Teaching Life: Letters from a Life in Literature

Chapter 2. Epiphanies

12 Dear Kelly, I read with interest your answer to my question, “What do I ‘really ’ need to know about teaching?” Certainly there are challenges enough in a profession that demands so much from the hearts and minds of its practitioners. While I agree that “grading through the stacks of essays” and “staying current in the field” and “finding the energy to stay fresh at the podium” are challenges, they seem selfevident when compared with what I had in mind—and that is convincing our students that what they are studying applies to their lives in purposeful and meaningful ways. I think you’ll agree that there was a time in school when we silently questioned the relevance of some of our courses. What persuaded us otherwise? Apart from earning a good grade or fulfilling qualifications for a degree, do you recall anyone (other than our parents) explaining why we must know something? I certainly don’t. Not to be critical, but I suppose most of our teachers expected us to discover reasons on our own, which by some miracle we did. And so, there came a particular point in my life when I shed my indifference to some subjects and, like you, discovered a deep hunger to learn whatever I could from any topic I encountered. From that moment, I became a student and realized my calling. Kelly, the opportunity for these precious moments is available to everyone who enters a classroom, but only if he or she is prepared and able to receive them. That’s where you, the teacher, fit in. Remember what Emerson proposes: “The whole secret of the teacher’s force lies in the conviction that men [and women] are convertible, and they are.” Epiphanies [ c h a p t e r 2 [ 13 e p i p h a n i e s To prepare your students to be open to such moments, it’s important to set your posture, to create an atmosphere conducive to intellectual inquiry and expansion. First impressions are all important. From the syllabus your students should know instantly how much you care about the subject and how important it is that each of them is there to learn. I believe that most students are contemptuous of triviality. They expect and hope for serious, competent discussions of assigned texts, and they want to be challenged to think deeply. I would be nervous to enter the classroom before I had learned as much as I could about the course material and spent lots of time and energy contemplating what would be most beneficial for them to learn. A syllabus is more than a chronological listing of assignments. It is a covenant of trust between you and the student, and a covenant is only as strong as the integrity of the person making it. See that yours is professional in all respects and developed with the same careful attention to detail that you would give to a book proposal before sending it to a publisher. It should be well organized, with clearly stated objectives and requirements and a bibliography of recommended supplementary readings from which you intend to draw during the semester. At the end of your syllabus, you might want to include this paragraph: If you aren’t here to work exceptionally hard and at the same time have what I hope will be an enjoyable semester, then please drop now so that I can give the seat to someone who needs the class and who is serious about doing well. All of us have long wait lists, and we would like to enroll students who intend to stay in class for its duration and do their very best. I am interested in having a core of students who fit into that category. We have fifty-four hours together—let’s not waste them. These words may strike you as a bit harsh, yet I find they have the intended effect of awakening students (if they need awakening) to my expectations and assuring them of the importance of time— theirs and mine. Like you, I want my students to be fully alive to the present, to take every advantage of every opportunity presented 14 e p i p h a n i e s to them, and to celebrate the fact that they have the greatest gift, an inquiring mind, and the liberty to think for themselves. Nothing could...