Amanda Jones
Teaching Myself
“Well, I don’t know any other way to explain it!” I fumed at my sister, throwing down my pencil next to her unfinished homework and marching upstairs to my room in a huff – a familiar scene in my middle school days of attempting to help my younger sister with school work. I remember distinctly after each of these failed sessions thinking that I had neither the desire nor the patience to ever become a teacher. Surely I would end up screaming at some poor child and pulling my own hair out in frustration?
1Teacher pulling hair out
For a while, this assumption remained unchallenged within my self-definition. My goals centered on accomplishing as much work as possible, which left me quickly frustrated with people who did not or could not grasp a concept at my pace. The result was that I worked alone whenever I was given a choice, and when forced to work in a group I often ended up doing a majority of the work myself. I assumed that by keeping as busy as possible I was being as productive as possible. I never stopped to realize that I was denying myself and others “the full resources of [my] being simply because [I was] in the habit of defining [myself] narrowly and defensively.” [1] I was an “A” student, an achiever, a fast worker; no where did I let the role of teacher become part of my character. I was concerned with getting as much of my own work done as possible. Not until I had been the student needing help in class a few times would I really value good teachers. It would take a few more years for me to realize that I had a gift – and even a passion – for teaching.
The first time I can recall feeling the desire to teach came forcefully and unmistakably in the ninth grade. A new youth group in my church had formed called the Big G.I.G. (Gathering In God). It was a unique program in my experience because it was completely student-led. Every Sunday evening one or two members of the G.I.G. leadership team would lead a discussion, lecture, or activity. The depth and complexity of the issues and themes we discussed fascinated me. I had known of my interest in theology before then; however, after only one lesson at G.I.G. I felt this interest being diverted in a way I had not foreseen: I wanted to teach. I was discontent merely absorbing the information as I had in the past. It was a “sensation which I had never had before…a feeling not in addition or increase of former feelings, but of something different in its nature…like a prisoner, who…suddenly finds his arms and legs free…”[2] Prior to that night I felt all my enthusiasm for learning directed inwards, but I now had the desire to re-direct that same enthusiasm outwards. Immediately after the first lesson I sat in my room for hours, writing up possible lesson plans for the future. I felt energized and excited, anxious to teach my first lesson even though it would be another year before I could get onto the leadership team. This was different from helping my sister with homework or working in a group on a class project; for once it was not even remotely about getting something done quickly and correctly – with theology we can never really define ‘correct’ – but about facilitating thought and growth for their own sake.
2 Me on the Big GIG leadership team
Once I found out that real teaching was about personal growth rather than grades and accomplishment, I began to enjoy teaching in other areas of my life. During high school, for example, I had a couple of incompetent teachers. As I saw students around me becoming increasingly confused by the teachers’ lectures, I itched to explain the concept in words I felt would make mores sense to my pupils, and even daydreamed of how I would have taught the lesson differently. I still insisted to myself that a career in educating would drive both me and my students insane, but I nevertheless took some small steps towards becoming a teacher in my every-day actions. Rather than continue unperturbed in my method of isolated achievement, I increasingly worked with partners and small groups to get through assignments and studying for tests, stopping to explain concepts or problems when the need arose. Some of these study groups became regular meetings every week, and I found myself scheduling other activities around them even though I personally could have studied more efficiently on my own. These meetings gave me a sense of satisfaction, and I loved watching the dawn of comprehension on a friend’s face when I explained something well to them. Rather than dictate a formula or equation that would simply[3] get them through the assignment, I began to desire their understanding where the equation came from. I fully realized the importance of comprehension when I found myself struggling in[4] some more challenging classes and asked for help; I became exasperated when a fellow student attempted to hand-feed me answers to homework questions rather than explain the overlying concept; I wanted to understand how to work the problems myself. It took more time to teach the concept, but it resulted in so much more actual learning! This revelation seemed a subtle shift, but it dramatically changed my definition of myself and how I related to others; I may not have thought of myself as a teacher, yet, but I was no longer an isolated student, either.
Another shift in my self-definition came during my senior year when a former teacher approached me about tutoring two of her students. I was quite taken aback, remembering the failed attempts with my sister; however I decided to try it out. The two girls proved eager enough to learn, and, despite my initial misgivings, I actually found myself enjoying our sessions. I couldn’t believe that I was actually choosing to teach in my spare time; my passion was becoming more apparent and well-defined. Tutoring reinforced the concept of teaching for quality over quantity; I could help my students with every homework assignment, but I could not feed them information on their tests. When the girls showed me improved test grades I knew that I was really doing my job and that they actually comprehended the material we went over. This made me just as excited as they were. “Tutor” now belonged in my self-definition, at least in the list of my abilities, but teaching still did not seem like a long-term option for me.
3 Improving papers
In[5] the final month of my senior year, teaching would finally start to look like an actual calling to me. I had been a drum major for my band that year, and in May it became my task to instruct all the new candidates for the position. Having been through the position myself, I felt much compassion for the candidates and what difficulties they would face next year if they were chosen. Passing on the leadership of an organization that I loved so much drove me to teach them to the best of my abilities while I had the chance. I knew it was crucial that they understand everything because, like the girls I tutored, they would be on their own when the test came; however, this test would last the entire year, and have repercussions much longer than that. The entire band would be affected by the new leadership, and I could influence whether the effects would be for better or worse. So I took the job of preparing my successors very seriously, planning out lessons that would encompass as many aspects of the job as I could think of. The concept of teaching once again took on a new meaning for me: passing on a legacy to the future. This was the first time teaching became more of a call to me, rather than just a hobby or helpful gesture.
