They say when the student is ready, the teacher appears. I say the best teachers learn from their students, as well. Last week, while on break, I experienced one of the most profound student lessons of my teaching career. This one, I’ll carry with me--literally . Last August, I accepted a new teaching position. My predecessor had assigned the summer reading, so I spent my first few weeks listening to students present book reports. They had chosen their books from a list provided by last year’s teacher. I had read only a few on the list, so I enjoyed the discovery their presentations allowed--for the most part. Most of the students had gravitated toward a book about a serial killer or a journalist with a brain disease. At about the fifth Google Slides talk on the same book, my eyes began to glaze over. Then Lucas stepped forward with a serious countenance and a confident tone. I don’t remember much about the details of his prestation, but I can’t forget the passion of it. His final words stayed with me for months. “If for no other reason, you should read Dr. Kalanithi’s When Breath Becomes Air out of respect for the author. We owe it to him.” My classroom door had been open that day and my next-door colleague heard everything. After class, she came in. “What book was that student talking about? I think I have to read it.” Once Christmas break came and I had time to read something other than student essays, I did. I’m tempted to tell you now all about the book. I want to try to express the strength of Kalanithi’s thoughts turned into words turned back into my own thoughts. I want to somehow convince everyone to buy the book, read the words, open their minds. But I can’t. I agree with Lucas--we owe it to this author who so bravely and unbiasedly exposed his mind and soul to the world to accept the gift and take on the lesson. The interesting thing about this book--this student lesson--is that it has no answers. In fact, it’s an unfinished work. Ray Bradbury claimed that the best teachers instill curiosity in their students. If Kalanithi wanted to figure out what he should be when he grew up--what he actually was and how to embrace it--he might have missed his target. I’m not sure doctor or writer correctly defines it. Teacher--the person who creates in his students profound curiosity--is more correct. And here’s the curious thing about it--of all his roles, I think teacher is the most powerful. He’s no longer here to probe the brains of diseased and injured patients. He is no longer here to pen beautiful stories. Heck, he didn’t even finish this one. Even his role as father was short-lived and now non-existent. But as a teacher, he lives on. He inspired curiosity in Lucas who handed it to me. I’ve already transferred it a half a dozen others. Endless ideas now tumble through my mind. I, too, am searching for which one to grasp. As a writer, reader, parent, partner, I receive Kalanithi’s words differently. For now, I’m grabbing on to the lesson for the teacher taught by my student when he inspired in me the curiosity to read this book. It’s a powerful one. I hope I learn it well. I’m curious to see if I do.
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AuthorDee Linn loves words. When she was in the third grade, her exasperated teacher told her she'd probably talk to a pole, if she happen to be sitting beside it. Not much has changed except that now she says it in writing. She is a single mom of four, a teacher of teens, a cheater at board games, and a lover of life. She's a Kansas girl, but travels to all kinds of places in her head with characters living there, some of which she's sure she's created. Some, she's not sure how they got there. But they are way more interesting to talk to than a pole. Archives
November 2017
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