#01 Teachers We Like
A real story which puts out some quick opinions about why a teacher's classes are not worth missing and a disturbing question at the end.
Picture from Freepik
I recently hired a software developer as an intern in an IT product company with whom I consult. She was from a lesser known college near my city. We educators sometimes give in to prejudices too easily. I assumed that R (that’s her name here) would struggle with the English language, as most IT developers do in this part of the world. She floored me with her excited (and continuous) babbling about anything and everything. R was impressive and enthusiastic so naturally “nuture versus nature” took over the argument and I asked her which classes at college were the ones she wouldn’t like to miss. Without hesitation she named three professors. The Spirit of Enquiry, also known as Curiosity, prompted me to ask Why. Here, in a nutshell, reduced for readability, are her reasons:
all three of them do not lecture from a prepared text, they assume we can read on our own at home, we have the syllabus;
all three of them bring problems to the classroom for learners to engage with - no rules, no guidelines, just problems to solve. They appeal to the budding engineers in us, make it interactive;
all three of them ask us to present things, discuss ideas, sit in groups and work on solutions, not blindly copy notes and watch videos.
When I asked if she could describe all that in a single phrase, R smartly responded, “They respect our intelligence!” I could read between the lines - we got into an engineering college through a competitive examination, we have proven thinking skills, we can be trusted to build our own futures without being mollycoddled.
I had an ulterior motive, of course. I had just started working with that college as a mentor-guide, a coincidence really. A few days later, I attended a session with the professors and told them this story without naming names. Everyone in the room turned and looked at one table where three gentlemen were sitting — you guessed it. The three named teachers. Examples for the rest of the teaching staff.
My concern is, then why are the rest of the staff not learning the ropes? Would love your views on this.
Hi Jatin (yes, that comes naturally), I'm glad my writing stirred up so many memories for you. I won't go into details, though. Even gladder that I had some influence on your reading and writing - I was just 25 years old when you guys arrived in my classroom. I might answer the later questions in a separate post for which I will credit you! Thanks for the insight and the memories.
First of all, if you prefer, you can call me Jatin, as mostly everyone who knew me in Calcutta does. But it’s up to you, I will respond either way!
For some bizarre reason, I have a lot of clarity on what happened in 6D, (Mr. Gass), some recollection of 7B, (Mr. Veliavattal Abraham), bet you didn’t know his first name, and some not so great memories of 9D, (Mr. Redden).
When it comes to 8B, my memory fails me a little. I remember you as a very young person, (and you still look the same!), mostly in plain or checked shirts (mostly brown!), and if I’m not mistaken, we were your second batch (1979).
You were always proper, but I could see beneath that, that there was someone who liked a laugh, someone who was a bit unconventional, but you hid it well.
Your brother, Paul, was in my batch, and I can’t remember if he was in 8B, probably not, but most other years, he was. He was a total contrast. Always naughty, getting into trouble, and I couldn’t see the two of you together!
There was a lovely story you had written about your family, more specifically, about your father’s days at PanAm.
In terms of 1979, I remember clearly, that was the year I went on from reading just the Alistair Macleans, the Agatha Christies, the Hardy Boys and so on. And that was because we read Gerald Durrell’s ‘My Family and Other Animals.’
We used to read it in class, and it must have been towards the end of the year, because when it was my time to get up and read, the two older brothers and Gerald, were in a swamp, and Leslie, the second oldest brother, who had a thing about guns, was firing away, and kept getting his older brother, Larry, (who was a respected writer himself in later years), into all kinds of trouble. I had one one of my famous giggling fits and no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t go on.
I suppose what I’m trying to say is that my love of reading (and writing), developed in 1979, and you had a very big part to play.
The other thing that happened to me in 1979, was as that I went off to Bhubaneshwar suddenly around September, to shoot for a movie, and that’s what you remembered about me, after all these years of not being in contact.
But you also remembered me otherwise, because you successfully pointed me out in a group photo from that year, when I was struggling myself!
My question is, finally, and maybe this can be a thread you may be able to use; you have had possibly 20 years of teaching, perhaps more. So, about a 1,000 boys, and yet you are still able to remember so many of them. How do you do it? Is it training, is it because we were a memorable year group, and do you still remember the people from later batches?
How have the students changed? Are they smarter, more independent, less willing to be disciplined, and one last thing.
We recited the Lord’s Prayer every morning, and no one thought twice about it. Is it something you can still do?
What I’m asking really is, how have things changed for you as a once upon a time teacher, from your first batch to your last? And how you felt when you knew it was time.
Apologies, brevity is not my strength, and it tend to ramble.