The Future Belongs to the Makers

When I was in the eight grade, my entire goal was to go unnoticed. Fly under the radar. Keep away from the Cool Patrol (the people who ran the school social hierarchy). I had one friend, this kid named Matt, who I knew from church. We were two nerds in a pod. And, fortunately for me, he had perfect attendance year after year.

So that was my system. Find one friend and hang out with him and fly under the radar. And it worked . . . until one day it didn’t. One afternoon, he was gone from school. Nothing serious. He had a cold. But I remember looking out at the sea of students and thinking, “I hope one person invites me to the table.” It didn’t happen. I tossed my food in the trash and hid out in the restroom (which was nasty because the boys’ restroom was like a little patch of the third world in our fancy first world school).

But here’s the thing. My plan had worked. Nobody had noticed me. And it felt horrible.

Despite all of this, I had two teachers, Mrs. Smoot and Mr. Darrow, who saw me as a person. They knew that I cared about social justice and baseball and history, so they invited me to do a History Day project.

Everything about it felt terrifying. I had to plan the entire project and track my own progress. I had to figure out what questions to ask and where to find the answers. I had to narrow down my topic to something I cared about — in this case, Jackie Robinson and the integration of baseball.

None of this was terrifying. It was more overwhelming than anything. The terrifying part happened when I wrote letters to newscasters and made phone calls to former players. I remember picking up the phone, my hands trembling, as I read aloud my pre-recorded script and waited for the stranger to respond. I eventually worked on a slide presentation (back in the day when you had to take pictures and go to the drug store to have them converted into little plastic slides).

However, the most nerve-wracking moment occurred when I sat in a radio studio recording my script. I would play the giant magnetic tape back and use a razor to cut it and Scotch tape to splice it together. I listened to my voice and hated it.

At one point, I threw my hands up in the air. “I’m not doing this,” I said.

But Mrs. Smoot looked me in the eyes and said, “I’m not going to let you get away with that. Your voice is good. What you say matters. And when you choose to stay silent, you rob the world of your creativity.”

That moment stuck with me forever. That’s what gave me creative confidence. It wasn’t just the moment, though. It was the entire project, including the diverse perspectives I got from interviewing dozens of former Negro League players. I began to see the power of making and sharing. And I was forever changed as a person — not because of project-based learning but because of a teacher who saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself.

The Creative Chasm

A few years back, I surveyed my students to see how they use their devices (tablets, laptops, and smart phones). Here were the results:

Quick nuance here: I actually think consuming is necessary for creating. Students often move in stages from consuming to creating. My concern was that I had many students who remained consumers only.

I had a group of three or four students who were outliers. One student wrote novels. Another had a YouTube channel and created resources for parents that he planned to sell when he reached high school. One kid had a podcast. I realized that the real divide wasn’t a digital divide. It was a creative chasm — a break between the consumers and creators, the makers and the takers. And, though “taker” might sound a bit extreme, I couldn’t help but remember the words of Mrs. Smoot. We rob the world of our creativity when we never make anything.

As my former students move into college and step into careers, I notice that the makers are better equipped for life. They are taking ownership of their careers and forging a way into whatever vocation they have chosen. But this goes beyond economics. The makers have better endurance and deeper thinking. They know how to handle frustration.

What Does It Mean to Make?

When you hear the word “create” or “make,” you might be tempted to think of a tangible, physical product. However, in design thinking, students might design other types of products. So here are some of the types of things students might create.

#1: A Digital Work

Students might create a podcast, a documentary, or a website that they publish to a global, connected audience. Even when this is the case, it’s important that students can identify an audience that goes beyond merely “online.” In other words, who online do you want to reach and how will you reach them?

#2: A Tangible Work

This is what we often think of when we hear about maker spaces. This is what happens when kids do a cardboard challenge or code with Arduino or paint a mural. When we do our Shark Tank style projects, kids typically create a finished tangible work.

#3: An Event

This might be something like a car wash or a dance or a graffiti removal evening. It might be something like a TEDx event or a play.

#4: A Service

Similar to an event, a service is an ongoing activity that students design to help others. Here, what they are designing isn’t a typical finished, tangible product, but rather an action for others. Often, this works in a service learning activity.

Teachers Are the Solution

So, as I think back to Mrs. Smoot and Mr. Darrow, I am reminded that it’s not about the latest gadgets. After all, I was cutting audio tape with a razor. It’s not about the physical space. We didn’t have a maker space at the time. It’s about the teachers, the relationships, and the power of equipping students to become creative thinkers.