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Copyright © Louis Schmier and Atwood Publishing.
Date: Sat, 13 Feb 1999 12:51:27 -0500 (EST)
Random Thought: The First Word in My Dictionary of Good Teaching
A good morning to you all. It's late, I know. But, I had gone
out on the streets long after the sun had risen after wrestling for a
while with whether I should test a kink in my hip. After I had finished
my walk, I had grabbed myself a cup of freshly brewed coffee and had gone
out to the back deck by the fishpond to "cool down" in the chill of the 32
degree air. It wasn't long before I was mesmerized by the hynoptic sound
of the waterfall into meditative state that blanked out all interfering
sights and sounds around the pond.
As I watched the koi's melodic ballet beneath the pond's surface,
I slowly noticed that whether they danced in a broad and curving largo, or
in a gliding and graceful adagio, or in a sharp and scurrying adante the
water so perfectly molded to the smooth flow of their elegant and
effortless movements that it offered no sense of movement iself. Then, I
slowly turned my head and stared at the water clinging to every nook and
cranny of the rock walls and ledges, creeping up and receding like slight,
pulsating tidal flows in the quick rhythm sent out by the ripples of
cascading water from the falls. Those ripples drew my eyes to the streams
and waterfalls. I watched as the water conformed to whatever circumstance
it found, customizing its shape and altering its pace, changing its pitch
and resonance: flowing smoothly along the even stream beds, rushing
excitedly around rocks and pebbles, jumping athletically over leaves and
twigs, pooling lazily in a depression, frantically bouncing off limbs, and
finally daringly leaping over the edge to merge and disappear into the
mass of water on the pond's surface.
There was an empty pail cup on the nearby table. I leaned
over, picked it up, and dipped it into the pond. The water flowed into
the pail suddenly, perfectly altering its shape to conform to the cup.
And, I had the beginning of my answer. It kind of sneaked up on
me from somewhere when I thought I wasn't looking or listening. I didn't
think I was really thinking about it. It wasn't a jolting shout of a "boo"
or one of those explosive eureka, "I've got it" instants. It was more like
the slow, creeping, enveloping whisper by the enigmatic muse of a good
idea as I traveled from koi to rocks to streams and to waterfalls.
Now you may ask, answer to what? What was the question? It was a
question asked of me by a student I'll call Kennny. A few days ago, as I
meandered across the campus, heading for the Union in quest of a sinful
morning doughnut, I was waylayed by Kenny. He is in one of our first
year classes. He had already gone through the community building
exercises, a couple of tidbit discussions, working on and presenting the
class-rocking Tin Pan Alley project, and is now involved in preparing the
Dr. Seuss Project.
As we walked towards the Union, I asked him how he liked the class
so far.
"I really like your approach. It's different, but it makes
learning history interesting and fun, and I've already learned a lot about
history and myself. I want to be a teacher and help kids to learn that
they can learn....What words about teaching would you give me?"
"Give me time to think about," I said thinking about how I get
myself constantly into these situations.
"Take your time," he answered with a impish smile as he pealed off
to go into a building we were passing, "enjoy your doughnut. Just make
sure you walk it off tomorrow morning. Oh, and do something different?"
He didn't see my puzzled look. "Different?" What the heck did he
mean. When I made the mistake of asking "what do you mean by 'different?"
What do you want," he threw one of my pat answers to similar students
questions right back in my face.
"Whatever. It's not what I want. It's what you want. It's your
answer. Take the risk and go for it. Worst that can happen is that your
answer won't be differant and you'll have to do it again," he smirked.
"Thanks," I smiled, feigning an annoyed sneer and playfully
thinking less than nice thoughts.
I know I could have come back to Kenny with a quick statement
about expected words like love, caring, heart as kernels of good teaching,
or wait to compose a reflection on hope, faith, belief, wonder, and a host
of other words I have listed in what I call my "Alphabet of Good Teaching
(haven't yet come up with one for "Q"). But, he said, "different." So,
following his rules, I thought I would try to add some unique word,
eye-catching and provoking words to my dicitonary of good teaching.
Well, here is the first: "WATER!"
Interesting word, isn't it. I'll bet it's one he is not
expecting. But, this morning I think it is a good word.
A good teacher is like that water, deeply alert to and responsive
to and molding to each and every circumstance and to each and every person
he or she finds in a particular place at a particular moment. The good
teacher places a high value on responding to and even anticipating people,
places, and things--goes with the flow, dances with to the different
tunes, sculpts him/herself to situations and individuals. The good
teacher, like the water, engages in a kind of dynamic play of interaction
and interdependence between him or her and each student. The good teacher
makes it seem natural and effortless and the flow of the water. But,t
takes enormous desire, energy, preparation, practice, concentration, and
discipline to attain and maintain this state of mind and soul, to stay
constantly tuned it, to stay constantly alert, to stay constantly on your
toes, to stay at the edge. Hey, anyone who thinks that good teaching is
easy and quick doesn't know anything about good teaching.
Certainly, the good teacher has to know something, has to have an
expertise. After all, no one is going to do anything, good intentions not
withstanding, unless he or she has what the jargon calls a mastery of a
field. At the same time, the good teacher knows, to paraphrase Einstein,
relationships are more important in teaching and learning than
information. The good teacher sees every person and every action in the
classroom as interrlated parts of a single, delicately interwoven
ecological system which rests on the principle that the best teaching is
that which is truly adaptive and responsive to both the individual's needs
and the total environment in the classroom. So that even if someone
proclaims him/herself to be a standard-bearer of traditional methods, he
or she shouldn't be talking of very fixed, stagnant, unimaginative,
conforming "oh, it always has been done this way" set of rules in which
he or she does precisely according to the dictates of what those who have
gone before have done.
It can never truly be "always has been done this way." The good
teacher knows that no two students are identical; no two classes are
exactly the same as the last; each is unique. The good teacher is,
therefore, always tinkering, learning from each class how to do it a
little bit better, expanding his or her technique. The good teacher,
traditionalist or an innovator, therefore, finds him-/herself in different
circumstances that are different from predecessors and that even to follow
convention must involve adaptation and modification and innovation.
So, I think I'll tell Kenny that my first word for his vocabulary,
and mine as well, for good teaching is: "water."
Yeah, I like that. Something different. Something unexpected. I
won't tell him what I told you. I'll him stew a bit, be puzzled, and
think about it for a while to see if he can figure out what I mean.
And, you know what? The second and third unique words to give
Kenny just hit me. Should I tell you? Why not. Let's see if you can
figure out what I mean. Here they are: "read," "wobble." Later.
Meanwhile,
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