Demonstrative Education

Every one of us has had our share of memorable teachers over the years.  Some teachers stand out in our memories for…well…“eccentric” reasons.  I recall, for instance, the blue-haired science teacher from Kentucky who described the taste of alum salt as “bitta-bitta-bitta”.  Then there was my elementary school teacher named Mr. Wetmore (nuff said right there) who obviously went to the same stylist as Bozo the Clown.  Quite tragic, actually.  Yet on the other end of the spectrum, we have teachers that stand out because they made such a huge difference.  Oh sure, at the time, we cursed their souls and consoled ourselves by picturing them roasting slowly over a barbecue in the recess area while we drummed and danced around them in a Lord of the Flies kinda fashion.  But in time, the lessons learned in the classroom paid off, and then some.

 

When I entered college, I found myself plunged into a very adult world that I did not expect.  Because I took on a degree from the College of Engineering, I found that most of my classes contained an array of cultures, ages, languages, religions, etc.  Unlike High School where each class finds you surrounded by your peers, college was the deep end of the pool, and I felt very…alone.  One of the very few classes where I could console myself as one of many scared-outta-my-wits freshmen was, appropriately, in Freshman English.  Unlike all of my other classes, Freshman English typically contained a healthy dose of 18-19 year olds who were all learning the ropes of college together.  Now, as for our professor, she took no prisoners.  From day one, our professor tried to take on a very militant stance when it came to the class.  I stress, “tried”.  For whatever reason, the chemistry of the class combined with the professor morphed into something else – something wonderful.  Our classroom discussions took on a symbiotic relationship where we would all challenge each other to stretch our understandings, our ideas, our writing, and, of course, to laugh. 

 

I recall one particular week, the class discussed writing methods used to create effective narratives.  In short – how can one paint a scene in words?  How can one convey all of the details and all of the emotions of an occurrence in a paragraph?  Who is involved in the scene?  What are they thinking?  Where are they cast?  What does the background look like?  Etc., etc.  In the midst of our discussion, an older and obviously angry man walked into the classroom.  He shut the door rather briskly, glared at our teacher, and said, “Where the HELL were you last night?”  Like just about everyone else in class, my eyes opened widely as all of us pre-20-somethings gasped with a loud, “OOOOOOOH!”  Personally, I was waiting for the punchline, figuring that the man came in to play some sort of joke.  Yet, there was no punchline.  Our professor blanched.  As she began to scurry, the man began slowly expressing his upset, while she shuffled papers.  We all went silent in utter disbelief.  Moving quickly, our professor moved from behind her podium, and breezed between our desks and the blackboards to angrily pull him out of the room, stressing that this was neither the time nor the place for this discussion.  All the while, he protested loudly. 

 

Even out in the hall, safely away from the embarrassment of the class, the shouting continued.  The class fell silent – utterly shocked at what was unfolding before us.  What the hell?  This wasn’t just our professor who had been humiliated.  This was our friend.  We didn’t know what to make of what had happened.  You could slice the tension with a knife.  Then suddenly, the dialogue stopped, the door opened slowly, and our teacher walked back in with a huge smile plastered to her face.  She calmly and quietly walked back up to the podium, flipped a strand of hair out of her face, took a breath, smiled, and faced the class.  “You have just been presented with a scene” she said calmly.  “You saw what transpired.  You heard some discussion.  You heard bits and pieces of shouting from the hallway.  You know only what you were shown, but do not know any specific details.  That is for you to fill in.  Your assignment, due next Wednesday, is to describe what you saw and to fill in the missing details.” 

 

“SUNNUVABITCH!” I thought to myself.  “We’ve been had!!!”  It turns out, the man who stormed into our classroom was a fellow English teacher.  Our professor would be storming into his classroom later on the same day to create the same sort of scene. 

 

In the weeks to follow, we would discuss our various papers where we each painted different visions.  We discussed tales of divorce, dates gone badly, being stranded without a ride, etc., etc., etc.  Our teacher laughed heavily over each scenario.  And at one point, she invited the other teacher in to hear some of our discussions.

 

Needless to say, that teacher rocked!!!!!