Thank you, Gardner, for saying your unique experience of being a teacher so eloquently. There is a powerful and mysterious archetype moving through any of us called to teach. I love the startling clarity of your articulation of the teaching… I wanted to say “mark,” in the way we value the artist’s unique mark on the page, how those marks are not to be erased but remain as evidence of some sentient creature’s sure and masterful passing.
I have been questioning lately (haven’t I always, though?) if I belong in this thing called “Higher ed” because I don’t want to “judge” students’ work; I want to learn from it about what this common enterprise is that we are about (in my case,””Storytelling, Identity and Social Change”), and I don’t want them telling me only about books I’ve already read, I want them to surprise me, and I want them to be connecting to the world far from Boatwright Drive and even Boatwright library–maybe even the world inside our prison system and public housing and other places they “shouldn’t” go… I long for authenticity and I fear that every time “real” academics come into contact with the kinds of work I do… well… its always a challenge. Not because they don’t think it is “good work”–but they are looking for the scholarship. For this reason I love, and hope to borrow, your language about teaching as “fostering joint attention” in which the TEACHER is part of the JOINT. IN other words: I have often wondered why faculty seem reluctant to be true co-learners with our students. I have theories about that, of course, having to do with how close faculty identity is tied to being an “expert” already. I’ll look at Bruner’s book. Thank you.
I want to be a teacher like this, too. You so eloquently capture the depth and breadth of what it means to relish learning so much as to be an inspiration and catalyst for others in our joint explorations. Good “teaching” starts with attitude, and curiosity within ourselves, and moves outward to inviting questions and scaffolding inquiry, and results in insights that move us all forward.
In my own post, I said I teach to advance my profession. Your post reminds me that advancing the profession comes not only from introducing the foundations from which we can build, but also from sparking new contributions from student co-learners as well as from myself. I always knew that deep in my heart, but your post makes it almost tangible. Terrific food for thought; thank you!
This: “To encourage others–and thus myself as well–to be creative, intuitive, heroic inventors who record the world as it is actually happening, and thus to build a world of incautious love for the possible good we have not yet imagined: this, too, is why I teach.”
Wish I had written it.
I think they say that sound from earlier times is travelling out from us in space like a ripple. So if you were far enough away and can hear above the sound of other space entities, you might be able to hear things from our past.
I would swap Edison for Tesla – Edison was a marketer/manager/patenter.
Tesla was an inventor.
Loved so much about this post, I added it to #ccourses Diigo and highlighted my fave parts
I, too, fell in love with the ending. Building a world of “incautious love” (wow! Love that, incautiously), the good we have not yet imagined. So beautiful.
I love, also, Mariana’s addition, about love not being digitizable.
It can, though, travel digitally.
Thanks for this
I went searching all over the interwebz for this:
“I don’t worry that computers will get smarter and virtual classrooms will remediate embodiment better than they do now. It doesn’t matter to me if my classroom is a little rectangle in a building or a little rectangle above my keyboard. Doors are rectangles; rectangles are portals. We walk through. What can’t be digitized is love.”
It resonated for me with your comment: “to build a world of love for the possible good we have not yet imagined: this, too, is why I teach.”
It is such a pleasure to read your posts always. Thank you.