Magic and Magnitude
Teaching is a gift. I am not referring to one’s ability to teach, or the talents one possesses that make them great teacher. I am talking about the opportunity to invest and impact students’ lives, to identify and nurture the qualities that make them unique. I am talking about the opportunity to be a part of someone else’s story. This is a gift. It is something to be cherished. I have been fortunate to have incredible mentors in my own life. Although not every one of them was a teacher from whom I learned in a classroom setting, each one of them is an important part of the story that continues to shape how I engage with my students.
Steve
“Pretend that there is a little kitten walking around the rim. You have to get the basketball over the kitten to make it into the hoop. Okay? Don’t hit the kitten,” Steve instructed with eyebrows raised as he jogged off to my right.
Don’t hit the kitten. Don’t hit the kitten. Don’t hit the kitten, I repeated to myself, as I cradled the basketball in my hands. With feet planted at the free throw line, one foot in front of the other, eyes on the rim, and my scrawny arms squared into a perfect “L” shape, I launched the ball toward the hoop and watched in discouragement as it plowed into a helpless, imaginary kitten for umpteenth time that afternoon.
“Ugh,” I grunted, frustrated with myself. It felt like I had been practicing this throw for days. I missed more that I made it in the hoop.
“Oh no! You hit the kitten!” Steve laughed as he retrieved the basketball and jogged back to where I stood at the free throw line.
“Try again. This time remember to push the ball up and then forward. Up and forward. Up and forward.” He modeled these instructions with his own hands first, and gently grabbed my wrists to lead me through the same.
I don’t remember how long we spent practicing basketball drills. What I do remember, though, is the patience Steve had to work with me to become better at something. I remember his encouragement to keep trying. While I never excelled at the sport, or even made it too far beyond sitting on the bench for most of a season, two lessons I learned that summer continue to echo when I face an obstacle, or help someone else conquer their own: 1) the art of learning to try again, and again, and again…; 2) the empowerment that honest encouragement can bring. Steve’s patience to continue working with me, despite any hint of talent or athletic prowess, quelled my frustrations and helped me to have the peace of mind to keep practicing. These simple, but important lessons are ones that I’ve carried with me from childhood and make an effort to exemplify to my students.
Most importantly, though, beyond any basketball skills that were taught and learned, was that Steve became an important part of my story. Long after I stopped playing basketball, I still remember how it feels to have someone invest their time to help me. I still remember his positivity and enthusiasm as he helped me to continue working at something. Basketball practice wasn’t really special after all, but more the relationship formed because of it.
Crystal
She handed the paper to me from across the desk. While I was afraid to look her in the eye, I caught a glimpse of her raised eyebrows and smirky lips. I already knew that the paper I had turned in earlier that week did not show my best work. If I was honest with myself — I hate being honest with myself — I hadn’t given my best all semester. This time, I had mixed up due dates and thought the assignment was due a week later. I only had time to scramble to put it together once I realized the error, but I was becoming really good at scrambling. By the look on Crystal’s face, I wasn’t as good at it as I thought.
I slid my way into the chair across from her and flipped to the back page. Written in big, bold, stop light red was the letter “D.” That’s gonna hurt, I thought. I sighed, adjusted in the chair that was likely older than I was, and braced myself for the pep talk that I had been fearing all morning.
Crystal’s classes were always the ones to which I gave my best efforts. She always expected honest effort and quality work from her students and was always willing to help students through any question or struggle. More than that, though, she was someone who inspired my respect. In my own pursuit of becoming a teacher, Crystal’s example was one I was proud and confident to follow. While it was a careless mistake to mix up deadlines, knowing that I bombed an essay for her class was a hard pill to swallow.
“Leigh Ann, you run hot or cold. When you’re hot, you’re really hot and you produce great work. But Leigh Ann, when you’re cold, you’re really, really cold. There is no lukewarm with you.”
I didn’t have anything to say in response. I knew she was right. I’d taken enough classes with her at this point for her to be familiar with my work habits. She was right. I had been inconsistent all semester.
“You’re going to need to decide what you want to do. You need to decide if you want to take this seriously or not,” she said, and proceeded to warn me about where my grade was headed should I decide to stay on the course I was currently walking.
I didn’t know at the time that the conversation that followed would be life changing. Of all of the teachers I had worked with up until that point, Crystal was one of a few to notice potential that I didn’t know I had and call me to the carpet when I wasn’t working up to it. While teachers in the past had overlooked, or at best, chastised a lack of effort, Crystal was the first teacher I remember who challenged me to consistently work to improve myself. Her redirection inspired a desire to continue to be better than I was before. I doubt that I transformed into a model student after that conversation. However, her encouragement to stay the course and remain steady in my pursuits continues to resonate with me.
Gifts
The experiences that I shared with each of these people have created a foundation upon which I can build my own teaching career: Patience. Compassion. Encouragement. Tenacity. Redirection. These are qualities through which I aim to structure my teaching, as well as impart to my students as they were to me. As a writing teacher, I lead students through a process of discovering strategies that work for them. It’s a process of trial and error, of making mistakes and learning how to fix them. In order to figure out a process that does work, students also need to go through the frustrating steps of learning what does not work. This part of learning is often the hardest, but I’ll argue that it is also the best, the most meaningful. It is where the magic of teaching happens – when I have the opportunity to encourage students to keep trying, to not give up, to figure out what works and what doesn’t and why. I have an opportunity to guide students to use their skills confidently. Most importantly, I have the chance to help people learn how to find their voices to tell own their stories.
While I think it is safe to say that most of my students will never aim to be award-winning novelists, just like I wasn’t ever destined to be a star athlete, the power of encouragement remains the same. Working with someone who is willing to persist through the struggle, guiding students to learn how to make and correct mistakes, being present as someone grows in their potential, and providing encouragement through the process, is all part of the magic of teaching. It is a gift that I am grateful to have received and thrilled to pay forward.