The quiet spin of the wheel

It was a Tuesday morning, the kind where the light comes in soft and the room feels a little too quiet. I had a list of names in front of me, but I didn't want to be the one deciding who got put on the spot. That's when I remembered the wheel.

Letting go of the list

I projected the wheel on the board, and you could feel the shift in the room. It wasn't me pointing a finger anymore. It was just this simple, impartial circle with everyone's name on it. The tension that usually comes with calling on someone just dissolved.I clicked to spin it, and for a moment, we all just watched it go. There was a collective breath held, then released when it landed. It felt less like a test and more like a shared moment of chance.

What the silence taught me

After a few spins, I noticed something. The students who were called weren't just blurting out the first thing that came to mind. They were taking a second, maybe two, to gather their thoughts. That tiny pause was everything.It wasn't about a perfect answer delivered at speed. It was about the process of thinking out loud, of working through an idea with the class listening. The wheel created a space for that, a little pocket of safety in the unpredictability.

A different kind of listening

My role changed, too. I wasn't the interrogator waiting for a slip-up. I became an observer, listening to how they built their reasoning, where they got stuck, and how they found their way out.It turned the oral test from a performance into a conversation. We were all just following where the wheel and the student's thoughts led us. The grade almost became an afterthought to the understanding happening in real time.So if you try it, don't worry about it being perfect or covering every topic. The real value is in the space it creates. It's a gentle nudge toward thinking together, and that's always worth the spin.