At the End of the Term

I just came in from a pre-dawn walk. Well, it wasn’t really a walk. With the high humidity hanging around after yesterday’s thunder storms with the weight of a wet bath towel, it seemed more like more than a few struggling strides in a pool. Anyway, it was a hard walk, a struggle of a walk. My weather forecasting, arthritic neck was acting up because of the low pressure; my muscles were tight and achy; my attitude sucked. I really didn’t have it today. But, it was nevertheless a good walk though by far not one of my best. And I thought that the real quality of my walks are not when I feel good and they are good, but the quality of the walks when they are bad and I feel yukky.

As I suffered and endured and persevered, that thought got me to thinking about a request for some kind of motivating statement an e-mail colleagues to get her through as the term winds down. I had rattled something off, but wasn’t really satisfied with what I had offered. I was sincere, but it had the taste of pablum.

I think I would tell her now that it seems to me that our teaching is like my walk this morning. Teaching not about the quality of our good teaching when our game is on, but about the quality of our bad teaching when our game is off.

Our love of people, our committment to those who are thrown in our way, our passion for and good feelings about teaching are not really defined by those “good times” when things are easy, when you can do it in your sleep, when you’re loose and in the groove, when they are going great, when you’re alive and fresh and “on,” when everything is running smoothly and on all pistons, when techniques are clicking, when you’ve got it and the students are “getting it,” when we want to hug and kiss the students, when all is well with the classroom. No, good teaching is really about the quality and committment and passion and feelings of our “bad” teaching. It’s about how well we do during those times when things are rough, when you’re dragging and off and don’t have it, when you’re tight and out of sync, when nothing seems to be working, when the students aren’t getting it and don’t seem to want it, when you want to spank and shake them, and when you want to chuck it all.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

A Treasure

Something happened on campus last week that profoundly touched me. Despite the fact that I’ve been thinking about it on all my pre-dawn walks since, I am still after these many days at a loss for adequate words.

It was Wednesday. Class had just ended. I was awkardly lugging a heavy boxful of student journals across the street that runs through the campus hoping that my locked, outstreched arms wouldn’t be pulled out of their sockets before I reached my office. As I struggled to step up on the curb on the other side of the street, I heard a hurried voice off to my left yell, “Hey, Dr. Schmier, wait up for a second. I’ve been looking for you. I’ve got something here I want you to have.”

I stopped, leaning backward to counterbalance the weight of the box. I could feel my desparately grasping fingers weakening and slipping. I muttered to myself, “What a time to find me.” The student, Rodney, who was in one of my classes last summer, lumbered up to me holding tightly to his backpack so it wouldn’t fall off. Before I could say a word, in one smooth motion that would make a Nuriev jealous, he swung the backpack in front of him, unzipped a compartment, pulled out a small, crudely wrapped package, tucked it carefully into the pile of journals so it wouldn’t fall off, and ran off saying only, “late for class. I’ll stop by for a Tootsie Pop sometime.” All I could offer was a surprised, gasping “thanks,” aimed at his back.

I staggered up the steps to my office, plooped the box down on the floor with a crashing thud, picked up the package, grabed and unwrapped a Tootsie Pop, sat on the floor and looked at it. On the outside was one simple splotchy word that had bled into the ball of toilet paper wrapping–“thanks.” As I peeled away the soft, crumpled sheets, I beheld a treasure appearing. I was not prepared for it. It was a statuette of me with comically but lovingly distorted features Rodney had carved in the same style as the statuettes he has fashioned for his sacavenger hunt exercise which were now part of my “toy” collection that is scattered all over my office.

I don’t know how long I sat there motionless, staring at it through clouded eyes, slowly breathing, occasionally touching it. I remember that I slowly got up and placed it on the window sill behind my desk where it now holds a revered placed along side my other sacred objects of both students’ learning and my teaching. I guess all I can say right now is that Rodney’s loving efforts will be constant reminder to me our classes are portraits of ourselves. And, if we really want our classes, as well as ourselves, to be truly treasured, then we have be treasures.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

What Would We Do?

I was out walking on the pre-dawn streets of Valdosta this morning, just enjoying this “getting to know myself” time, not thinking about much of anything–so I had convinced myself–when during the last leg of my five mile route little bits and pieces of a an on-going conversation I had had on the interent with a virtual friend in Australia a while back about some difficulties she was experiencing at her institution started floating into my consciousness and coming together as if I was leaning over a table and putting together a jug-saw puzzle.

I don’t know why it popped into my head. Sometimes it’s better not to ask. No, that’s not being honest. Actually, I do know why. I’ve been thinking a lot about something that recently occurred and has put my integrity and authenticity to the test, but is better left publicly unsaid. Anyway, it seemed her comments were always punctuated by the hesitant-inducing, looking over the shoulder “If only” and “What if” phrases that so often are cold, hard links in the restricting chain we forge around our hearts and bodies that chill our spirits and weaken our daring and drain our energy and sap our enthusiasm and slow if not halt our movements: “If only I could….” “What if it didn’t….” “If only they would….” “What if it causes….” “If only it didn’t affect….” Her last message ended with a resigned, tired, almost surrendering, verbal sigh, “Oh, well, maybe it would be better if I shouldn’t…..”

I know I am being cryptic. And, I apologize for that, but recalling that old exchange from last year unexpectedly stirred something in me this morning and gave shape to some of my feelings that I would like to share.

I started thinking over and overin cadence to the final steps of my walk: what would we educators do inside and outside the classroom if we weren’t afraid to be wrong, if we weren’t afraid to fail, if we weren’t afraid of how we would apprear to others, if we weren’t afraid of what others would would say and do, and if we weren’t afraid for our reputations and positions?

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

In The Image of….

I was just reminded of a profound view of people on my campus that I had adopted a while back but curiously had let slip from my conscious thoughts. What would happen if each of us believed–really believed and lived that belief–in the natural and inherent sacredness and nobility and unique potential of each student and ourselves, perhaps believing–truly believing and living by that belief–that each of them and each of us are made in the image of God. My memory was just jolted by a new e-mail friend who reminded me of the time I heard a priest on a Bill Moyers PBS series express this view in a way that had a profound impact on me. He asked us to imagine that angels precede each person, walking before them as people walk through the world, proclaiming; “Make way! Make way for the image of God!”

If each of us consciously and constantly thought of this; if each of us believed this, felt this, lived by this; if each of us clearly saw and heard such ethereal messengers as each student passed us campus, entered our office, came into the classroom, stood before a bank of adminstrative windows; if we consciously viewed every student this way as we advised them, as we taught them, as we counseled them, as they needed a question answered and/or problem solved, as they wrestled with a personal or academic issue, I wonder if it would make a difference in how we would see them, how we would listen to them, how we would feel about and think of and behave towards them. I wonder if it would make a difference in whether we would struggle and the extent to which we would struggle, to reach out and welcomingly embrace each of them. I wonder if it would make a difference in whether we would attempt to get each student to believe in, search for, discover, and tap their inner uniqueness. I wonder if it would make a difference in deciding whether each of them should be our personal, professional, and institutional top priority.

I was deeply impressed with this thought at the time I saw the show; I am even more profoundly struck now that my new-found friend has brought this way of looking at people to the forefront once again. Just this jolting reminder has made a meaningful difference in my life today.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–