Teachers.
Isn’t it interesting, what we remember about our teachers?
Amazing to think how what we once overlooked, went on to be life changing.
Recalling one college professor in particular, leaves little doubt, a teacher’s impact can never be underestimated.
We don’t wear hats in this class.
Lesson 1: High and clear expectations
This was my first night class experience in college. But first, a little background.
My first college experience as a freshman was…unique. After attempting to go away to school after high school, I’d returned, to attend a small, local, commuter school.
The hair growing on my head and on my face was too long and too much. And my attitude was one of a over-confident, 19 year-old, world beater. While I had decided I was going to school to become a teacher, I had yet to set foot in a single classroom, as the adult (not the student).
Only I hadn’t quite realized where I was, in life, really. And I didn’t know my place.
I wore a baseball cap every day, and everywhere I went. Except, of course, CS 324. On the first night of class in CS 324, the professor took a stand on what was most important: not wearing hats in class.
At first, I was put off by this. However, raised a rule-follower, from the initial declaration of “no hats in class”, I’d always made a point to honor the request. Maybe it was out of respect or maybe it was fear.
Or…perhaps it was because it was the only expectation the teacher had articulated, so it seemed reasonable.
So, while I wore hats everywhere else, I always made sure to come to class hat-free. Soon thereafter, I’d decided to shave my overgrown goatee. And after that, I’d decided to start wearing collared shirts to this professor’s class.
The transformation has begun.
Why do you want to be a teacher?
Lesson 2: Embrace productive struggle
The following semester, when I’d had the opportunity to take this professor’s follow-up course, CS 325, I jumped at the chance. I was beginning to see my future take shape, discovering quite a bit about myself. My aspirations to enter a profession in which I’d felt I could really make a difference was becoming clear.
Little had I known, I was on the road to discovering my passion. I knew at this point, I’d wanted to become a teacher.
Wanting something is one thing. Taking purposeful steps towards that goal was something I hadn’t yet learned. Therein lies, the power of the interview, where I’d learn to put my passion into words.
I’m pretty sure this professor had me picked out from the time he’d first laid eyes on me, my baseball hat, and my facial hair.
I’m fairly certain he’s seem a million versions of me walk through his class. And I’m certain, his measured plan was one he’d done many times before me. On the evening of “the interviews”, he had no volunteers. So he “volun-told” me I’d be his first interview candidate. I chuckled nervously and went to the front of the room in front of the class. And then, he lobbed the first question towards me.
“So, why don’t you begin by sharing why it is you want to be a teacher.”
Like a deer in headlights, I froze. I stuttered and stammered. Stumbling over my words, I struggling to articulate anything close to a coherent response to his very first question, a softball of a question for any aspiring teacher.
And then, my professor did the unthinkable, in that moment.
In a calm and gentle voice, he patiently walked me (and the class) through how we’d respond to this type of question. He emphasized the importance of preparation for this and other questions like it. He said we’d use interviews to tell our stories, to share who we are, and to articulate why we were a match for that school.
Looking back, he’d picked me because first, he knew I could handle the pressure of risking (it turns out, pretty low-stakes) public humiliation. And second, he knew the impact that experience would have on me and on every member of that class.
My productive struggle, with his coaching and gentle guidance, would leave a lasting impact on us all. I was forever better because of that experience.
Tell me something, anything really, about what you’re thinking.
Lesson 3: Relationships matter
What was most memorable about each of these courses was how each class began and how each class ended.
On the first day of class, the professor handed out a simple file folder. He’d asked us to draw boxes, divided evenly in the folder. And he asked us to number each box on the top left side and write the date on each box on the top right side.
Upon entering each class, he greeted us by name and handed out our folders. The expectation, for the opening minutes of each class, was to personally “check in”. We knew we could write anything that was on our minds. And we’d close each class the same way.
The best part was the professor’s responses. Personal, hand-written, and highly specific to what each of us wrote, this was a strategic way of building meaningful relationships with each of us. This, it turns out, was what I looked forward to most in these courses. Being able to write my thoughts, knowing that our professor would respond. It became an ongoing conversation that energized each class.
Decades later, I’m now a seasoned veteran educator. And why I think about what matters - what REALLY matters - I think back of this professor’s courses. And today, I make sure to check in and out with students and adults, the importance of productive struggle (and my role in when this happens), and “dressing for success”. And when I do wear a baseball hat (never inside), I smile and remember my favorite professor.
How do you remember your teachers?
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