4:55 a.m.  79 degrees.   I had opened the door and stepped out into the darkness.
I thought I was hitting a wall someone had built during the night.   The quiet air was
awash with water.  Maybe we're beginning to feel the first subtle effects of Ernesto.  I
drew strength and energy to struggled through the dark heaviness, from thinking about two
questions a first year student, an aspiring teacher, threw at me in her journal last
Friday 

	"Dr. Schmier, you don't know it but I've been watching you in and out of
class....So, I have two questions for you.  What is it about teaching that makes you
always so happy and what does teaching mean to you."   

	Interesting questions aren't they.  Certainly reflective questions that can cause
you to pause.  I told her to give me the weekend to think about them.  After yesterday,
Tuesday, I have the answers for both.  Let me take the first one first.

	To answer that question, I want to briefly talk about a student I'll call Samone.
It's not her real name.  She is a real person, a daring and courageous person I might add.
She didn't know it until yesterday.  Let me backup.  In an early journal entry she said in
no uncertain terms how nervous she was about being in this class.  She had heard that she
would have to get up in front of class and do lots of things.  She was scared.  She
labeled herself as a very shy person who didn't like to get up and do things in front of
people.  But, she ended her message, with a wish she wasn't way, but was resigned to the
fact that she was."  

	I replied by saying that because that's the way she has have been and presently is
doesn't mean that's the way she has have to be, especially if she didn't like being who
she was.  I reminded her about what I said about having had cancer; that it was okay for
me to have had fear, but I had to fight not to let the fear have me and stop you.  I asked
her what would happen if she took the risk to slowly start breaking the habit of thinking
that she was shy and struggled to choose to think differently of herself, especially in
this class where we'll be forging a supportive and encouraging community.  

	I left it at that and didn't say or write another word about it.  We spent the
four classes on the first phase of breaking barriers, building bridges, and forging
community with a bunch of what I call "getting to know ya" exercises.  Yesterday, we
entered the second phase by starting to lay down the four operational principles of the
class that rested on community.    This semester I'm experimenting with changing the order
of the exercises.  I started with an exercise I call "The Story" that I have normally
saved until last.   I'll just say that I use it to place the material of the course and
the lives of the students in historical context and to it some meaning and purpose.  It
has been nine years since I've written about "The Story."  It's a silly story with
not-so-silly meaning and with semester long impact.  I always hope that something
resembling noisy "organized chaos" will erupt.  To recap, I hand out this four sentence
story accompanied by eleven short questions to which the choice of answers are: true,
false, unknown. The instructions are simple: "Read the story and answer all the questions.
Everyone in your community must reach a consensus for all the answers. But you're not
finished.  In some manner, shape, or form of your choosing, EVERYONE in the class must
reach a 100% consensus for ALL eleven answers."  Then, I stand back without uttering a
word or making a gesture for the students to discover that the simple story and simple
answer are anything but clear-cut and simple.

	Invariably, things start slow and quiet as the student read the story and
initially answer the questions.  Then, slowly, the silence is broken by murmur.  The
murmur grows into rumble, and rumble explodes into movement and sound.  Students getting
out of their chairs; they squeeze between the chairs, move chairs, climb over chairs;
they're walking around, bumping into, bending over, kneeling; they were arguing, talking,
debating, even shouting; they were persuading, being persuaded, talking, listening, not
listening, being sarcastic, being disengaged, leading, following: "Let's keep it
simple...." "But, we don't know..." "This is not as simple as he said it was."  "Do we
know anything?"  "Look...."  "No, you look..." "If you read...." "You can't read...."
"You're reading into...."  "Just read what it says...."  "You have to infer...."  "This is
dumb....."  "I don't like confrontation....."  "How do you figure that...." "It says
that...." "It doesn't say...."  "Who cares...."  Answers were erased, cross-out,
rewritten, kept, defended, questioned, attacked; fighting raged over a word; struggles
ensued with a phrase, confrontations were held over a meaning; heads nodding agreement,
heads shaking in disagreement; voices rising into shouts, in annoyance; arms moving and
flailing in all directions; feet stomping; faces smiling, frowning, laughing, becoming
wrinkled and puzzled, getting tight and serious; quiet students becoming; vocal students
becoming silent.

	Then, I saw it happen.  Samone slowly, almost painfully, got up out of her chair.
There was anxiety in her eyes.  As she slowly went to the front of the room, I silently
said to myself, "Go girl!"  She stood there for a moment.  I wish I could have spoken a
soft supportive "Just do it."  She took a deep breath, and shouted the class to order.
"Hey, listen up.  Let's go over these questions together.  For the first question, our
community got....."  

	After an hour of struggling to maintain some resemblance of organized chaos,
Samone led the class to reaching a 100% consensus of the answers.  

	At this moment, the purpose of the exercise is not important.  Perhaps that is for
later.  What Samone achieved is my answer to what it is about teaching that makes me
happy.  

	Samone wrote in her journal, "You could probably tell how nervous I was cuz (sic)
my hands were shaky, but I figured since u (sic) told me to just not be shy that I should
just get up in front of the class and go for it.  And I did.  I am so proud of myself...."

	I wrote back a simple, "Great job.  I knew you could do it.  Now, you see you
can....Keep on walking."

	So, as an answer the first of this future teacher's question, I wrote her:

	You ask what it is about teaching that makes me happy.  Well, I have my
own yardstick.
	It's for me and only for me to define.  I don't allow others to define happiness
for me.  If 
	I did, I wouldn't truly experience it; if I let them lay out the path, I wouldn't
be following
	my road; if I allowed others to dictate what my dreams should be, I'd never reach
them.  
	The only way to reach for my dreams, to follow my vision, and to achieve
happiness, as I 
	define it, for myself is to choose what has real meaning and purpose, and
significance, for 
	me as a teacher.

	You want to know what, then, tickles the sweet spot in the deep part of my soul?
Let's see.  
	Being significant, being effective, changing things, learning new things, having a
'let's see 
	what happens approach, being imaginative and creative, having the courage to risk
changing, 	influencing things, being flexible, being adaptable, making things happen,
making a positive 
	and lasting difference, being authentic, and, most important, being able to be in
the service 
	of others.  

	Being in the service of others.  Having an impact on others, not just on myself,
is rewarding. 
	Being significant is satisfying.  Making a difference is fulfilling.  Just think
of it.  It is a 
	sobering--and humbling--responsibility it is to realize that we teachers each can
be the 
	instrument of making a difference in someone's life; that our courage, empathy,
love, support, 	encouragement, compassion, belief, and creativity can set into motion
attitudes and actions 
	that can only make for a better person and therefore a better world.  That
realization turns 
	any woeful sighs I might have into joyous songs.

	Now some of you may think that what Samone did was small potatoes.  You'd be
wrong.  And, I made sure she didn't diminish the importance of what she did.  As I told
her, "Don't let you or anyone else let you think you took 'just' a small step.  There is
nothing small about it.  Any step that is part of a great journey is great, and you have
just begun a great journey of self-discovery."  

	For me, then, what appears to be the smallest, plainest, simplest moment can be
fertile ground for the most extraordinary happiness.  

	One small step for Samone; one giant leap for the world.  A lot of happiness for
me.

Make it a good day.

      --Louis--
 
 
Louis Schmier                                www.therandomthoughts.com
Department of History                   www.newforums.com/L_Schmier.htm
Valdosta State University
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