So, I'm sitting here, recalling a memory jogged by my chance meeting
with TJ, born of unbelievable serendipity in Boston, to keep my mind off of
achy and stingy staples in my scalp and ghoulish raccoon eyes that are "gifts"
of very recent eye surgery to restore my declining peripheral vision. One very
chilly 45 degree morning, about three weeks ago, I was huffing and puffing up
Boston's Heartbreak Hill when a young man came jogging up along side me.
Bundled as I was in my UNC grubbies, he slowed down and started a panting
discussion. He asked if I was an alum of UNC. I told him I was. He said that
his father, also a UNC grad, had wanted him to go to Chapel Hill, but he had
opted for nearby Boston College. A regular jogger, he said he had never seen
me and asked me if I had moved into the neighborhood. When I told him I was a
retired professor visiting relatives, he started asking me questions about
classroom teaching. It turns out that he was stumped by an assignment. He
had to write a short paper on what he thought was the most important tool for
teaching. "What would you write about?" he asked.
"That's an easy one," I shot back, "Yourself! You are you most
important teaching tool."
He looked at me with a quizzical stare. Wanting to talk about my
answer, I invited him to sit with me on the curb. Before he could say a word,
I asked him, "Tell me, what's your 'attitude map?' Replying to his second
quizzical stare, I told him that teaching is done by intention, that a teacher
needed to chart a clear and articulated "intention course," a powerful,
focusing "true north" guiding vision of teaching and a purposeful philosophy of
education so he would have the determination do what he knew must be done.
The vision and philosophy, I emphasized, are not merely intellectual exercises;
there's nothing peripheral about them; they're powerful, visceral internal
forces of uncompromising authenticity and integrity; they help you ask
essential questions.. They're a wholeness spelled with a capital "V" and
capital "P." And, the more the teacher constantly reflects on them and is
mindful of them, the more she or he exercises her or his giving and service
muscles, the the stronger they become and better you are able to deal with a
lot of sharp cynical criticism.
In the course of our conversation, he asked what had been my vision and
philosophy, and how I came by it. I told him that they're arose on changes in
my life brought on by my epiphany, having overcome cancer, having survived
unscathed a massive cerebral hemorrhage, and learning a lot from connection
with students. The result was a driving vision was to be the guy who is there
unconditionally to help each student help her-or himself become the person she
or he is capable of becoming. At the center of that vision was a philosophy of
education that revolved around a fascinating "human core." That core created a
powerful, humanizing purpose to help each student prepare her/himself not just
earn a good living but learn to bring out what Abraham Lincoln called "our
better angels" and to live the good life as well. And, in that purpose you
have to get under the skin of method, technique, technology, as well as
information, and realize that nothing is more important than focusing on and
attending to the humanity of each student. And, central to that core was an
unconditional and nonjudgmental, "real and warm faith in, real and warm hope
for, and real and warm love of each student." I told him, both my vision and
philosophy gave me an awareness and attentiveness to why and how and what of
everything I thought, felt, and did; they empowered my commitment; they
strengthened my perseverance; they overcame any doubt, hesitation, or fear of
changing or experimenting with or adapting to and adopting new "stuff.". They
gave me a free reign to use my imagination, creativity.
"That's neat," I remember he saying with a tone of incredulity, "My
professor never mentioned all this."
Impressed as he was, I told him what I had just said was not, in his
word, "neat." I explained that what I had said were just words, and words,
especially buzzwords, are cheap. He looked at me puzzled. Drawing on some
recent research of Wharton's Adam Smith, I explained that it wasn't enough to
say "I care about students," your inner life has to be as caring as your outer
life, you have to make the crucial jump from speaking to living, that is,
acting in such a caring way that a students feels you care.; and, this time
drawing from Parker Palmer, there can't be a "tragic gap" between, "soul and
role.' Having a passion for giving constant transforming gifts of kindness
and caring, I told him, makes life better and more successful for those who
give it, for those who receive it, and for those who are around it.
I do remember saying to him: "A vision, a faith, a philosophy are not
what you have; they're what you do; they are what you are. You don't have a
vision or philosophy; it has you. It has to be your core value for giving and
serving. It has to be a habit of not only thought and feeling, but of action
as well. That leap demands you embark on an endless mindful, reflective quest,
on asking the 'big intriguing questions' of yourself: what do I want for and
can give of myself; how can I best serve the needs of those around me; how
shall I live." I explained that the answers are the crucial and essential
"why" that determine the reflecting "how" and the practicing "do." "They'll
shape the course of your life as they did mine, " I recall telling him, "as
well as the course of your classroom courses. Live into those questions, live
into the answers. Become them. They will take you, as they took me, into
wondrous new worlds."
This part of our conversation I vividly remember, for I asked him if he
knew what were the key words of all that I had just said. He quickly answered,
"faith, hope, and love."
"Go deeper. What about them." I suggested.
He hesitatingly answered, "They have to be 'real and warm?'"
"Why," I replied.
He smiled, "Because like you said, they mean being genuine, sincere,
honest, caring, kind, generous, understanding, patient, living your vision and
philosophy, being them."
"And, all that is about?"
"Connecting with people?"
"Warmer."
"With each person?"
"Keep going."
"What you said, no conditions. You can't be lazy. You can't just say
it; you have to work at it and do it. Otherwise, they're nice sounding but
useless words."
"And the foundation of 'it' is?"
He thought for a few seconds, "Respect and trust?" Then, he smiled,
"Right back full circle to where we started: faith, hope, and love."
"You got it. I like that 'can't be lazy.'" I told him that teaching
is really, really hard, rocky, filled with ups and downs, dead ends, twists and
turns. A classroom is messy; it is false starts; it is "oops;" it is "aha;"
it is experiment; it is "wow;" it is "damn;" it is complex; it is cacophony;
it is complicated; it disrespects our desire, if not our need, both to control
and to place each person into a category and assisgn a label. Teaching should
be a way of having active insight: doing, being aware, reflecting, imagining,
remaining, experimenting, applying, creating, recreating, scrapping, and
adjusting to what happens by chance. Always learning; always changing; always
growing. Keeps you dancing on your toes, like playing without a fixed score or
acting without a set script. It's being impromptu and doing improvisation of
the highest order. It's struggling to be aware, attentive, and alert. But,
without that determined faith, hope, and love, without that mindfulness,
without a vision or philosophy to give it all direction, the teacher won't
really know who is in the classroom with her or him. I then said and went on
to explain that unless "real and warm" result in the destructions of barriers,
construction of bridges, and forging of community, the words will remain words.
"Warm and real" are a morality and ethic of giving to everyone.
"How do you do that? he asked.
As best I can remember, "With a lot of humanity. With a lot of faith,
hope, and love. With a strong sense of joyful service. With a lot of learning
about the latest research on learning. With a lot of deep reflection about
what the research reveals. With a lot of risky experimentation. With a
willingness to make a mistake. With a deep desire to serve others. And with a
lot of hard, never-ending practice." I explained that easy, quick, trick, and
seamless when it comes to teaching are all mythical. "That's not how the
sausage is made," I said, hoping he'd understand the metaphor. I wished I had
remembered to quote from my Kahlil Gabran, "I slept and dreamed that life is
all joy. I woke and I saw that life is all service. I served and I saw that
service is joy."
I told him that you have to believe what you do matters if you're going
to persevere and endure. It's a stormy rite of passage of dealing with your
own foibles, hesitations, fears, unsuredness. as well as that of each student.
It's a passage to slowly, oh so slowly, enter into, embrace, and cherish the
classroom's human world. I told him that there was no place for "being lazy"
because there's no script or a step-by-step guide for doing that in the clutter
of daily living. And, even if there was, it would have to be rewritten each
day of each term within each class for both you and each student. Being real
and warm is a demanding, dynamic process that makes you teach with with
generosity and 'lovingkindness.' to the individual persons who are really in
that classroom with you. It's a knife that cuts through the opaque and
dehumanizing impersonal labels, stereotypes, and generalizations.
"If she or he can do all this," I said coming to the end of our
conversation, "then she or he will see how amazing each student is.
"Thanks, but I'm not sure this is what my professor wants," he rebutted.
I gave him a "well, you asked me," smile. We talked a bit more. Then,
I got up off the curb and walk on with a "good luck on your paper" and a
goodbye wave of my hand.
Make it a good day
-Louis-
Louis Schmier
http://www.therandomthoughts.edublogs.org
203 E. Brookwood Pl http://www.therandomthoughts.com
Valdosta, Ga 31602
(C) 229-630-0821 /\ /\ /\ /\
/\
/^\\/ \/ \ /\/\__
/ \ / \
/ \/ \_ \/ / \/
/\/ / \ /\ \
//\/\/ /\ \__/__/_/\_\/
\_/__\ \
/\"If you want to climb
mountains,\ /\
_ / \ don't practice on mole
hills" - / \_
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