by Christopher Emdin, Ph.D.
The following is an excerpt from STEM, STEAM, Make, Dream: Reimagining the Culture of Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics by Christopher Emdin
When we teach young folks STEM, we must begin with acknowledgment of their fears and their feelings of inadequacy, brokenness, and helplessness. We begin by saying, “Don’t be scared. STEM is all around you, and you’re doing it all the time.” Whether you are a science or mathematics educator or a technology expert, the opener is the same. For the science
educator, it is, “Don’t be scared. Science is all around you, and you’re doing it all the time.” For other educators, begin with your subject area. Then repeat the statement replacing your subject with “STEM.” Young people must know that whether they are going to a park or walking
down the street, every experience can be reinterpreted through the lens
of science and math. They must see that it is happening all the time, in all kinds of different cultural interactions, social interactions, hobbies, and other practices that engage kids. There is STEM in all forms of art—not just highbrow museum fancy art, either. There is science and math
showing up in more complex and nuanced ways in culturally rich art like graffiti. Spatial reasoning and creativity are maximized with each spray of a can to create an image that tricks the eye into thinking it is lifting off the wall. There is deep science in creating sound and a complex STEM-based knowledge needed in building and using recording studios. The work then becomes teaching young people to see STEM in the seemingly “nonscientific” facets of life. This includes finding joy in discovering the academic aspects of what is perceived to be mundane or common.
A dialogue with one of my favorite science teachers about his passion for science revealed that his STEM identity was formed during high school. It all started for him when he took an auto shop class. He took the class not because he saw any STEM-based value in it but because he was interested in cars. This class was the source of nearly all the peak moments and epiphanies he experienced in school. He remembers rebuilding an old Jeep four-cylinder engine and pouring gasoline through the carburetor. As he described it, “When it fired up, that was
maybe the greatest experience I had in high school. There is nothing more satisfying than working on a car with my friends and other kids who shared my passion. Then it runs and you can drive it around a lot. That’s real. That’s STEM.”
The experience he describes is universal. Working on something and then seeing it come to life is an experience that every child longs for and revels in. In this case, it came from working on a car—something generally perceived as blue collar. But gasoline, carburetors, engines, and
the idea of internal combustion are easily connected to STEM. He was able to easily translate this experience into a career in science. I suggest that the magic is in the fact that there was a class based on something he loved. Many of us mistakenly believe that STEM happens only in labs and clean rooms. But it also happens in garages, basements, and parks. It happens in cities, on farms, and in rural areas. STEM is all around us, and nearly every topic, passion, and activity can be tied to STEM, giving it wide-ranging relevance and applicability. This must be what STEM classes acknowledge and offer—the ability to incorporate the interests of young people in a way that showcases the ubiquity of STEM and aligns with their existing passions.
Many who have read this book thus far will recognize that one of the major themes here is that educators must identify that when they are teaching young people to engage in STEM, much of what they are doing is igniting their students’ passion. However, it is also important to find
ways to extend that passion and excitement to families and communities. One of the fundamental arguments I make is that an underrecognized component of connecting youth to STEM is working to create environments at home and in the people whom young people love so that they can fan the flame that a teacher has sparked. It’s essential, then, that any adults who have struggled with their STEM identity are able to see that their formative experiences may have been harmful. They must see that these experiences are not a true reflection of STEM ability. This begins by reintroducing the families and communities to the discipline, such as through materials sent home with students. The activities presented must capture the interest of the family and, ideally, tap into cultural referents to engage the recipient.
Ethnomathematician Ron Eglash, when I interviewed him for this book, talked about what he calls heritage algorithms that connect STEM with Indigenous cultures. One example is cornrows, which is a style of hair braiding in which the hair is partitioned into three sections and
braided close to the scalp, usually in an underhand, upward motion. These braids are an artifact that young people can see, and the braids have a mathematical pattern to follow, ranging from a simple three-strand braid to a complex and layered braid pattern. Eglash mentions that cornrows have one foot in the past and one foot in the future and in many ways offer multiple entry points not just for young people but for families. Parents and caregivers who remember their hair being braided and who braid their children’s hair feel an emotional connection to the practice. And when they are introduced to the mathematics of braiding through notes or exercises from the teacher, they can begin to see how math connects to and is ingrained in their own lives.
Anything that is culturally rich and that embodies STEM must be reintroduced to the children and to the community. A teacher may begin with recording a small video on braiding, let’s say, and the math that goes into it. Then the teacher may send home a braid-based problem set with the student, or even include an invitation to parents who braid. Then, slowly, the deep mathematics in the practice gets revealed. When creating a straight cornrow style, a braider may begin with a big plat, then a smaller plat, and then an even smaller plat until the row is finished. However, if the cornrow is a curve, there are slight rotations with each plat. Eglash explains that this practice is the essence of transformational geometry. “It’s scaling, rotating, and translating. The braid has done an iterative loop. The number of plats is the number of iterations. If I did a series of braids, a braid of braids, so to speak, these are my nested loops right there. You get this profound visualization of what’s going on. The kinds of spirals you see are not a boring Archimedean spiral; it’s this logarithmic curve. They might not know the word logarithmic curve, but if something clicks, when they see that, like, ‘Oh, that looks cool. What if I made it curl up even tighter? How would I do that?’ Well, to change the scaling factor here, immediately you dive into the fractal aspects of it.”
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