Brrrrrrrrrr!  I was cold out there today!!!  I could hang meat
from the trees without worrying about ruin.  Swooning "Summertime" as I
staggered through the glacial air didn't help.  What's with all this
global warming stuff.  Thermals, sweats, gloves, hats, all were just about
useless.  My nose was running faster than the faucets I kept open to keep
the pipes from bursting.  I even went out late, thinking it would warm up
as the sun came up.  It had, to 18 degrees !!!!  It was one of those few
times I couldn't help but have a cold shoulder and icy stare.  I came into
the house after four miles knowing exactly what a frozen mackerel feels
like.  I stood in front of my opened refrigerator to warm up!!  Right now
as I struggle to thaw out, teeth still chattering, body still shivering,
stiff fingers barely able to bend, I'm all for global warming. About the
only good thing with this deep chill is that the mosquitos were grounded
by the weight of ear muffs, gloves, scarfs. 

	Anyway, I've been thinking about a message I had received from a
graduate student about to go out into the cold world.  She asked me for
advise about how to be a good teacher.  I was gratified that she should
ask me, but I never really give advise because, to put it quickly, what
works for me is because I've worked on me.  But, I can tell her what I
feel, think, and do. Then, she can take it from there.  Thought I'd share
my answer to her with ya'll.  So, here goes. 

	You know if I have learned anything about teaching and learning in
the course of my inner journey and my transformation from a pontificating
professor of history to an involved teacher of students since I had my
epiphany that fateful October in 1991 at Hyde School, it is four things.
First, I think teaching, life in general, demands that I never lose the
slow magic of having a romance with students--if romance that is the right
word--and replace it with rushed technique. Every time I find myself doing
that, however slightly, I feel a little dazed and empty, as if I had
forgotten to eat.  Second, at the beginning of my transformation, there
were the forays into uncharter territory, exploration, adventure,
serendipity. expectation, anticipation, There still are, and that's the
real secret for me! I make sure the renaissance goes on forever, that the
giddiness and fumbling of innocence and naivete remain as I am forever
trying new steps to improve the old dance, of forever learning new dances,
forever inventing, forever creating and enjoying and experimenting,
forever going to the edge, forever jumping off the edge learning to soar
even higher and farther and more graceful.  The third lesson I have
learned is that the ultimately goal is not to master what you already know
so that you can do it blindfolded in your sleep with one hand tied behind
your back.  The ultimate goal is to continue discovering that you never
will master it totally however much you try.  

	The final but most important lesson I started to learn is that
it's simply a matter of my attitude.  Not that simple?  Well, it is.  If I
want to be deliriously happy about and damn good at teaching, I need the
right attitude edge.  If I wanted to be good at teaching, I had to believe
I could; and if I believed I could, I just needed, and continue to need,
to do whatever it took to reach that goal.  To fight against burnt out, to
make sure I don't think in dulling terms "endless hours" and "endless
days," to guard against getting the routine down and getting bored and
getting into a by-the-book rut and getting into a reputation funk, I need
to constantly lube my attitude with some tune ups just as I need to do to
keep my precious 1983, 280Z running smoothly on all cylinders.  I had to,
and still have to, break through or drive around mental roadblocks that I
don't even know are there, roadblocks that keep me from reaching my
ultimate destination: happiness, personal growth, professional success.
Now I'm not talking about major stuff like kicking little dogs. I talking
about those times when my spirit sputters or stalls, when I may mull
things over too much, when I've been hitching a ride on routine, when I am
caressing a line in my resume.
   
	Yet, I have discovered that the comforting confines of experience
and reputation can inspire a certain confidence, boldness, youthfulness
and fun. My intensity and interest is limited only by my imagination,
creativity, and stamina.  My enthusiasm, my imagination, my creativity, as
Einstein often said, is far more important than my expertise however
important my knowledge may be.  Teaching is the journey, not just a
destination.  It has to be absorbed in the intimacy and spirituality of
the journey, be absorbed in the experience.  

	To unduly focus on technique only heightens vulnerability and
anxiety. I learned to bag up the "Now, that's how it must always be done." 
I've packed away the "These are the absolute rule about how it HAS to be." 
I find that when I think teaching must include this or that, must involve
doing this or that, I lose out on other sources of accomplishment; I miss
a lot of reasons to be inspired; I ignore a lot to stimuli to aspire.  So,
I've stopped teaching by the numbers. I don't predict more disasters than
Nostradamus.  I don't make more guarantees than an infomercial.  Sure, the
unknown is scary. Too many people safeguard themselves by try to guess
what will happen or want guaranteed results;  too many people jump to a
lot of negative conclusions.  Been there; done that.  I was an expert
player at the comforting "it's not going to work" and safe "how do I know
it will work"  game. It was a way of having my worst fears confirmed which
was a lot less devastating that having my highest hopes dashed to
smithereens on the rocks.  The truth is that when you take a stab in the
dark, you rarely hit the mark.  So, trying to predict the future is just a
way of wasting a lot of time in the present and watching the quality of
your teaching nosedive or stagnate. But, I learned that if I can't finesse
what's going to be, at least I can control the way I think about it, and
that changed my fortune teller tune.  Now, I look, one day at a time, at
each day of my teaching as a set of separate moments, and deal with each
isolated bite-size, digestible-size moment as it comes up.

	I have gone from a safe "why the hell?"  to a exciting "what the
hell!" From a rationalizing "why" to an adventurous "why not." From a
secure "show me" to an risky "let's see."  I've learned to go with each
moment without obsessing over the previous or next, or resting on laurels.

	Ah, resting on laurels is dangerous.  Let me talk about that.  I
fight not to lounge on my laurels, to prance around my reputation as I did
up to less than a decade ago.  You can't garner a good reputation and
coast the rest of the way on credit cruise control.  You don't stop to pat
yourself on the back for making a good play because the game is going on
around you.  I suppose that it's okay to milk all the mileage out of a the
rep that you can. But, when what you do isn't keeping pace with your
image, there comes a point when you face the tough truth that doing a
bang-up job is a lot tougher than being known for doing a bang-up job. The
best way to avoid this disparity is to treat each day of each class of
each semester as something new.  I say to myself, "I've never been here
before.  I don't know any of these people."  Why?  At least for me, it's
because I try harder when I am in unfamiliar situations.  When I feel that
my bark is louder than my bite, I close the door, lean back, unwrap a
Tootsie Pop, suck on it and ask myself, "Louis, how would you act if I had
to make a first impression.  What would you do differently."  Then, I
muster up the courage and enthusiasm to show myself and them what I'm made
of and what I am still made of.

	I go into each class, each day, with a naive eye, with something
of an innocence, a nervousness, like I am doing it for the first time.  In
reality, I am doing it for the first time because I concentrate on the
"whos," the different people who are different each day in those academic
cells we call classrooms, so that I can struggle to tailor to them the
"whats" and "whys." So, I wake up my senses when I teach. I pay attention
to every sound and movement and sight ready to make an adjustment, to
dump, to introduce, to completely alter, to keep.  I enjoy each moment for
what it is, not for what I hope--or dread--it will lead to.  You see, I've
learned that it's the angels who are in the details, not the devil.

	I refuse to believe that whatever experience I might have acquired
after 34 years in the classroom, or whatever imagination and creativity I
might possess, or however much confidence I might have in myself, that my
teaching is yet as great as it can be.  I won't let myself have any
outlook that gets so low or so high that I don't realize that there are
unlimited possibilities.  I won't settle on a pedagogical comfort zone
that's a little too comfy for my own good and the good of the students. I
am constantly different, from semester to semester, class to class, day to
day, if for no other reason than I don't have to waste time and energy
busting a rut. The unexpected sparks my inspiration and excitement.  I
understand that not every day will be sunny, not every technique will
work.  But, I walk the tight rope betweening demanding the impossible and
settling for so-so teaching either.  Of course, I never know what is
impossible since I believe impossible things are being done every day.
But, I do know, my conscience let's me know, what "so-so" is. I don't pin
my expectations on a specific action or destination to achieve
satisfaction.  If I did, all I would need is to have is a small change in
the specifics to create disappointment. If I did, my expectations would
become so low, I'd be destined for nothing but loser teaching.  So, I want
to be, and work hard at being, more happening than habit, staying out of
the restricting confines of a comfort zone, risking to fall flat on my
face or on my butt.  If what I have to do veers too far from the familiar
route, so be it.  I don't write it off without a fighting chance.  For me,
static attitudes make me feel as if I am idling at a green light while
traffic passes me by.  I know that it is tough to take an unfamiliar
route.  That is what my inner journey is all about these past eight years. 
But, the truth is that playing it safe would give me only a false sense of
security.  When I am open to new ideas, new ways, I create the different
options; I gain more control over the direction of my life and how my life
develops.  I find that if I look at my life as an entire learning
experience, I'll be a lot more willing to go out on a limb and let
students climb out there, and a lot more forgiving of myself and any of
them for falling off the limb. 
ds
	So, if I have to give advice to this aspiring a new teacher, this
is what is would be:  Have a healthy love of life.  It makes teaching fill
the desire to make it last to the fullest: on the first day; on the last
day; on all the days in between.  It helps to insure that the "whews" and
"yuks" will be few while the "goshes" and "wows"  will be overwhelmingly
rampant.  Be in the moment at the moment every moment, making the most of
yourself, being authentic.  Have fun each day whether you're doing
something old hat or soemthing experimental, something traditional or
something off the wall. Believe that any student would kill to be in your
class, that you would kill to be in your class. Do all that, and your
classroom will rock for both you and the students. 


Make it a good day.

                                                       --Louis--


Louis Schmier                     [log in to unmask]
Department of History             http://www.halcyon.com/arborhts/louis.html 
Valdosta State University
Valdosta, GA  31698                           /~\        /\ /\
912-333-5947                       /^\      /     \    /  /~\  \   /~\__/\
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                        -_~    /  "If you want to climb mountains,   \ /^\
                         _ _ /      don't practice on mole hills" -    \____




















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