The quiet moment before a name

It was just after I’d asked a question, and the room went still. Not a bad stillness, but that kind of quiet where you can see the gears turning. A few hands shot up, the usual suspects, but I could feel the others holding back, thinking their answer wasn't quite ready yet.

When the silence stretches

I used to rush to fill that quiet, to call on the first hand I saw. But I’ve learned to sit with it for a second. That space isn't empty; it's full of thought. It’s where the quieter students are deciding if they want to step into the light.I remember one time, I almost called on Sam, who always has the answer. But I paused, and in that pause, I saw Maya’s eyes flick up from her notebook. It was just a flicker, but it was there. She was working it out.

The wheel isn't about chance

People think using a wheel to pick a student is random, but it’s not really. It’s about making the choice feel fair, so no one feels singled out. It takes the pressure off me, too. I don't have to overthink who to call on next.The click of the wheel spinning becomes a little ritual. It’s a sound that says, ‘Okay, we’re all in this together now.’ It’s not a test; it’s just the next part of our conversation. The relief in the room is almost tangible sometimes.

A different kind of listening

When the wheel lands, the person who speaks isn't just answering for a grade. They're sharing a piece of their thinking, and the class listens differently. It feels more like we're building something.

The answer that wasn't perfect

Just last week, the wheel landed on Leo. He started, stopped, and then said, ‘I’m not sure, but maybe it’s like…’ and he fumbled through an idea. It was brilliant, not because it was right, but because it was honest. It gave us all a place to start.