Days of Awe, of Fear and Trembling, of the Jewish New Year (Rosh Hashanah) and Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), are upon we of the Jewish faith. As I sat in synagogue Thursday, listening to the supplications of the soulful prayer, “Avenu Malkenu,” asking “hear our voice.”   I asked myself, “who should really hear my voice?”  As I got lost in that question, I thought of the words of that past student I had met on my walk while waiting for the train to pass and I thought of a couple of e-colleagues with whom I was talking.  And, two stories popped into my mind.  I had read them long ago in the Midrash.  I didn’t understand them until I had my epiphany in the early 1990s and they’ve been among my guiding tales.  The first story says that during creation, God had decided to instill His divinity into human beings.  The angels were outraged. How can something so pure, so precious, and so powerful be entrusted to an imperfect as human beings?  If they had the Divine image, they reasoned, they will think like God thinks, and feel what God feels; they will create as God creates, and they will grasp eternity and live forever, as God lives forever. “We cannot let this happen!” they exclaimed.   So they conspired, and the stole the Divine Image, and they decided to hide it., to hide it somewhere humankind would never find it. But where.  ”Let us put it at the top of the highest mountain!” one angel suggested. “No,” responded a second angel.  They will one day climb the mountain and find it.”  ”Well, then, let us put it at the bottom of the sea!” another offered. “No, a fourth angel countered, ” they will dive to those depths one day and will find it.”  ”I know,” a fifth angel said.  ”We’ll put in the most inhospitable of deserts.”  ”No,” rejected the angels, “they will bring fruit to the barrenness, dwell there, and find it.”  Suggestion after suggestion was offer, but each was rejected because of man’s creativity, imagination, and ability would .  Then,  the cleverest of the angels stepped forward. “No, not at the top of the mountains, or at the bottom of the seas, or in the dry deserts, or hot jungles, or cold arctic.  I know of a place they will never go to look for it.  Let us place it in each of them, within their hearts, and within their souls. They’ll never think to search there; they’ll find it there; and so, they’ll never hear that sacred voice.  And so, teaches the Midrash, the angels hid the precious Divine Image within the heart and soul of humankind where so often for most people it lies hidden to this day.

It is said that these HIgh Holiday are called Days of Awe because we’re asked to do something, difficult, fearful, and frightening:  face our mortality and inevitable death.  But, having faced death and having faced it down by surviving cancer and a massive cerebral hemorrhage, I think we confront something far more challenging:  life.  Most of us, academics included, do not like to confront ourselves with a reflective and articulated “who am I,” especially our “afraids.”  They’re taken as chinks in our armor that would make us vulnerable.  So, many of us are afraid to fail, afraid to look foolish, afraid to stand out, afraid to stand up, afraid to lose, afraid of what others will think, afraid to try and to risk, afraid all this will undermine both our inflated sense of self and our self-centered academic and scholarly pursuits. We have convinced ourselves that: failure is not an option.  The “others” will not be empathetic, will not forgive mistakes, will not forget exposed limitations; the others will not appeciate your changing, challenging, attempts, experiments, adventures, and explorations; the others will not accept different priorities.  And, the “others” will make sure it will cost in terms of that promotion and that job-for-life guarantee called “tenure.”  And maybe, what is worse is that we fear losing faith in ourselves, in our own abilities, and our own worth.

So, in the classroom, for which so few of us were intensely trained, most of us won’t take chances; we subtly cower with “it won’t work” or “you can’t get to them all;”  we imprison ourselves with “I don’t have the time,” “I can’t,” “It’s not me,” “I don’t know how.”  At best we engage in “Little Jack Horner” tinkering at the edges in our quest for the quick and easy guarantee.  At worst, we refuse to even consider change, casting aside finding of latest research on learning with such defenses as “I’ve been in the classroom for years,” or “I know how to teach.”   We shirk responsibility with blames of “they’re ‘don’t belongs” and “they’re letting everyone in” and “students today….” and “the administration wants…”  We attack with a hurl of arrows tipped with poisons of “soft,” “fluffy,” “touchy-feely,” “new ‘agey,’”  We sit paralyzed, unable or unwilling to do the good that’s within our power because we have convinced ourselves that what we do in the classroom is really of lesser worth and is not in our interest to give all we have.  We find solace outside the classroom, in the lab or field or archive for which we were intensely trained.  In those places, we find the time and our reassuring “can’s.” We find self worth in our degrees, titles, grants, research, conference papers, and “peer reviewed” publications.
That brings me to the second story, which I will “modernize.”  The story tells of a questionnaire everyone had to fill out when they arrived at the gates of heaven.  Everyone thought the questionaire had to do with what God will think of you.  But, in really it is designed to reveal their our perspective on their lifetimes.  The questions asked what did they believe their life amounted to.  What was important?  What mattered?  What counted?  What was their purpose?  To what and whom did they devote themselves?  In what and whom do they invest themselves.  Everyone thought, as the story goes, these questions focused on “what did you do” when in truth they were concerned with the essential question of “who are you,”  What was their essences.  Of what were they made.
As an academic, in my study, in my den, over my breakfast table, by the koi pond, on my meditative walks, in my deepest thoughts, I can be the most moral of heroes. It’s easy to be a verbal moral hero by proclaiming “I care,” “I give,” and “I serve.”  Everyone of us, deep in our hearts, thinks of ourselves as good, sincere, well-meaning persons. The real question is what happens when the proverbial chips are down, when you’ve got to put your money where your mouth is, in the real world of the academic rat race, in the self-serving pursuit of degree and position and promotion and tenure, in the pursuit of grants and research and publication, in the pursuit of resume lengthening and renown.  What do we do to ourselves?  What do we allow this rat race do to us?  Do we compromise our integrity?  Does it deafen and blind us to those in the classroom.  Does it allow us to run the race at their expense?  How many do we allow to go unnoticed in order for us to be seen?  Do we display care, emit love, demonstrate support and encouragement, live caring?  Are we the unconditional embodiment of belief, faith, hope, and love?  Do we preserve them, protect them, defend them, nurture them in the service of ourselves and others?  Do keep them alive, warm, glowing, and growing?  Do we recognize and appreciate the miracles that are in our daily lives in general and in the classroom specifically?  Do we consciously renew them each day?  As I told an e-colleague, self-motivation and self-inspiration are like shaving:  you have to do it every day.
Then something else popped into my mind as a guide to the answer of my original question.   The psychologist, Victor Frankel, himself a survivor of Auschwitz, studied those who survived and those who did not. “The last, and greatest human freedom,” he wrote, “is the freedom to choose your attitude.”   So, as the “Avenu Malkenu” came to an end, I imperceptibly shook my head.  The answer to my question of “who should hear my voice” is none other than:  me.



It’s was about 3:45 a.m. yesterday.  Couldn’t sleep.  Mind racing.  Adrenaline flooding.  I haven’t felt this way since a did a webinar for an LSU education class last Spring.  Focusing.  Getting in the groove.  Putting on my game face.  Going deep.  I was preparing myself to go to the local Lowndes High School for an early morning 75 minute round table on teaching with my friend Amy Carter  and 17 students who are interested in becoming teachers.   I was racking my brain on how to “grab” them almost as soon as they sat down.  Then, I thought of my own acronyms, HI (Hospitality Intelligence), LED (Love Every Day) and KISSED (Keep It Small and Significant Every Day).  I came up with this:   The only way to teach is to accept unconditionally each minute as an unrepeatable miracle of opportunities and possibilities;  the only way to teach is to accept each student unconditionally as an unrepeatable miracle of opportunities and possibilities.

And, as you learn to live daily those acceptances with unshakable and boundless belief, faith, hope and love, miracles will occur.



Ner Tamid

So, there I was Thursday morning.  Out a bit late.  Standing patiently at a railroad crossing, waiting, my walk interrupted by a long, long, slow freight train.  Waiting, red lights flashing, waiting, warning bells ringing, waiting for that interminable train to pass, waiting to continue my walk.  I notice a gorgeous luxury car idling in line next to me.

“Nice car,” I commented.  What followed was one of those “you just don’t ask” moments.
The driver turns his head towards me. Looked intently.  ”Dr. Schmier, is that you?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
“I’m….  We were in class together back in 1997 when you were changing your ways with your trust falls, triads, journaling, biographical interviews, projects, and a bunch of other stuff, throwing out lecturing and testing.  I see you’re in good shape and still smiling.  Figures.  You still at the college?
“No, I reluctantly had to retire back in December of 2012.
“Their loss, the students, that is.  Hey, while we’re waiting and I’ve got you here, I want to tell you something.”  He leaned towards me as I walked over to the car.  ”You know what I liked best about your class and that I still use?”
“No, what?”
To a emphasizing cadence of taping the steering wheel with his hand, he said, “There was something new and interesting every day.  Every day!  I mean we came into class not knowing what to expect.  Nothing was routine.  It wasn’t a place for boredom to set in.  And, you came into class every day interested.  Every day!  Interested.  In each of us.  Us!  Each of us!  Who we were and was going on with us! Us!  Each of us!   You appreciated, noticed, respected, and as you said so much, loved each of us.  Laughed and smiled and had fun.  And, we learned.  Most of us did more, more than we thought we could or wanted to do because of that.  Lordy, I do remember our talks to this day.  You may not, but I sure do.   Man, you ‘out-interested’ all the other professors I had at that college put together.”
I smiled as he went on.  ”Yes, sir.  ’Out-interested them all.’  I never forgot that.  I used that in college; use it now in my job, with my family; and, I am teaching it to my kids.  It’s a light that’s been there guiding me for my whole life since that class:  every day be a learner; make every day a first.  It’s the only way to stay young and on your toes.   It’s the only way to stay out of ruts and not get stale.  It’s the only way to learn, change, and grow.  It’s the only way my best gets better every day.  Every day I always look for that one new interesting thing and reason not to be bored.”  He turned to the lifting railroad gates,  Then, turned back to me before he hit the gas pedal, “You’re my ‘interesting thing’ today.  I guess this is where I say ‘thanks.’”
With a tear in my eye and a choke in my throat, I barely got out a “And, this is where I say ‘thanks.’”
He drove off with a wave.
I tell you, teaching is not confined to a course, by the walls of a classroom, to a term.  As I’ve recently said, it is forever.  It’s a “ner tamid”: an eternal light.
As I finished the last 2 1/2 miles of my route, I thought about what he said:  ”out-interested.”  ”Ineresting,” I said to myself over and over.  My daily “interesting thing,” too, that day.   More on that later.




I got a call yesterday morning from an high school teacher who was in the Holocaust class with me as a student a few years ago.  After exchanging pleasantries, part of our conversation went something like this:
“Doc, another reason I’m calling is that I’m in a jam.  I was talking to a parent and he wanted to know why I got a job as a teacher.  His tone had a sneer to it.  How would you answer him so he’ll understand?”
“How would you?”
“No, it’s got to be your answer, not mine.”
“Come on!”
“How many times did you hear me say that you’ve got to know your ‘why.’  I will ask you to think of this, ‘How did the Holocaust class effect you?’”
“Wearing that star the entire semester everywhere I went changed my life like no other class I had.  It really did.  It burned into my soul.  It still does. I’ll never forget it.  I’m like one with the star.  It began a new chapter in my life.  I look at it every day lying in my top dresser draw.  My wife and I talk about it all the time.”
“Go on.”
“It shook everything up.  I mean ‘everything.’  I came out of that class a completely different and better person with a whole new perspective on life and myself.  It made me look at myself.  It opened me up to possibilities I never dreamt of.  I came out from that class feeling I could handle anything that got thrown my way…I mean I’m teaching because of that class….I wanted and still want to have the kind of impact you had and have on me….”
“And, so, your answer is?”
Then, there was a moment of silence.  ”To make a difference!  I’ll tell him that it’s my purpose is to make a difference in people’s lives; to help each and every student not just to learn about math, but to become a better person and do good.”
“That’ll do.  But, and it is a big ‘but,’, you got yourself in this jam because you forgot that the parent’s premise was wrong in the first place.  Teaching…is…not…a…job.  It…is…not…even…a…profession.  It’s a calling.  You’re on a mission.  Teachers are put on earth, as you just said, to shakes things up.  Teachers transform lives, change the world, alter the future.  What they do is forever.  Anyone in the classroom who doesn’t believe that, or dreams of doing it, or struggles to do it, should go get a job.”
And, we talked some more.



As part of this discussion I had recently mentioned, I explained to a bunch of complaining professors that teaching has a gleaming, but masking, veneer to it.  To make something seem simple is very complex; to make teaching a giving of yourself takes a lot of self-possession; to make teaching imaginative and creative and invite others to be imaginative and creative takes a lot of contemplation; to make teaching a matter of relinquishing control requires a lot of self-control; to make teaching a matter of asking challenging questions–rather than answering them–is a challenge; to make teaching look easy is very difficult; to make teaching look and feel effortless takes a lot effort; to teach excitedly takes a lot of self-control; to teach with spontaneity takes a lot of preparation and deliberation;  to make teaching an awakening of each student’s unique potential demands an intense alertness and awareness;  to teach with random acts of kindness takes a lot of planning;and, to teach with fun and inviting others to have fun requires a lot of seriousness.

Teaching is a way of finding yourself in the service of others.  Teaching is being an emotional match-maker, of putting your heart into what you’re doing while having a good pulse on the moods and emotions of each student.  Teaching is using your sense to have a strong and accurate sense of each student’s emotional state, and to match your fervor to each of them.  Teaching is a combination of intelligence with kindness, generosity, and service to others.  Teaching is a combination of seriousness with joyfulness, unabashed sincerity, quiet eccentricity, energetic serendipity, and excited discovery.  Yeah, your have to have a reflected upon and articulated talk if you want to avoid an aimless  walk.




Hot, hot, hot!  I went out before the sun came up and it was still 82 degrees with a heat factor of 89!  That heat factor was high because it was also wet, wet, wet!  It was so humid I was swimming more than walking my 5 1/2 miles, and I discovered why they call this week “Shark Week.”  Last week a bear strolled across by route two hours before I hit the streets.  This morning I was convinced I’d meet a Great White jaw to jaw.

Talking about sharks,  I was in an extended conversation about classroom teaching for the past few days.  One nondescript phrase incessantly was thrown out almost with a cavalier “oh, you know what I mean.”  The participants kept on saying, “walk the talk,” walk the talk,” “walk the talk.”  Then, I asked, “Just what is the talk that you walk?  What are the principles guiding what you do?  What are the tenets directing you?  What is your North Star?  What are the purposes that drive you?  What is the philosophy of education that inspires you to be persistent, persevering, and committed?  What are your beliefs?  What are the ideals by which you live?  What are the values that are at the heart of what you think, feel, and do?  What mission are you on?  What defines who you are?
As some began to answer in a heavy air of blame and accusation by focusing on “them,” the students, I parried.  ”Don’t talk about ‘them’ or what you expect of ‘them.’ Talk about yourself and what you expect from yourself.  Don’t talk about what you do.  Talk about who you are.  Talk about what propels you.  Talk about what matters to you.  Talk about what are the foundations of your beliefs, perceptions, and actions.  The simple truth is that unless you know your talk, you can’t really do a good walk.”



Haven’t really been interested in sharing lately.  I’ve had another thing on my heart and mind.  These haven’t been the best of times.  But, they sure have been testing times.  I’ve been focused, maybe “distracted” is a good word, or “concerned” is a better word, or maybe “consumed” is the best word, with Susie’s sudden, inexplicable, untreatable, and apparently irreversible blindness that she experienced in her left eye upon awakening one morning four weeks ago while we were on a family care-giving mission in Boston.  Then quickly–and at times frustratingly not so quickly–followed referrals to an opthalmologist, referral to a retina-opthalmologist, referral to a neuro-opthalmologist, referral to a neurosurgeon, blasé secretaries, rigidly disinterested schedulers, inflexible by-the-rules staffers, nurses, PAs, hospitals, triages, emergency rooms, blood tests, CAT scan, spinal tap, arterial biopsy, high doses of bloating steroids, fear, depression, anger, and total uncertainty.  You name it.  The words “urgent,” “immediate,” and “emergency” were often used in a life-threatening context, but so often it was of no matter.  Too many did not listen!  As I said on my Facebook page, I am wondering how urgent an urgency must be for people to act urgently.  So, it was so often a war of battle after battle after battle of self-advocacy to break through battlements of an unbending and unfeeling medical bureaucracy that was so often deaf and blind, so often void of empathy, sadly so absent of a sense of humanity.  Now, to be fair, we did encounter a few listening and loving angels.  Thank goodness for them.  But, they weren’t in the majority.

As you can imagine, “listening,” “attention,” “loving,” and “empathy” have been especially on my mind lately.  Then, yesterday, out of the blue, came a voice from the past, the second one in a week.  ”Hey, doc, I finally found you.  At least, I hope this is you…..in case it is, I just want to say to you that I had figured out the secret madness to your teaching method, what I found to be the most important learning I had taken with me from our class, although I didn’t realize it at the time and until some time later.  That secret was the best gift you could give each of us.  And, once I unlocked your secret, I started using it in my business every day with every person, employees and customers, and with family and friends alike.  You always had said that each of us was a noble, sacred, human being with untapped potential.  Your secret attitude and action toward us was to live your words with what I now call ‘respectful listening.’ You listened to each of us.  You noticed each of us.  I mean by that that you did far more than merely hear our words. I mean you zeroed in on us and blocked out everything else; you intently considered what’s being said by whom; you were intensely interested in what is being said and why it was said; you showed that you sincerely valued the person talking; and, so, you showed that each of us was important and valuable.  You never faked listening; you never was thinking of something else while we talked; you never ignored or dismissed as ‘what do they know’ foolishness what we had to say.  I never saw you roll your eyes or have an empty stare or have a bored gaze or have a blank face.  And, never did a denigrating word come out from your mouth or did a smirk appear on your face. You listened more with your eyes and heart than with your ears.  You were always, always interested in what we had to say and especially why we said what we said.  And, you did this because you gave a damn for each of us. You treated each of us as a human being in whom you believed.  You didn’t just love to teach, you loved people.  And, that is why you loved to teach and reach and lift up.  And, that made it reassuringly safe for each of us, no matter what anyone said.  So, if this is you, thanks for your secret gift.  It, more than anything else in any class, has made me successful over these years both in business and life.”


I read that heaven-sent message over and over and over again.  Would the many medical personnel Susie and I encountered in the last few weeks have known and lived that secret.  But, sadly “disrespectful and insincere listening” is too often the way of too many people in every way of life, including academics.   Yet, did you know that the greatest need we each have is to be noticed and heard?  Did you know that greatest teaching tool you have at your disposal is to notice and listen?  Did you know that the greatest form of support and encouragement, of instilling self-confidence, of valuing, of respecting, is attention?  Without listening there can be no empathy or sympathy, no compassion, no respect.  Attention is the most basic form of love.  Love and attention are poetry of the soul.  Attention is an exercise in mindfulness.  And, we can behave this way in everything we do. We can respectfully listen to every person, be intently attentive to every experience, be sensitively alert of all that is around us, and be intensely aware of every moment we live.  Grace has to be more than an expression; it has to be expressed in the way of living.




I’ve always found that my experiences are formed by the words and ideas I attach to them.  That is, if I name, or attach the meaning of, “fun” to my teaching rather than “work,” it made all the difference between “labor of love” and laboriousness, between happiness and unhappiness, between excitement and drudgery, between a moral call and a job, between mindfulness and mindlessness. Now, before anyone jumps on me, the opposite of “fun” is not “work” or “seriousness.”.  I repeat, it is not “work” or “seriousness.” The opposite of “fun” is “boredom.”  And, I’ve found that the difference is the simple fact that if you love teaching and have fun doing it–or anything for that matter–you love people.  That love is found in he simple act of of intently and actively being aware of and noticing yourself, other people, and things rather than being oblivious to what is going on both inside and outside.  When you actively notice things, you put yourself in both the sensitive and contextual “know” and “now” of people and things and situations.

Understanding that who I am, what I feel, and what I do are the keys to my success–not some technique, technology, strategy, program, information bank–I would go into a classroom each day, or any place for that matter, and notice five new things about the people about me.  Do that and I’ll guarantee that you’ll consciously see how people and situations come alive for you.




A professor called me today out of the blue to ask how I stay constantly serene.  She was ready to tear her hair out because of “these students.”  People can get bald by all that end-of-the-term stuff. if they allow it.   We talked a while.  I thought I’d share a thumbnail sketch of my side of the conversation.  The first of my five-part answer was, “Thank goodness I don’t have to deal with that uneducational stuff like finals and grades anymore.”  My second part was, “I don’t buy into the recruiting and fundraising PR images of pretty smiling faces of self-motivated mini Ph.D.s walking walking hand-in-hand with totally student oriented faculty on a pristine campus that create false expectations.   See the real individual people in the classroom and on a real campus.”  My third was:  ”I never disrespect a student in thought or action, whether in “I didn’t mean anything by it” or “it’s just fun talk” among colleagues or non-academic friends.  Never.  I have an unshakeable–unshakeable–faith in, belief in, hope for, and love of each student–even if they don’t have it for themselves.  Fourth, I told her, “Remember what Carl Rogers, the psychologist, said.  To paraphrase him,  ’You can’t teach anyone; you can only help him help himself find his unique abilities, talents, and potential.’”

My final part was, “I was not born in Assisi.  A saint I’m not.”  But, I told her that I don’t have unreal expectations.  I know nothing is perfect, not everything will go my way, not everything will work out, and not everything will go right.   I accept that.  I accept that I will screw up; I’m ready for things to go awry.  And, it usually works out.   I told “usually” because I experience emotional downers.  I can get bored, be disappointed, be sad, be frustrated, and be angry.   But, when I do, I usually catch myself quickly and don’t allow those feeling to get me or become me.  Part of the reason is that I have learned to use them to teach me more about the serenity prayer: what I cannot control, what I can control, and to know the difference.

Another reason is to understand that no accomplishment, nothing rewarding, occurs without travail.  What I told this professor was that all the facets of mindfulness–alertness, awareness, attentiveness, otherness–don’t offer superpowers of zeroing in only on joy and serenity.  It’s a step-in/step-back being aware of, noticing, and acknowledging the emotions I am experiencing.

Sounds good, doesn’t it.  Well, I don’t always initially follow my own philosophy.  I didn’t the last semester before my retirement.   When I felt a tad defenseless against a subtle age discrimination sneak attack that made me decide to retire a year and a half ago, I was angry.  I almost lost it for that entire last semester.  I didn’t want to let go; I didn’t want to go quietly into the still night.  I was not a model of peacefulness or calmness; I wasn’t carrying a grateful smile.   To be honest, and Susie will verify this, I was a growling bear.  This sudden, unexpected, unwanted letting go was almost too much for me.  This was one class offered by the school of hard knocks I did not want to attend.

Thank goodness for mindfulness!  I discovered that I was ignoring Rumi’s chiding:  ”Why are you so enchanted by this world, when a mine of gold lies within you?” “Why do you stay in prison when the door is so wide open….?  ”Why should I stay at the bottom of a well, when a strong rope is in my hand?”  Now, I didn’t have some quick fix to walk through that door or climb that rope to make my anger–or fear–dissipate.  What I did have was mindfulness.  I constantly questioned myself, asking what’s going on?  Why am I angry?  At what am I angry?  At whom am I angry?  And so, as I constantly asked all that of myself, I slowly found the door knob and the rope, and the inner gold.

You see, mindfulness is a mood minder; it is also a mood reminder.  It has taught me to ask myself constantly what I need, over what I have control, what I need to leave behind, what I need to look forward to, and what I must do to go on.   Denial only makes uncomfortable feelings unmanageable.  Avoidance leads only to getting lost.  Mindfulness allows me to admit, acknowledge, identify, and deal with my emotions.  It’s like, as Rumi said, when I start walking a path, the path appears.   This allows me to see myself more clearly, and find a path of action rather than mindlessly fling about reacting.

Goodness knows I can’t escape the twist and turns or ups and downs of life anymore than anyone else can.  If nothing else, an unexpected epiphany, cancer, a massive cerebral hemorrhage, and an unwanted retirement have shown me that.  When we can learn to hit those curve balls life throws at us, however,we can see they’re all really ugly ducklings by learning from them, making our lives more graceful, richer, more interesting, more exciting, more meaningful, more wonderful, and more grateful.  If we learn to “fall up” by “falling down,” we see Rumi was right:  ”God turns you from one feeling to another and teaches you by means of opposites, so that you will have two wings to fly — not one.”




I was still thinking again about Jane as I got involved in a Linkedin discussion group about teaching.  I could hear echoes of Edgar Allan Poe:  ”Blame, blame, blame.  The tintinnabulation of blame, blame, blame.”  All I can say is that when some academics, far too many academics, say “oh, those students,” they get less a than subtle snarl on their face, or slump in self-pitying resignation, or annoyed grimace without a demonstration of one scintilla of empathy.  Some, say the word “student” with such a cursedness that they should have their mouths washed with soap.

You know, our actions are actions are demonstrations of our values.  We are steeped in our imagination.  We are wrapped in our own mantra.  Every step we take is muscled by our perception.  Every breathe we take fills our lungs with assumption.  Our opinion of students is not a description of any student.  It’s a reflection of ourselves.  It’s a window into our own character, not the students’.. I don’t think pessimistic moaning and groaning changes anything or gets us anywhere except that they sap our strength, commitment, perseverance, and determination.  Too often, the seeds we plant in our perception, assumption, and imagination that spring to life in the day-to-day reality of our classroom experience are choking weeds.  And, thus we so narrow and degrade ourselves with each “ugh.”

Too many profs have a myopic tendency to blame poor performing students on being among the “letting anyone in” or the “don’t belongs” who are diluting academic rigor.  Too many academics, when they see a student in need, their first impulse is to reproach rather than help, to resist, reject or condemn any help as coddling, to attack second chances as watering down, to reject hope as fluffy, to oppose faith as soft, to criticize love as touchy-feely and weak.           Sometimes I wonder if resume, tenure, degrees act as eroding agents on compassion and empathy.  Sometimes I wonder if the length of a resume lengthens the distance between them and students.  Sometimes I wonder if the higher the degree the more blurred their vision from on high.  Sometimes I wonder if the amount of scholarship academics write quickens their inclination to write off students.

What would happen, then, if we choked the choking weeds?  What would happen if we felt a little of life’s goodness in the classroom and let that goodness be magnified throughout our being.  Do you know what would happen if we assumed the best instead of the worse, if we stopped assuming disappointment, gave the classroom a place in our lives?  Well, let me tell you a little secret.   The only things that matters in that classroom is how much you have chosen to matter in a student’s life and that you become more meaningful to both yourself and each student by giving and serving.

And, therein lies the real secret of all those teachers who make a difference.  They offer helping hands rather than pointing fingers.  The name of their game is to be game, not to blame.  They smile rather than sneer.  They regard each student as a possible.  They’re opportunists in the best sense of the word.  They stir up love, not judgment.  They smile, not sneer.  They wrap their love around each student, whatever happens, and make good things happen.  Their imagination is anchored in belief, hope, faith, and love.  They use each moment to express them.  They are a force of goodness, and live that goodness each moment.  They are beautiful in their own way, and that special beauty is a gift to each student.  And, when they say, “Oh, those students,” it is an ode to joy; it is uttered with a warm and embracing smile, not a cold and pushing away grimace.  They wake up each morning with an inner light that is brighter than the light of the day.  They walk enveloped in an aura of joy.  They are out and out optimists.  They’re a source of light.

If we truly want to judge a teacher, judge him or her by his or her hope.  If we truly want to measure a teacher, measure him or her by the size of his or her dream.  To the teacher who dreams and hopes and believe, and acts on them, there is no such person as impossible, untouchable, and hopeless.

You see, most students are touched most by those teachers who dream and hope and believe the most of them.



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