Tag Archives: Reflection

Education

Fourteen

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My fourteenth year of teaching began this week and it caught me by surprise. I ran through the numbers:

  • Three years at my first school
  • Three years in three different schools
  • Four years in one school
  • Beginning my fourth year at my current school

Somehow, I don’t feel quite old or experienced enough for all of that. But somewhere along the way, that’s indeed what happened.

I remember being a new teacher, staying late at school every night, settling myself into cafés to work on the weekends, balancing lesson planning with coursework for my Master’s. I remember a former colleague-turned-friend, the woman who hired me, asking me how she could help. I remember another colleague reminding me, when I mentioned nervousness and uncertainty, that the students didn’t know what I was feeling. I remember yet another colleague sitting down with me to go over lessons, make suggestions, and encourage me to try different things. I was mentored and supported and could not have been luckier for it.

By the time I began my third year of teaching, I could see the differences in myself and the first-year teacher who had started in my department. With a couple years of experience and my Master’s complete, I had time outside of school now, no longer staying much later than anyone else. I was excited rather than terrified at the prospect of preparing a new course, something I didn’t even realize until the new teacher pointed it out.

Now, I’ve designed new courses so many times that I don’t know what a school year looks like without it. It keeps things interesting, keeps me on my toes and trying different things. And now that the workload is normal rather than overwhelming, it’s also a lot of fun.

That’s how I know I’ve been doing this for a while. That’s how I can tell that I do know a thing or two, that my experience counts for rather a lot, and that my students and I really do learn from each other.

Here’s to year fourteen, to the newest course to develop, and to the young people I’ll be working with along the way. There’s no teaching without you.

Education should not be intended to make people comfortable; it is meant to make them think. – Hanna Holborn Gray

Education

See Me

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My thirteenth year as a teacher comes to an end this week. As all the years before it, it has gone quickly. There has been, as always, joy and sadness, disappointment and surprise, stress and smooth sailing. I keep track of seasons based on what we’re doing in school and refer to years according to the school calendar. In August I’ll buy a new pocket agenda.

There is a lot on this blog about teachers and teaching, about schools, students, and learning. I admit to loving, really loving, the work that I am privileged to do. If you ask me what I teach, I’ll give you the easy answer: I teach history, psychology, social studies, Theory of Knowledge. It’s true, but far more important to me is the human element. I teach young people and I watch them grow up for a little while. And then they go off into the world and I smile.

Last week I received an email from a student who I’ve taught since grade 10 who just completed grade 12. He is one of many students who has come to me over the years to talk about something that was on his mind, and one of a few who have written to me about it afterwards. What he said struck me and reminded me of things that matter. I wanted someone to see me and you saw me. I needed to talk and you listened.

Maya Angelou had it right: “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

It’s not uncommon for me to raise an eyebrow at a student and ask, “You okay?” Or, when it works better, those words go on a sticky note that I pass to the student when moving around the room. I usually get a nod and sometimes a change in behaviour, and then we go on our way. Occasionally a student comes back to me later and I find out what was going on. Sometimes I receive messages, on a few occasions even years after the fact, telling me about a student’s feelings in that moment.

Young people are crying out to be seen and to be heard, and I think it’s not only young people. When we choose to engage, we don’t always know what our level of involvement will be. We don’t know what we’ll hear and therefore what we will be required to do. And we don’t do it for the possibility of thanks at the end.

To see a young person how they want to be seen, to sit across a table and pass a packet of tissues, to really listen to someone who just needs to talk – this is what I do. And I am so, so lucky to be able to give those moments and the accompanying feelings. This is all part of being a teacher.

Germany

Strangers Without Phones

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I took a German language exam yesterday and had an experience similar to that of my own students, who are currently sitting exams, upon entering the room. My phone was collected, put into a pouch with my name on it, and then locked away until the exam was over and I left the building. The interesting aspect of this is that there was a long break between the written and oral parts of the exam, long enough that we were allowed to go out for lunch, and devices were not returned during this time. There were some signs of distress among my fellow test-takers when the announcement was made but, having read the regulations that arrived by mail two weeks ago, I was neither bothered nor surprised. A Margaret Atwood paperback was waiting in the break room.

As luck would have it, my name was last on the list for the oral component of the exam, a full three and a half hours after completing the written portion. Every twenty minutes, another pair of candidates left the waiting area, ultimately leaving the building through a back door. As we waited, we did what I suppose is natural in situations where other diversions are minimal: We talked.

I tend to be on the quiet side in large groups, and I sat with my book until someone identified that I was listening and directed a question at me. I must admit, the remaining time passed far more quickly as I joined in the lively conversation of German language learners. We shared what we were doing in Germany, how we had gotten there, how life now compared to wherever we came from, how long we’d been learning German. Casual small talk, really, but interesting considering the variety of nationalities, cultural and linguistic backgrounds, and work and life experiences of the people in the room. Everyone had something brand new to say and, as a doctoral student in the group pointed out, it is pretty easy to be myopic about our own experiences. There were, after all, many ways of getting to Germany.

There was also the fact, commented on by many, that likely no one would have exchanged any words at all had we had access to our phones. This had been the case upon arrival that morning, at which time I noticed that I seemed to be one of three who had brought other reading materials, a sure sign that life without a device is impossible for many to imagine. As it turned out, the time without a phone to get to know others really was a window into a very diverse group that I otherwise never would have encountered; aside from learning the same language, we have precious little in common that would naturally bring us into the same room.

My current thesis about the state of society, which I find increasingly stressful, egoistic, small-minded, oblivious, and fearful, to include just a few adjectives, is that the individual worlds that technology has created for each us have led to a wider world in which people are skeptical of each other because they do not know each other. They are stressed because they do not see people around them, anxious because they are living in a world that is too bright, too fast, and too anonymous. When we do not raise our eyes to others, we lose the need to fit into the norms of a society, leading to behaviours that are egocentric and, frankly, often obnoxious, equally disinterested in others as unaware that others are even there. This then leads to artificial worlds where everyone thinks the same way and everyone who doesn’t is shut out in their own little world, and the easiest way to keep people there is to create a false sense of security in the familiarity developed by personalized algorithms.

Therefore, it is no wonder that some people in the room yesterday clearly panicked when they learned they would not have access to their phones for a few hours. It is no wonder that some individuals chose to remain outside the group, pacing the hallway alone instead. But I think it is a very positive sign of what lies deep in humanity that the majority of us gathered around a table and got to know each other.

My town has recently installed a box of toys to share in a favourite field in the park. There are table tennis racquets, skipping ropes, large hoops, all the pieces for Vikinger Schach (a beloved German lawn game), and other toys made of wood in the box, a sign taped to the inside lid stating the box’s contents and the rules, which are simple: Use what you’d like and bring it back. Because the norm of trust is there, people behave accordingly. I think there’s a great deal in people, and biology supports this, that makes us want to be together, want to feel connected to each other. This is what made the pandemic so hard, isn’t it? And have we forgotten that already?

I have a poster in my classroom that quotes Hanna Holborn Gray: “Education should not be intended to make people comfortable; it is meant to make them think.” Being uncomfortable and working through that is what allows us to learn, and I think this is absolutely true of getting outside of our own bubbles and seeing the world with different eyes. It is this that then opens us to others, to new ideas and perspectives. The recognition that others experience the world differently provides new possibilities for how we understand the world, and then new ways of walking in it.

I think the fact that we have buried ourselves in technology, that we let something that is not real become our reality, has made us too used to what is easy, what is familiar, what we like. Losing contact with the many, many aspects of the world that are unfamiliar turns us away from each other and deeper into ourselves. This might be easy, but I also find it sad. Anyone who has observed children knows that humans are naturally curious, and I think it is critical to cultivate that. I am grateful to live in a town with a box of toys in the park, and grateful for the women who pulled me gently out of my book yesterday so that I, too, could spend some time in the real world.

And on the train ride home, the book stayed in my bag and I just looked around. Why not?