I was preparing a series of SAT essay questions for one student of mine; he is years away from taking an actual SAT. When I became consciously aware of this obvious fact, I was suddenly more interested in how a seasoned teacher would respond to one particular question:
If you would thoroughly know anything, teach it to others. One who ceases to learn cannot adequately teach. – Tryon Edwards
Do you think that teaching something to another person can help you to learn or master a subject or process? In an essay, support your position by discussing an example (or examples) from literature, the arts, science and technology, history, current events, or your own experiences.
The student would likely scribble something down that ultimately added up to triviality–good grammar and sentence structure but still trivial. Insightfulness always replaces triviality during moments of reflection. How would this teacher respond? Quite naturally, Mr. Teacher X would offer the same opinion as this student; this student is no dummy. But, included in Mr. X’s response would be more depth, more dimensions–enough dimensions that a layperson could construct a picture of the world of education from it.
In a sense, Mr. X’s description could be considered art and he would then be considered an artist, proficient in the art of education. If Mr. X was not the philosophical type who wishes to spell out his art for us, rather, if he was the kind of person whose actions spoke for him, his classroom actions would tell us whether he was truly proficient in this art. Regardless, the true degree in education would then be granted years after Mr. X received his actual bachelor’s or master’s degree. A degree is just a pretty piece of paper. It is up to the teacher to turn this paper into the tree it was once was–that is to give life to his degree. His ceremony might begin as a sudden epiphany during the night when lying half-naked in bed. Just as soon as his ceremony will be over, he’ll realize that since learning is continuous process for not just the student but also the teacher, he will inevitably graduate again and again. The day that his personal ‘degrees’ outnumber his students is the day he smiles at the thought of preparing for a journey he knows he will never complete: like finally reaching the moon by foot, only to realize that instincts will tell him to walk to a star that has not been born yet.
That is how education works. The rewards of education don’t exist in a weekly paycheck or yearly test scores nor do they exist in the moment of teaching. The reward has not been born yet. It does not exist today; it may never exist, but instincts tell you: if you teach them, they will grow. One student gave you hell while you taught her. Sure, there was that one time she gave you the warmest smile when she finally understood multiplication. Besides that, she always talked back, never appreciated or had respect for anything or anyone, including herself. That one smile was her only smile that year. You know it. Her father was a drunk who abandoned her, and her mother was clueless about raising kids. (Don’t forget, this student had no respect for anyone, especially her mother). She’ll have to hit rock bottom before she can change. It may be a decade from now, but eventually she will remember you. She will thank you.
If you would thoroughly know anything, teach it to others. One who ceases to learn cannot adequately teach. – Tryon Edwards
Do you think that teaching something to another person can help you to learn or master a subject or process? In an essay, support your position by discussing an example (or examples) from literature, the arts, science and technology, history, current events, or your own experiences.
The student would likely scribble something down that ultimately added up to triviality–good grammar and sentence structure but still trivial. Insightfulness always replaces triviality during moments of reflection. How would this teacher respond? Quite naturally, Mr. Teacher X would offer the same opinion as this student; this student is no dummy. But, included in Mr. X’s response would be more depth, more dimensions–enough dimensions that a layperson could construct a picture of the world of education from it.
In a sense, Mr. X’s description could be considered art and he would then be considered an artist, proficient in the art of education. If Mr. X was not the philosophical type who wishes to spell out his art for us, rather, if he was the kind of person whose actions spoke for him, his classroom actions would tell us whether he was truly proficient in this art. Regardless, the true degree in education would then be granted years after Mr. X received his actual bachelor’s or master’s degree. A degree is just a pretty piece of paper. It is up to the teacher to turn this paper into the tree it was once was–that is to give life to his degree. His ceremony might begin as a sudden epiphany during the night when lying half-naked in bed. Just as soon as his ceremony will be over, he’ll realize that since learning is continuous process for not just the student but also the teacher, he will inevitably graduate again and again. The day that his personal ‘degrees’ outnumber his students is the day he smiles at the thought of preparing for a journey he knows he will never complete: like finally reaching the moon by foot, only to realize that instincts will tell him to walk to a star that has not been born yet.
That is how education works. The rewards of education don’t exist in a weekly paycheck or yearly test scores nor do they exist in the moment of teaching. The reward has not been born yet. It does not exist today; it may never exist, but instincts tell you: if you teach them, they will grow. One student gave you hell while you taught her. Sure, there was that one time she gave you the warmest smile when she finally understood multiplication. Besides that, she always talked back, never appreciated or had respect for anything or anyone, including herself. That one smile was her only smile that year. You know it. Her father was a drunk who abandoned her, and her mother was clueless about raising kids. (Don’t forget, this student had no respect for anyone, especially her mother). She’ll have to hit rock bottom before she can change. It may be a decade from now, but eventually she will remember you. She will thank you.
It is the most uncertain journey that starts at chaos and, with a little patience and determination, ends at happiness. Determination: my 3rd grade teacher taught me that word. I never did thank her.
No comments:
Post a Comment