Years ago the math teacher across the hall had a lesson that kicked off the year for students called the “Special Number Project.” The students would identify a number that had special meaning to them. Some picked the number on their baseball uniforms or soccer jerseys. Others chose the number of their birthdate or just a number they liked the sound of. They then created a poster for their “Special Number” that included all of its defining attributes like whether it was prime, whether it was an odd number or even number, for instance. The beautiful posters also included collaged photos of the number in the real world, cut from old magazines. In that era before the internet, every teacher had a box of old magazines from which students could cut pictures and words for projects. The students loved it!
Even though I was their English teacher and didn’t lead the lesson, the kids would proudly show off their posters to me. I could tell by how they explained their number choice and how they took time to make a big bubble number in the middle of the posterboard outlined in glitter glue from home that they were getting excited about numbers. The assignment wasn’t just a worksheet or Exercise A from the textbook, it was rich and interesting and alive.
This project had captured the imaginations and hearts of even those students for whom math hadn’t always been easy. Heck, it even intrigued me, and I began considering my own special number. I was always drawn to the number 11, and my classroom number for the first half of my career was Room 311. So 311 became my special number, and that number continued to show up in my life in all sorts of crazy ways. For instance, when adopting my son, the adoption agency called us on March 11 or 3/11 to share the happy news that a birth mother had finally chosen us. My sweet Lucas was born eleven days later.
The number made an appearance again when I was house hunting, and my realtor lined up two houses for me to see. Both, coincidentally, had the house number of 311. I bought one of those houses and still live in it today. The number continues to pop up for me all the time, usually on license plates often when I’m having a bout of obtrusive thinking. It’s almost as if the number reminds me, “Take a breath. Everything is going to be okay.” So maybe I see that 311 because I’m so highly attuned to the number. Or maybe it’s truly my special number, guiding me through this crazy life. I choose to believe the latter!
Yep, that “Special Number” project had all the earmarks of a meaningful learning experience. It started with the student in the center by tapping into their interests and experiences. It actively involved them in creating a product to share with others. And it even piqued the interest of the English teacher across the hall.
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