All I ask of you

"Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt." 

I think I was in junior high when I first heard the quote above—often attributed to Abraham Lincoln, but actually of unknown origin. I remember thinking it was amusing, and in the same genre of insults as, "Never engage in a battle of wits with someone who is unarmed." 

Whenever I'm in a class, lecture, workshop, or webinar, I tend to be the kind of student who sits quietly and tries to take it all in, as opposed to the students who are quick to raise their hands with questions. I often prefer to listen, observe, and thoughtfully consider what is being presented before I feel ready to verbally engage. By taking this approach, I often find that my questions get answered as I continue paying attention to what is being presented. When I do ask a question, however, I am usually at least a little bit self-conscious about not wanting to be "thought a fool." 

A lot of people think this is a generational characteristic ("These kids today are so afraid to ask questions in class!"), but I disagree. I remember my high school geometry teacher (in the early 1990s) complaining that we students were always so scared to raise our hands in class. She would say, "What's the worst that can happen? I'm not going to bite your heads off!" But then, when someone was courageous enough to answer one of her questions, she would often bluntly shout, "Wrong!" "Sorry!" or "Nope!" She grew up in New York, so I don't think she ever really understood how her brash, East Coast delivery pierced our thin, Midwestern, adolescent skins. 

As protection, I suppose, my classmates and I would preface our questions with qualifiers: "This may be a dumb question, but..." "This question may not make any sense, but..." "I'm sorry if I missed something obvious, but..." "This is probably wrong, but..." Sound familiar? 

Acknowledging the epidemic of not wanting to ask questions so as not to be thought a fool (which has infected many of us), I heard in a teacher workshop recently that we should consider replacing the ubiquitous, "Do you have any questions?" with, "What questions do you have?" By asking, "Do you have any questions?" we seem to be assuming that most people understood the material, and those who didn't should out themselves by raising their hands. But by asking, "What questions do you have?" the default expectation is that most students will need to ask some questions in order to truly comprehend things. This approach also flips the class power dynamic on its head. Instead of a perception of, "I am the master teacher. Which one of you lowly students did not understand my brilliant lecture?" it admits, "I'm presenting this material in the best way that I can, but that doesn't mean it's going to click for everyone. Which parts can I try explaining in a different way?"

I know of at least one teacher who has started saying, "Before we go on, ask me two questions about what we just covered." Sometimes he is stubborn about it, saying, "Seriously, I need two questions, no matter how basic you think they are, before I can go any further." This gives freedom and permission to ask whatever questions students may have—and, odds are, if you have a question, someone else in the class probably has that same question. I prefer this approach to a teacher announcing, "There are no dumb questions!" which always makes me second-guess whether my question will be the one that will finally make the teacher say, "OK, that was a dumb question." 

No one wants to be thought a fool. But, to quote Jedi master Obi-Wan Kenobi, “Who’s the more foolish? The fool or the fool who follows him?” In other words, as explained on the website The Dork Side of the Force, it’s easy to fall to peer pressure. There is always the risk that asking a question will cause you to look foolish, at least to someone. It may be even more foolish, however, to sit in confused silence when clarification is potentially one question away. 

Just ask. 

Now go practice.