The Power of Teaching People

This is an essay that a student in my Writer's Craft class encouraged me to write. Bianca M. urged me to try and get published. I had encouraged the class, and she offered it back to me. I submitted this to the Facts and Arguments section of Canada's national newspaper, The Globe and Mail, to no avail, but I may send it somewhere else. And for now, it is here.

The Power of Teaching People Instead of Students

I want to share what I learned this semester in my 12^th grade Writer’s Craft class. I learned that I teach people.

I teach individuals. I do not teach students, nor teens, nor learners, nor anyone other than a group of individuals. Their age, experience in the world - or lack thereof, their abilities, their dedication to academic study (or not), their transcripts, their reputations… none of it matters. At all.

I learned that my role is to love them as they are, inspire them to learn, and to empower them to do so without me or anyone else.

Which sounds like a bunch of "New Age" wishy-washy emotional fluff.

I know.

Four years ago I would have agreed with you.

But we are thirteen years into the 21^st century and only a few of us seem to have really grasped what it means.

What it means is this: most young people have virtually no real intimacy in their lives. Their significant adults lack the ability to guide them, since the terrain changes so rapidly that even if the older people had a clue, they can’t keep up, let alone lead the way. The natural instincts of an adolescent are amplified by social media that exponentially expose them to the forces of sexualized images, “perfect” body types, scrutiny, conflict, popularity contests, cliques, and everything else challenging and potentially awful about adolescence. They need love, kindness, and compassion. This is not something to which they would admit, but it is true, and seeing as time, money, and technological expertise are hard to provide, we might as well love them. It is easier, and it makes an extraordinary difference.

Not surprisingly, is that love, kindness, and compassion are what every human being needs in order to thrive. So why is the default belief in education that being tough on kids is good for them?

Do not assume that the affection I have for my students and the value I place on their emotional well-being means I have low standards or that my students do not work incredibly hard. Our learning environment is demanding in its challenge level and volume of work. What makes their achievements and productivity possible is the enthusiasm we have for our work and the affection and safety we enjoy with each other. This is true for adults in their workforces, too. Where you are respected, valued, and recognized, you perform better. Where you feel safe, you take risks. Where failure is accepted, you innovate. Where there is trust, you collaborate.

People in education often say we need to prepare students for “the real world”, but as people working in education, we’re as far from the “real world” as you can get. If we eliminate pre-conceived and ill-conceived ideas about the “real world” and what it allegedly calls for, we could focus on what human beings call for.

There is no debate about the epidemic of mental health issues, sleep deprivation, stress levels, and financial burdens and fears all North Americans face. Assuming that younger people are not similarly burdened is naïve at the least and mercilessly ageist at the worst. Instead of preparing them for the “real world” by making them miserable sooner, why not acknowledge what we all need - at school and work - and start offering it to each other?

  This semester, I experienced extraordinary events in my classroom. This is not to credit myself, but to acknowledge what a shift in attitude wrought. When I welcomed my students as people and treated them like equals, they performed better than ever before. They honestly acknowledged it. In the semester-end reflection I asked for, they said over and over that feeling safe, feeling free, knowing they wouldn’t get in trouble for their opinions and ideas, the peer support and trust we shared, and the opportunities to re-do and re-submit work, made it possible for them to thrive. As a result, there is a student who came into the class hating poetry and is leaving it with poems worthy of publication. There is a student who never bothered to work on his writing because it was always good enough, and is bothered now by nineties instead of seventies. There is the student whose 50% is a victory because it shows not only an improvement of 20%, but also an unexpected defeat of cynicism and laziness.  Then there is the student who attended class every day for the first time in three years because she wanted work with us; it goes without saying that her grades went up, too.

The belief that being tough and being nice are mutually exclusive needs to be thrown out with the same urgency with which we must dispose of our industrial model of education. These beliefs and practices no longer apply. In this brave new world, students need to be critical thinkers who love learning and who have the ability to find and discern high quality information. By creating classrooms in which teachers model those qualities and inspire them in their students, we will offer what everyone needs most: love.

Everyone comes into this building from a night somewhere: a safe, warm, cozy home, the street, a night of violence, a night worrying about grocery or gas money, a night hating oneself, or a night spent squirming from embarrassment or crying from heartbreak. Everyone walks through these doors – staff and students – needing and wanting love, acceptance, support, as well as the opportunity to love, support, and accept others. Providing that opportunity could transform schools - and the “real world”, too.

 

 

Teaching Snapshot

As I continue to be inspired by this writing project, I have dug up a few scraps of scribbling from the recent past. This is something I wrote a few weeks ago. I wish I had sent it in to the press!

A Day in the Life of an Ontario Secondary School Teacher

This morning was amazing – the kind of class a teacher might dream about for a good part of a career. My 12^th grade Writer’s Craft class presented their final project for the course. Their task was to deliver a speech or in any other way share their growth and development as a writer or person over the course of our time together.

The comments were astonishing. Not only did the students speak powerfully, clearly, and in well-rehearsed, thoroughly prepared ways, but they were insightful, honest, open, and generous. Over and over they acknowledged their peers and indirectly and directly thanked them for contributing to their success. I was also acknowledged, and it was wonderfully satisfying. The students did as they were asked and reflected thoroughly on the course and recalled moments and memories of transformation and growth and then shared them in compelling ways. That they grew so much and could see it in each other and themselves was wonderful. That was the first 75 minutes of my day.

Second period was also an intense seventy-five minutes. Ninth grade students were presenting a novel study and making connections between what they had read to other texts or experiences they had experienced or consumed. This was their first high school project of such significance, so there was a lot of nervousness and the stakes were high. They delivered, however, and generally did a good job. The next group to present on Monday was directed to how they could best prepare, and it was an important learning opportunity for everyone.

Over my lunch period I read the latest coverage of our current labour dispute and processed the frustration over the resignation of Chris Spence. In the face of the attacks on teachers these days, it is painful to have the Director of Education of the largest school board in the country – Toronto – have to resign over serial plagiarism. In conversation with colleagues we discussed the issues we face in helping students avoid this mistake and how at least we now had a current celebrity to help our student understand a tragic hero’s fall from grace as explored in Macbeth…

At the end of lunch as I copied rubrics and organized marking I found myself in further conversation about timetable changes and learned of unreasonable and resistant leadership. A department head is refusing to allow a colleague to switch a class with me next semester for no apparent reason and as that frustration was shared other concerns arose. I am now considering moving myself physically from one office to another so as to avoid the stress and conflict in my current department and have to confront how difficult it has become. I am suffering the consequences of a broken leadership recruitment and mentorship process and it is discouraging. My professional learning and growth is being stunted by a lack of vision and inter-personal skills, and I risk offending colleagues if I leave them for a different working space. I have difficult choices to make.

During my preparation period I marked and then counseled a student through her self-harming behaviours and offered  suggestions to help her succeed. She is not in immediate danger of committing suicide, but it is a concern I have to deal with. I emailed her guidance counselor, forwarded relevant details about a course that may be of value, and provided what comfort and support I could. All I can do now is hope that my actions were sufficient.

Just before my last class, a colleague came in with coffee for me, much later than expected, since she had been on the errand for an unusually long length of time. She appeared shaken and distressed. She explained that she had just broken up a knife fight on her way back from the coffee shop. The weapons were drawn, the assault was in progress, and she had to run through it to enter the building and get help from administration. Thankfully no one was hurt.

And then it was time to address my fifth period class. Yesterday there was a great deal of disappointment when many students failed to submit their final projects. It is that time of year at the end of the semester and I had honestly been expecting some great work. It turns out that a lot of great work was done, but the list of incompletes yesterday left me disillusioned and despairing. Today took a lot of energy to focus on the positive and to try to recover from the previous class. I did it and the victories were shared and we moved on.

After school when I went to check on my colleague who had intervened in the knife fight, I learned some deeply disturbing news. One of the assailants is the foster brother of a another assailant in the school. It turns out that this episode of violence shouldn’t have come as a surprise. The administration had been warned about the potentially explosive situation this student was in when his brother discovered his string of petty crimes was going to land him in jail. His law class taught him enough to realize that he was actually going to be incarcerated and he shared this insight with his law teacher. The teacher recognized in the student his take on it and advised the vice principal that the young man saw himself in a position of having nothing left to lose – he had a week before his court date, a week left of freedom, and he was a potential threat. The warning was ignored. Two girls were sexually assaulted by the student at school in the washroom in that final week.

On the drive home I had to listen to the premier of the province claim that teachers are naturally inclined to volunteer their unpaid and unappreciated time for extra-curricular activities, which infuriated me. I, nor anyone else, is ever inclined to be taken advantage of. It was offensive.

And now I am home, with marking to do and a headache, and a lot of questions still running through my mind. Firstly, if the public really knew what my days were like – and of course not all of them are this demanding or emotionally fraught – would they still think so poorly of myself and my profession? Why is the privacy of a student more important than the safety of others? Those young women and my colleague were unnecessarily endangered because none of us knew we had a violent offender in our midst. The ones who knew failed to act to protect us. And why is good leadership so hard to find? People want to be great, and there are many great people. When did education become such a dead-end than no one of excellence pursues it anymore? Chris Spence’s fall further illustrates the crisis in leadership we face. 

Writing poetry again

     The poems I am sharing here are not directly a part of my and Anneke's story, but they belong here for a couple of reasons. First, because she has inspired me to write again, and this is the fruit of that effort, and then because Anneke inspired me to believe in things greater than myself. She showed me a face of faith that was real; hers is honest, humble. subtle, yet strong - she has never recruited, preached, judged, or proclaimed her God as necessary for anyone other than for herself. So when I think of the factors that inspired me to even consider exploring faith for myself, I think of Anneke. And when I struggle to forgive myself or others, I think of her example. And so these two poems belong here, because they would not have been written without the influence she's had on my life.

Encore

The service had been moving
enough,
But something held the congregation
to their pews

And in the inhalation
of anticipation,
came this reward:

Carolyn, seated at the grand piano,
her slim, stately back
a pillar
in the community,

and then beside her,

Russell slid onto the bench -
a towering, larger-than-life force
that fit perfectly.

When the first note from the piano was released,
so was everyone’s breath;

and as they played,

shoulders relaxed,
arms rested against the backs of pews,
and eyes and hearts reached out.

There, at their altar,
was their perfect offering:
music, harmony, and love –
just two bodies
in one church,

reminding everyone present
what partnership looks like.

The explosive applause startled them,
and their
blushing,
giddy smiles

confirmed
that they had been caught in an act of love.


With Love

When I look at the gorgeous woman across my table, 
this is what I see:

She is 
elegant,
glamourous, 
sophisticated, 
immaculate, 
confident,
controlled -
perfectly put together - 

she never comes apart

 - except in those moments 
in which I recognize myself -

those moments when someone
scratches at the flawless surface

to expose the beautiful imperfections underneath

too much approval
has cost us
our entire capacity for disapproval, 

so there shall be no:

spilt milk, 
spoiled supper, 
cracked nail colour, 
childish children, 
delays, detours, 
or
failure:

a place for everything, 
and everything in its place - 

but where did we put our freedom?

The discovery draft

A Memoir of Faith and Friendship

When I met Anneke Bjikersma, I was an eighteen-year-old exchange student newly arrived in South Africa in 1991. I was scared and excited to be attending an Afrikaans high school, and knew only a few words of the language. Anneke, as fresh-faced and sweet a young woman as one could imagine, with shining dark hair and bright eyes, welcomed me with such sincere warmth and affection that it made me nervous. Unbeknownst to me, she was loving me with her deeply spiritual heart, and was seeing me through God’s eyes. I was completely unaccustomed to such a gaze.

But I got comfortable with the unexpected and undeserved kindness, and we built a friendship over language lessons and shared classes. I would only learn years later that “unexpected and undeserved” are other words for grace.

Anneke coached me for hours as I struggled to master unfamiliar pronunciations and awkward syllables. Afrikaans, thankfully, has its grammatical roots in French, which I knew, but its Dutch and German vocabulary and sounds left me spitting in frustration. Anneke persisted and to this day, continues to take delight in my success.

In a friendship spanning now two decades, we both thought for a long time that her greatest teachings were the language, history, and culture of her country. It would take heartbreak and tragedy for us to realize that her greatest gift to me was faith.