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This reflection may get me into trouble.  But, here goes.

A few days ago, I was sitting at the Union struggling with a hard, wrinkled, overcooked, sorry-I-ordered hotdog for lunch as I waited in my "office" to talk with a student.  I always talk with students on their turf rather than in my department office.  Anyway, I have to admit that I was in a funk.  The semester was coming to an end which is always bittersweet for me.  But, I was really thinking about Susie, about all the pain she has been suffering in her shoulder, about her impending surgery next week, about the painful rehab she'll have to endure for months to come, and about how in the coming weeks I was going to willingly pull all-nighters in order to be her caring slave while pulling together final grades.  

I glanced up to see if Tessia had arrived.  She hadn't, but my eye caught a young man, dressed in a spiffy coat and tie.  I didn't take much notice.   I did when he suddenly stopped, turned, and approached me.  I quickly learned that he was a member of the faculty whom I did not know.  Heck, I had never seen him before.  Anyway, he stood there and without introducing himself, looked down on me as it turned out both literally and figuratively, and said, 'You're Schmier, aren't you."  I looked up and nodded.

"You have those 'cutesy' classes with music and donuts.  I've seen your students walk around wearing gold stars.  You give them out for good behavior?  I hear that you don't lecture or give tests, and that you have the students sing, draw, act, sculpt, interview you, and do all sorts of silly things in your classes.  And, you call that teaching?"

He made each "you" sound so accusing.  After taking a deep breath, a long and deep breath, I slowly replied,  "No, I call it learning, deep and lasting learning, learning history and learning what they are capable of being." 

"It's a wonder you don't have them dance," he smirked.

"Dance?" I softly asked.  "That's a neat idea.  You know, lately I've been thinking seriously about having them do an interpretive dance as a project to learn the material, really deeply learn it.  I might give it a try in Fall semester.  Good idea.  I'll have to give that one a lot of thought over the summer.  Then, your spies can tell you how it went." 

"You may think this is a joke and treat this school as a kindergarten," he continued, "but let me tell you it is not, and you make it harder for us who feel this is a serious place.  Your classroom is a travesty. "

Whoa!  Now that was getting too close to the line.  Talk about hurling a tomato!  He sure caught me at the wrong time.  Well, actually he caught me at the right time.  Twenty or more years ago, in that other time and other world before my epiphany, I wouldn't have taken this sitting down.  And, I have to admit, I came so close to reacting with an explosive "who the hell do you think you are" or a "who the hell do you think you're talking to?"  But, I didn't.  Wouldn't have done any good anyway.  So, I ducked his verbal missiles.  

Though I was not in the mood to deal with this sudden, unexpected, and unwarranted chastisement, especially from some young self-inflated whelp whom I didn't know, who didn't have the curtesy of introducing himself, and who didn't know me beyond 'I hear,' I kept my cool.  Hiding my annoyance, I took another "why me" and "I don't need this now" deep breath and smiled.  Calmly and quietly, I kept my seat, looked up--literally, but not figuratively--and I replied very slowly and deliberately with something like, 'First, I'm Louis.  Now, I don't do 'cutesy' or 'silly.'  With my wife and kids and grandkids, yes.  But, not with students, in class.  There's nothing kindergartenish about asking students in the Holocaust class to wear a yellow star with 'Jew' written on it wherever they go and with whomever they're with, seven days a week, and reflect in writing each day on how they were treated and felt, in order to de-intellectualize the subject and to help them personalize the emotion of being the objects of curiosity, ridicule, question, separation, and exclusion before they're shipped off in overcrowded boxcars to be exterminated at Treblinka or Auschwitz.  Gutsy, maybe, but nowhere near cute or silly.  As far as the other stuff in the first year classes, I and the students do all that you say and more, and I take what we do very seriously.  We just have fun learning, 'serious fun.'  But, of course, you know that the opposite of fun is boredom, not work.  And, boredom is one of the worse corrosives on learning.  Anyway, everything I do has a reflected purpose that I share with the students.  And you know that being asked to do something that seemingly has no purpose is another corrosive of learning.  Everything you listed has what I call 'my "why."'   The 'cutesy' and 'silly,' as you call them, are all based on the way I experiment with and apply the findings of recent scientific research on learning.  It's no different than engineering students at Georgia Tech being asked to figure out how to drop an egg off a ten story building without breaking it.  You should read some the literature; it's fascinating stuff--and challenging to what we traditionally do.  You know, that lecturing and testing and grading stuff.  I'm waiting for a student, but she won't be here for a while.   So, if you have time, why don't you sit down and we'll talk about it.  You owe me a few minutes to allow me to 'defend' myself even if I don't need defending."

"I have to go to my class," he shot back with a slight sneer on his face and something of a snide tone of voice, "to do some serious (his emphasis) teaching."

I continued to give him a kindly smile, "Some other time, then.  Give me a buzz and we'll have lunch or whatever together.  Or, give me your e-mail address and I'll send you a bibliography of the literature on learning.  Make it a good day."  He turned.  And, he was off without ever having given me his name or department or e-mail address.  I almost felt I was at the end of a Lone Ranger episode asking, "Who was that masked man?"  I looked at the half-eaten, now cold hotdog.  I pushed it away.  It had left as bad a taste as my unknown colleague's arrogance and self-righteousness. 

While I waited for Trissia, I grabbed a napkin, pulled out a pen, and jotted down somethings that was similar to a comment I later sent to the NY Times in response to a David Brooks editorial:  "How many of us--faculty, students, administrators--in higher education tend to confuse credentialing with educating?  How many of us tend to confuse "a wasted course" with "a course in my major."  How many of us tend to confuse stagnation with tradition?  How many of us tend to think that just because we know our discipline that we know how to teach it?  How many of us confuse training for the lab or archive with training for the classroom?  How many of us confuse publishing that article or getting that grant with touching a student.  How many of us tend to confuse trappings and structure with essence?  How many of us tend to think that she or he who has gotten the highest grade has learned the most?  How many of us confuse 'easy' with valuable, 'hard' with 'impossible,' 'important' with 'significant,' 'challenge' with 'barrier,' 'valuable' with 'values,' 'fun' with 'frivolity,' and 'serious' with 'pain?'  How many of us tend to confuse 'can't,' 'don't', and 'won't?'  How many of us tend to confuse 'work,'  'boredom,' 'serious,' and 'fun?'  How many of us tend to confuse test with true assessment? How many of us confuse technology with panacea? How many of us confuse transmitting information and developing skills with 'modeling' vision, purpose, and meaning?  How many of us tend to confuse honor student with 'honor person?'  How many of us tend to confuse 'getting a good job' or getting into a graduate or professional school with the 'job of living the good life?' How many of us tend to think that the best student has the brightest future? Our system is so grade-ridden, it doesn't make the grade; it is so dependent on the test that is doesn't pass the test.  How many of us make the student experiences as closed as the classroom door? And, then, how many of us wonder why students close their books and why they don't see learning as an unending, exciting, open-ended experience. The grade, test, GPA, recognitions, awards, the degree--and the quest for tenure--all have become 'serious' debilitating surrogates for 'the joyful life-long love of learning.'"