Musings on Teaching

As I teach, each week I come home with a new revelation, a new insight, a new question, and more respect than I have ever had for all the teachers who have fed my head along the way.

As I stand before my class, droning on, trying to show them that they just save the world of journalism, must remake it and be reporting revolutionaries, try to plant in them the seed of curiousity that will make them great writers and citizens, so many questions bubble up.

My dear friend Sarah, who got me this gig, has a million insights, and much wisdom. But as with so much in this life, you have to do it, and live it, to really feel it and understand it. At least that is the kind of learner I am.

On Thursday I came home wondering if I should be simpler. Or more demanding. Or more hard-core and militaristic. Jonathan reminded me that this is college. All I can do is put it all out there--the articles, the books, the ideas, the passion, the issues. Whether they choose to work hard on the assignments or not, read the books or not, do their homework or not, is not up to me. Nor is it my job. Not how. And he is right.

Still, as I stand before them for hours each week, I find myself looking for clues. Are they taking this in? Are they understanding? What is really sinking into these brains of theirs? What will they really walk away with? How much is my responsibility? How much theirs?

Two of my wisest friends say all they will take away is my passion. They will forget all the details, the specifics, perhaps the assignments. They will just remember that I cared a lot, and that may ignite in them a passion, and make them care a lot.

But yesterday I had a fascinating discussion with Jonathan.

We were running through all the classes and teachers we have had in our lives, and thinking about which classes we really really loved, which professors we really really admired, and which teaching methods made things stick in our heads.

And here are some of our conclusions:

* You may learn more in a class that is easy than in a class that is hard just to be hard. Of his entire education Jonathan remembers his senior playwriting class the most. He said it was easy, so easy. And yet, I would argue that that class changed his life. He said there were other classes by more famous people, more important people (though this was taught by a famous playwright) but this one stuck. Other classes he loved in the moment, but the lessons have not traveled through time. This professor did not lecture, or make them read anything. All they did was write plays and read each others work.

Which leads to:

* The greatest classes force you to interact, and to give something personal of yourself. They also let you see what your peers have done, with the same assignment. Already I have seen that if I use the students work to make a point--no matter how primitive their copy may be -- I can tell they are more engaged than if I used the greatest feature story ever written. The stories are about their friends and peers, and it is theirs, and they sit up and take notice.

* Forcing people to go out and DO, to go out and have experiences, will mold them more than anything that happens inside the four walls of the classroom. Whatever they learn on the spot, they must then most go out and try it, digest it, practice it or it will not stick. If they do, if they go out and really try it, they will come back richer, more excited and it will be stuck in their brains forever. Last week I asked them to interview 10 people--just to practice reporting, which is hard. At least if you are shy, which many writers are, including myself. Some barely tried. But I could see that others were completely transformed and empowered by the experience. I was moved.

Tune in next week to see if I learned anything else.