As I was saying:
(9) Ninth, with greater frequency, I am seeing my role as a
teacher is that of a mentor, that is, I assert my authority by stepping
back and deferring that authority to the students. I quiet myself so that
I can listen to the students. If I want, as I did until a little over a
decade ago, the importance of the spotlight on center stage I should go to
Broadway. Since then, I've surrendered the manipulative and conflict mode
to a collaborative and persuasive mode. Being a teacher involves
persuading, encouraging, and supporting students to take themselves with a
"let's see what happens" attitude into new worlds, to do new things, to go
off in new directions and thereby expand their world, develop their latent
talents, search for and get a glimpse of their potential. There does not
exist one student--at least, I have found one--who does not possesses a
unique gift somewhere within him or her though it may not be and probably
isn't yet apparent. To be sure, that is a positive assumption. It's back
to that "F"aith-based educator thing.
Nevertheless, almost in every way and every day, I both challenge
myself and each student to be free to look under each of our own tree for
that gift and have the courage to start unwrapping it to see what lies
inside. To be sure, for a coterie of reasons they hesitant, equivocate,
and even resist. No one said being a mentor was easy. Nevertheless, I
say to the student, as well as myself, "Go for the gold. Mine for it.
Dig it out. Smelt it. See what you come up with. See what happens.
Think about what is says about what lies within you and what more lies
within you."
(10) Tenth, teaching for the majority of academics is far too
often simply a matter of continuing to mimic their experiences as students
rather than breaking out of the mould.. Like Steven Sample, I, too, often
am amazed at the extent of the herd instinct among self-proclaimed
individual thinkers and the extent to which so many so easily and so
quickly submit to and conform to accepted teaching convention. That
position may be comfortable and safe in the pursuit of tenure and
reputation, but, to paraphrase Sample, no one can copy their way to
excellence, no one can reach for the stars with their hands in their
pockets, no one can set sail on new adventures while anchored in safe
harbor, and no one can stand out while he or she is sitting down. It's
that being your own person thing, that "contrarian" thing, of which
Sample writes so eloquently with insight from experience. Let's go back to
the "F"ear-based education. Steven Sample quite accurately says,
congenital naysayers, however well intentioned many may be, are among the
greatest stumbling blocks to harvesting creative thinking and imaginative
innovation. I would add, if we let them bar the way.
My friend, Brian Johnson, just sent me a quote by Henri Bergson:
"To exist is to change; to change is to mature; to mature is to go on
creating oneself endlessly." And so, the art of teaching must be an
ever-changing work in progress, an ever-incomplete and an ever-uncompleted
endless journey. The teacher is both master and journeyman, constantly
mentoring while constantly being mentored, constantly learning the art and
craft of teaching no less than keeping up on his or her discipline,
constantly in a state of flux, always on the move, always adopting and
adapting, always drawing on constant study, apprenticing, practicing,
experimenting, risking. Teaching isn't just an action; it's a state of
being that takes a lot of effort to continue.
Maybe we shouldn't look for the easy, comfortable, and safe way.
Maybe we should hope for difficulties and challenges. We often tell
students "no pain, no gain." Why do so many of us often think we can
achieve painless gain? As a teacher I should always be at the edge and on
edge; at times I should be somewhat uncomfortable and feel a tad
unbalanced; I should always be "sweating;" I should always do whatever it
takes. Teaching can be difficult and disconcerting; it can look foolish
to naysayers. I mean you will look "silly" as you learn to ski.
There is a Zen tale, often called "Empty Your Cup":
A university professor went to visit a famous Zen master
to learn all he could about Zen philosophy. While the
master quietly served tea, the professor talked and talked
and talked about Zen. The master poured the visitor's cup
to the brim, and then kept pouring. The professor watched
the overflowing cup until he could no longer restrain himself.
"It's flowing over. It's full! No more will go in!" the
professor blurted.
"You are like this cup," the master replied, "How can I show
you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"
In a convoluted way, there's a conjoining of this storied
professor and my darling eighteen month bubbling, stumbling, babbling,
Natalie, "Little Miss Getting Into Everything of 2003." She and this
professor personify a Zen saying, "In the beginner's mind there are many
possibilites, but in the expert there are few."
My own teaching has a light, feathery aire because I'm having a
lot of fun at doing what I do and doing what I do is fun. I have to admit
that while I function as an adult and the expert, many times I have to
force myself to be "adult-ish." I just will not let go of the child
within me. At the age of 62 (63 on All Saints' Day), I still am
uncomfortable being call a "man." For some reason I've never felt grown
up. I feel like a giggly kid inside. I much prefer to call myself an
"experienced teenager." You know maybe that's one of the deep, dark,
secret assessments of the teacher: If you didn't know your age, how old
would you say you are?
How many of us have started out with a child's fearless,
flexibile, and elastic adventurous curiosity, and have slowly replaced it
or better yet allowed it to be replaced with the turgor of either our or
someone else's certainty? The one statement that still sticks in my mind
when my new Dean introduced herself to the A & S faculty at the beginning
of this semester was her assertion to us to be free to use in our teaching
that "let's see what happens" wonder of a child without worrying about
mistakes and to be free of worrying about making mistakes. She subtly was
offering her support for us to challenge conventional teaching methods and
thinking that put a restrictive fence around creativity, that do not allow
possibilities to be investigated, that leave ability and talent
underdeveloped, and that stifle spiritual fulfillment. I wonder why she
felt it necessary to emphasize that it was okay to make a mistake in the
effort to improve our teaching? I wonder how many have taken her up on
her offer?
Drawing on personal experience, I am certain we should and could
train ourselves to open up, not to shut down. When it comes to teaching,
what if we trained ourselves to always have an open spirit, a kind heart,
and a curious mind when it comes to each student? What if we trained
ourselves to be acceptable and open to all circumstances and to all people
each day, without condition, without reservation, without hesitation, or
without equivocation? What if we kept opening wider our heart? What if
we understood whatever it is, is not always so. What if we confidently
engaged our teaching profession as an endlessly living experiment? What
if each day was a fresh start?
What excitement we'd experience if we every day we were
"experienced beginners," if we were open and accepting and flexible in the
beginning! What enjoyment we'd receive if we continued to be open and
accepting and flexible in the middle. And, what satisfaction we'd feel if
we still had my Natalie's free openness and acceptance and flexiblity and
curiosity at the end. Imagine how we could think bigger, see farther,
feel better. Imagine how our teaching, each day, would an exciting coat of
many colors rather than a wet blanket of bland beige.
Well, this one got away from me, didn't it. More later.
Make it a good day.
--Louis--
Louis Schmier www.therandomthoughts.com
Department of History www.halcyon.com/arborhts/louis.html
Valdosta State University
Valdosta, Georgia 31698 /~\ /\ /\
(229-333-5947) /^\ / \ / /~ \ /~\__/\
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-_~ / "If you want to climb mountains, \ /^\
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