Tuesday, August 25, 2009

To the teachers:

I would like to publicly apologize my teacher friends. My remarks were insensitive at best and rude at worst. I hope you can forgive me. As someone who taught regularly for twenty years, I truly believe that teaching in the noblest profession.

The truth is that most of the "bad" teachers would, in other fields, be called "mediocre." I'm guessing you'll agree that most people, in most fields, do a mediocre job. There are some truly awful writers, there are a few writers of genius, and then there are the majority (I'm among them) who slap adequate works on paper and then move on.

But just as there are no adequate brain surgeons (be amazing or don't touch my head!), I believe that there are no mediocre teachers. The job is too important for that. If you're not excellent, you suck.

Often, when a teacher is a "bad" teacher, it is not his fault. Giving grades is on my list of "things that bad teachers do." You may agree or disagree, but even if you agree, as a teacher in a typical school system, you have no choice but to give grades. I'm sorry if I have bitched at teachers for something that is out of their control.

But in the end, it doesn't matter (other than in an interpersonal way -- me not wanting to offend my friends). In the end, as I'm sure you'll agree, what matters is the student. If he is receiving bad teaching (regardless of whose fault it is), then he is receiving bad teaching. SOMETHING has failed him.

When I was a teacher, I felt the the buck stopped with me (even if I didn't mint the currency). I feel the same way as an director and as a writer. If I hold auditions and no good actors show -- so I am forced to cast bad actors -- it's my fault that the play is bad; if my editor cuts the two most important chapters out of my book, it's my fault that the book sucks; if my boss doesn't give me enough time to write a good program, it's my fault that the code is buggy.

When I say "it's my fault," I don't mean I beat myself up. I mean that I take responsibility. I do so, because I can't make actors or editors or bosses take responsibility. They will or they won't. That's between them and their rabbis. I can only work on bettering myself. And if I don't take responsibility, then there's no chance that I'll be able to solve problems. Who knows? Maybe there was a way I could have found better actors; maybe I could have moved some prose into the chapters I was allowed to keep; maybe I could have worked on the program over the weekend. Forgoing responsibility closes avenues of thought. Yes, if I take responsibility for everything I risk depressing myself about stuff that's out of my control. On the other hand, if I give up responsibility, I miss the chance of making things better. I'd take the risk of depression.

Long ago, I taught kids. But my most current experience has been teaching adults. I worked closely with a group of teachers for five years. Some of them were very good. But the "typical" ones (who outnumbered the good ones) had something in common: they complained. They didn't just complain about the bosses or the system -- they complained about the students: students didn't pay attention, they came late, they left early, they talked during class, the didn't "get it."

I consider myself a mediocre (bad) teacher, but I don't complain about my students. Had I done that, my responsibility would have become their responsibility, and I would have lost all chances of reaching them. I've noticed that the really great teachers (and I don't count myself in their numbers) don't complain about their students. A student problem signals to them something they need to work on in themselves.

Many of my adult students were forced to take my classes (by their employers). The typical teachers at my school labored under the bizarre assumption that these students should WANT to be there. They, the teachers, were offended when the students were bored or grumpy. But isn't it natural to take umbrage at what we're forced to do against our will? It stuns me how many teachers I see twisting reality to suit their personal universes.

What most upset me was how few teachers I saw working at their crafts in off hours. Let me be clear: if you're a chemistry teacher, only a small part of your craft is keeping up with the latest findings in chemistry (though, appallingly, some don't even bother to do that). If you're a chemistry teacher, you're a chemistry TEACHER, not a CHEMISTRY teacher. Your primary job is teaching. You should be working to better yourself at that every day. You should be doing that by talking to other teachers, asking teachers to sit in on your classes, sitting in on other-teachers', reading books about teaching, going to conferences, and -- most of all -- thinking about teaching.

If I go back on my word for a second and allow for the existence of mediocre teachers, I'd rate myself as a bit above average. To my surprise (and horror!), I typically get treated as if I'm a great teacher (by fellow teachers and students). When I get rated, I get five out of five stars, etc. But I'm not a great teacher. I'm OKAY. I care and I try to improve. But that shouldn't be good enough. It seems that there are so many atrocious teachers that once someone reaches a level of bare competency, people think he's a genius. Our standards are way too low. WHY DO I ALMOST NEVER GET NEGATIVE CRITIQUES OR SUGGESTIONS? AM I PERFECT? FAR FROM IT! WE SETTLE FOR LESS! DO WE SETTLE FOR LESS WITH BRAIN SURGERY? NO! WE SHOULDN'T SETTLE FOR IT IN EDUCTION, EITHER. WE SHOULD EXPECT GREATNESS FROM OUR STUDENTS, OUR TEACHERS AND OURSELVES!

On most days when I was teaching, at least one thing I said fell flat. Sometimes it succeeded in general but failed with one student. He wasn't helped by my analogy, metaphor, exercise or example. So I would lie in bed at night, thinking about how to make my point in a different way. If you do that -- if you lie awake and think about how to do better next time (and if you think of that as a major part of your job) -- then you're not a bad teacher. You're also not a "typical" teacher.

I started getting interested in the craft of teaching when I was in high school. I sought out the most radical books I could find. Back then, they were books like "Summerhill" and "How Children Fail" -- as-well-as books by Vivian Paley and Phillip Lopate. I read those books and my eyes were open to what teaching could be. I didn't understand why none of my teachers were like the teachers in those books. I tried to talk to some of them about it, but it turned out that none of them had read any of the books I had read? WHY NOT? What hadn't professional teachers read the cutting-edge books in their field?

I'll end this long post by admitting that I'm biased. My hometown had a horrible school system -- worst than most. My friends and I frequently share war stories. I know my schooling was worst than most, because when I got to college, I compared notes with people who grew up other places. I frequently met people who said, "You know, my schools sucked too, except for this one teacher, Mr. Smith. He was outstanding, and I owe him a lot." I have two reactions to that. The first is to feel frustrated that people's expectations are so low: they excuse their schools because one teacher was good! The second is to feel angry that I got dealt I got dealt shitty cards. I didn't have a Mr. Smith. (There was a Mr. Mann who was apparently great, but I didn't have a class with him.) I didn't have that one good teacher who recognized that I was smart and creative and kind. I didn't have a single adult (in school) who encouraged me. I hope you'll pardon the racist analogy, but I'm a bit like a white guy who hates black people because the only ones he's ever seen are inner-city gangsters. He's wrong and racist, but he's speaking from experience, and experience is hard to shake. He needs to be educated. He needs his horizons broadened. So I ask you to understand (not excuse) my "racism" and educate me. Tell me about the good teachers that you know! I want to think better of them.

Again, I apologize to all my hardworking teacher friends. We need you!

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