Overview:
Teaching is a continuous process of learning from students, confronting one’s shortcomings, and refining practice in order to help others fully realize their potential.
As teachers, we know that many factors contribute to students maximizing their potential and, hopefully, gaining mastery of a subject. And among those factors, only one is totally within our control – how well we develop and employ our teaching skills. Skills that are enhanced when we embrace the opportunity to learn from our students, a process that is often delightful and sometimes painful. It’s also an invitation and guide to build on our strengths and confront our weaknesses. It’s an invitation to become better educators.
In 1982, shortly after earning an MBA, I began teaching at local colleges one or two evenings a week in addition to my day job in banking. I received mainly positive feedback from my graduate students, nearly all of whom also held full-time jobs. One of those students perhaps overgenerously thanked me for “…one of the most informative, relevant and enjoyable courses of my graduate education.” As easily intoxicated by praise as anyone else, little wonder that I viewed the transition to teaching an undergraduate course as a fairly easy task. Not so. My biggest mistake was failing to pay attention to the adage that “90% of life is just showing up.” While not requiring attendance had no effect on the work ethic of graduate students, it proved fatal to undergraduates. As the weeks passed, attendance fell and learning diminished. Yet, that was an enlightening and useful discovery.
As the next group of undergrads read the syllabus they discovered that a quiz would be given at the beginning of each class based primarily on material from the previous one. One student found this both irrational and incomprehensible, reasoning that as long as he passed the midterm and final exams why did it matter if he attended class? My response was not, on reflection, what it should have been. I simply said: My job is to teach and I can’t fully do my job unless you’re in class.
That brief exchange offered an important insight – my response was poor because it was not primarily focused on the student. I should have proposed that attending class is one way to unlock our potential and increase our knowledge. And achieving that goal is ultimately far more important than a letter grade. Sadly, I can only guess my young student’s reaction to what I didn’t say and wonder if a meaningful conversation would have followed.
Nonetheless, I continued to learn from my student interactions and as a result both the structure of the undergraduate marketing course and my teaching improved. While I only have one course evaluation from that period it is, from what I recall, representative. On a five-point scale ranging from poor to excellent, two-thirds of students rated me “excellent” overall – a satisfying result and, at the same time, one that offered room for improvement!
After retiring from banking in 2017, I volunteered as a tutor at St Michael-St Clement elementary/middle school in Baltimore. I generally tutor students with modest math grades, but sometimes tutor those whose report cards boast an “A” in math. Kim was in a group of three other such students. As I discovered during our two years together, she was remarkable in many ways. Kim played piano, created the cover art for the graduation program and was class valedictorian. Gifted with wonderful math intelligence she combined that with humility, hard work and a desire to help others. She personified one of the beautiful things about math; there are many ways to reach the right answer. Kim always arrived at the right answer, but often did so in a different way than mine! Sharing her solutions with other students I tutor, we discuss the strengths and weaknesses of each methodology. The method students find more understandable and that better enables them to arrive at the correct answer is the right one for them because it is a surer path to achieving their math potential.
Shortly after working with Kim’s group, I faced a far different set of “A” students. Fully aware of their intelligence, they sadly coupled it with arrogance. During our time together more than a few fractious moments disturbed our sessions. The defining moment came when one of the students complacently asked me to repeat my fairly lengthy explanation because he “wasn’t paying attention”. Somewhat exercised I shot back: Why in the world should I repeat myself when you’re not paying attention? It was a valid question, but not one that encouraged an answer. And no answer was offered. I don’t recall to what extent I suggested that it was his responsibility to fully develop his math potential by paying attention and working hard or why that was so important. In any event, I very much doubt that I reached him and felt dispirited and defeated. Those discouraging feelings begged to be transformed into something positive, especially if I was to improve as a teacher.
When in need of help to restore my spirits and gain insights, I’ll sometimes look over notes and emails that students have sent me over the years. One of those is a lovely email from an undergrad named Mike who provided a lofty description of teaching. He referred to it as “a very noble profession”. That noble profession asks that we learn from our students. It celebrates our strengths and rewards us with the wonderful feeling that we’ve helped someone realize their potential. It lays bare our weaknesses and encourages us to do better. It invites each of us to answer a challenging question – How can I live up to the lofty description of my vocation in Mike’s lovely email?
