our young people is dreadfully out of sync with the power of children's natural curiosity. Physics doesn't have to be painful. It doesn't have to bring on bouts of boredom. We need to make science education hands-on. It'll be more fun for all of us, and the kids will take care of the rest.

Steven G. Hagerott is a flight controls engineer at the Lockheed Martin Skunk Works in Palmdale, California. He may be reached at Hagerott@ptw.com. This article originally appeared in the May 1997 issue (Volume 78, Number 9, pp. 717-720) of the PHI DELTA KAPPAN and is reproduced with permission.

---

Helping Children Develop Oral-Language Skills

10 Activities Teachers and Parents Can Do

Leon Lynn

1. Keep the focus on language skills throughout the day, even when working on "'other" curriculum areas. For example, create a "science comer" in the classroom stocked with an old typewriter, doorknobs, zippers, or other interesting contraptions. Arrange for small groups of children (no more than four at once) to spend 10 to 15 minutes there with a teacher. Encourage the children to explain how the devices work; encourage sharing of explanations in small groups.

2. Arrange meal or snack times so that small groups of children eat with an adult. Let the children choose the topics of conversation; encourage talk about personal experiences; encourage "curiosity questions," such as what the food is made of, how if s good for the body, etc.

3. Create a "Personal Experiences" center in the classroom, where young children can talk with teachers about events in their lives while the teachers listen, prompt discussion, and record the experiences.

4. Put books at the center of language enhancement. Read to children, and encourage them to read their favorite books with you. Make time to read to children individually or in small groups. Let children ask questions during reading sessions. Encourage children to reread familiar stories, and push for deeper understanding. Provide books on tape that children can play while looking at the books. Encourage children to record tapes of their favorite stories. At home, parents can read an adult-level science magazine together with their children.

5. Lend copies of books to families. Tell parents what the children are learning in school, and suggest ways to address the same concepts at home. Parents should tell teachers what they are reading with their children at home.

6. Tell children personal stories. Talk to them about things that interest you. Acknowledge uncertainty about some things, and show children how to find answers to your questions.

7. When talking with children, support their efforts to communicate complex thoughts by waiting patiently, suggesting words as needed. Let them control the subjects of conversation, when possible, and encourage their efforts to use new words and describe complex or distant topics.

8. Encourage pretending among children. Make sure children have long periods of time to let complex pretend play develop. Encourage pretending about familiar settings, such as restaurants and grocery stores. Provide props that link play to ongoing curriculum units or favorite books. Change props from time to time to keep interest high.

9. Make time for rich conversation with children. Turn off the TV and use the time to talk, or at least watch TV together and then talk about what you watch. Turn off the car radio and talk while you drive together. Set aside a regular "talk time" during which adults and children share news for five to ten minutes and no other activity is performed.

10. Take children to interesting places. Every field trip or new experience has its own vocabulary. Expose children to new places, people, and concepts in ways that permit one-on-one conversations with adults. Encourage children to describe what they see, draw inferences, and predict outcomes.

Leon Lynn is an education writer living in Milwaukee. He can be reached at LeonLynn@compuserve.com.

This article originally appeared in the July/August 1997 issue (Volume XIII, Number 4, pp. 1-3) of THE HARVARD EDUCATION LETTER and is reproduced with permission.Copyright (c) 1997 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College. All rights reserved.

---

            

This page last updated: December 13, 2007