After months of being chided by my teacher friends that “tutoring” was not the same thing as “teaching,” I finally decided enough was enough and volunteered to teach a full day of seventh grade social studies in the classroom of my lifelong friend, Chris. Although I fully realized he had orchestrated the argument Tom Sawyer-like to get out of a day’s work, the chance to teach a lesson in the same classroom where I had spent my formative years was not to be passed up. The fact that Chris and I had also met (and caused ample trouble) in that classroom was merely an ironic bonus.
My lesson for the day focused on the culture of India, and the various religions of the subcontinent, primarily Hinduism and Buddhism. Intrinsic to my presentation was the fundamental sameness of all people, despite what might first seem like other-worldly differences. I had decided on this theme as it is an important understanding that has guided my life and experience. Therefore, I should not have been surprised to find myself feeling a similar sense of awed discovery that day.
At the start of the school day, everything is a blur. Lockers reverberate and apparent chaos quickly settles (in the presence of a good teacher) at the opportunity to learn something new. In short, the tsunami start of the school day is an amazing environmental phenomenon – the unstoppable force of students colliding with the immovable pedagogic object.
Despite the calm, there is a unique tenor to every class. In fact, careful rehearsal could not even ensure the same presentation would be repeated. I suppose I could have followed a scripted powerpoint, but techinical difficulties and some unique personalities conspired to encourage improvisation. Fortunately, everything unfolded better than expected and I hardly had time to relax before the lunch bell rang. After a jarring trip to the cafeteria (how could I pass up a $3 school lunch… on pizza day no less), we settled in for 22-minutes of leisure in the teachers’ lounge.
This unanticipated access beyond the academic looking glass was the most interesting aspect of the day. Most seventh graders (and few older students) ever consider the humanity of their teachers, generally conceiving of grading, conspiring to make tests, and general hibernation as a teacher’s sole extracurricular activities. As logic would suggest, this is very far from the case. Despite my familiarity with educators and their love of summer and snow days, some part of my psyche had prevented me from realizing: yes, our teachers did make fun of us in the teacher’s lounge.
Just like any job requiring prolonged social interaction of isolated groups, certain familiarity and drama abound in school that require venting. Furthermore, the job of teaching is a dramatic crucible. In order to teach, you must perform. It may not be funny, but it must grab adolescent attention. But, no matter how interesting you are today, nothing ensures the same will be true tomorrow. Even the best performers and comics lose their novelty with repetition. Although I had some success one day, I must concede immense respect to my teacher friends and their colleagues for performing on a quotidian basis.
Then again, if I uncovered this much blog bounty after one day of teaching, I can only imagine the literary value of acquainting myself with the cross-section of humanity that crosses the threshold of a public school classroom during a whole year – or, career.
