The mind is not a vessel to be filled but a fire to be kindled. Plutarch
Have you ever had the experience of having your child say something to you in an air of defiance, only to have that trigger the memory of you having said the same thing to your parents? Or sometimes it’s the reverse, where you tell your children something in the heat of the moment with that “voice of authority” only to have it trigger the memory of how you hated hearing that when you were a child.
That’s when you realize that as you’ve gotten older, you are becoming your parents. Now I don’t have children, but I recently had the experience that I’m becoming my teachers. This idea struck me at a recent get-together with classmates Scott Tomlinson, Rich Carroll, and Marty Leonard here in the Southern California area. Marty showed me a copy of our old High School Yearbook. I had the memory of our teachers as being somewhat larger than life. But now when I looked at our teacher’s pictures, I was struck by the thought that we were now looking a lot more like them (or sometimes even older).
I am not a teacher in the formal sense of teaching in a school, high school, or university, but I have had great respect for teachers throughout my life, mostly based on the excellent teachers I had in grade school and then in high school at Homewood-Flossmoor High School. There are three levels of engagement with work: it is either a job, a career, or a calling. I’m sure for the best teachers, it was certainly a calling. They were the ones that would encourage you when needed, but sometimes be tough enough to push you not listen to your own voice that said “I can’t”, but rather to reach inside and find the fire to take your own abilities as far as they could go.
Not all of the teachers I had in the Homewood-Flossmoor school system were so encouraging, however. My third-grade teacher asked us to do a “show-and-tell” report, and I was fascinated with the country of Afghanistan because it was featured in a National Geographic magazine which my parents subscribed to. I fashioned my bed sheet into the guise of a tribal costume I had seen depicted in some of the stunning photographs, and tried coming down the staircase to dinner in the dignified air of a tribal chieftain. I almost broke my neck as I tripped over the bed sheet and tumbled down the stairs. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-DUMP! It wasn’t the dignified entrance I had been hoping for. But my parents encouraged me (after they stopped laughing) to do well on the report the next day.
When I got done with the report, my teacher proceeded to yell at me. “I gave you clear instructions. You were to do a report on what other children in the class might be interested in. They don’t care about some place called … Franistan.” “Afghanistan”, I helpfully corrected her. “WHATEVER! Now sit down!” I was not as much sad, as in shock about this totally unexpected reaction. When I told my mother and father what she had said, my mother was at the principal’s office the next day saying in no uncertain terms that my teacher was never to speak to me again in such a discouraging manner.
I promised myself to never be like that ignorant teacher who tried to discourage me because I refused to perform like an average student. When I see younger people now that want to learn something, I do my best to encourage them like my math teacher and many others that I had later at H-F. For example, when the younger claim examiners at Tokio Marine wanted to learn about Japanese culture and language, I volunteered and taught them every Friday at lunchtime. And recently in our Toastmasters club, I mentored some young people during their first three speeches. It is a joy to encourage young people to learn and gain confidence in their own abilities, like a deer overseeing a fawn with wobbly legs finally learn to stroll on the savanna. Because of the excellent teachers I’ve had in my life, I resolve to be there for the next generation encouraging them to just GO!
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