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By Chuck Keller
School has started and it’s the topic of lots of
conversations. I was recently asked why I became a teacher. Well, I never
revealed the true reason - until now.
Because I almost failed kindergarten, I become a
teacher. Now those seem unlikely dots to
connect but they do.
We were learning colors. The teacher placed a series of
color posters over the top of the chalkboard. The teacher went around the room
asking her pupils what the color was. She pointed. I shrugged my shoulders. She
pointed to the next one. I shrugged again. She pointed to a third poster. I
shrugged again.
The teacher called home and told my mother what happened.
And that’s when my life took a turn. I did not know the names of colors because
no one taught me. Se we sat at the kitchen table, me almost in tears as mom
drilled me on colors. And she was not very kind about it either. She couldn’t believe that I didn’t know
colors. As her frustration increased, my
fear of failure increased, and I cried. I was 5. Yeah, my education career was
off to a good start.
I didn’t know it then and it took a long time for me to
realize what had happened. Mom had never taught me those colors and she really
didn’t actively teach us much of anything. She just expected that kids would
know things. She was not a good teacher. I could never rely upon her for help
with homework.
Lots of things are like that. We have an expectation that
people know certain things. If they don’t know we may express surprise, anger,
or frustration. It happens, albeit not often, that we take the time to
instruct.
Somehow I passed kindergarten. I still don’t know why or
how. I remember the color blindness test that I took sometime later - and, yes,
I am a bit color blind, but it wouldn’t be enough to keep me out of, say, the
military or get in the way at a paint store. I mean I liked the pretzel rods,
milk, and nap time of kindergarten, but I also remember that I was not eager to
return to school.
I am also left handed so it was not easy to learn to write.
Teachers tried to make me right-handed. It didn’t feel natural. So I had to
figure out how to hold the pencil and make the motions - without smearing the
page. I was never quite successful in that realm. I now call it hand-lefting because it is not
easy to decipher. But that joke masks a sad truth.
I remember when words started to make sense and that I could
finally decode printed words. I felt
powerful like my comic book hero, Superman. I read everything. I finally felt
like I was in charge of my learning.
I wanted to know - not just facts but techniques. I didn’t
want to know the what but I also wanted to know the why and how. My teachers
were often overwhelmed with work and didn’t have time to take a shy kid aside
to help. So I had to figure out how to teach myself.
For instance - tying shoes. I had to figure it out. I was
not taught. I made two loops, crossed them, ran one under the other and pulled.
Except that wasn’t the way other kids did it. I studied how they did it,
reversed the image, and practiced and practiced and practiced. Eventually I
figured it out, but no one taught me. My
high school teachers returned essays with only a grade on the page. There were
no comments. I really had no idea how to write.
Here’s my point. My teachers taught material - not skills.
They expected us to show up at school with the skills. So what if a parent is
not equipped to teach their child those skills like the times tables or the
state capitals or phonics or colors? A child would be left behind. And maybe
abandoned. I had to become a teacher in order to learn.
I was determined to never let that happen to another child.
So I became a teacher.
One day a student stopped at my desk after class and wanted
to know how he could do better on quizzes. I asked how he studied and his story
sounded familiar. I showed him a few techniques. He aced the next quiz and
every one after that. I always tried to include the study skills along with the
content.
Some years later this student knocked on my door. There he
stood with his oldest son. I welcomed him in and after catching up, he revealed
that he was now a lieutenant in the armed forces and that he used my study
techniques for each rank test. Then he presented me his medallion that he was
given at the ceremony.
Why, I asked? Because I showed him how to teach himself.
After he left, I teared up. I finally felt successful, but I wish I could have
shown him those techniques when he was much younger. He is an officer now and
is a success. And his children are successful.
Content is important, but skills are more important. I know what a pancake is but it's more
important to know how to make one.
I wish someone would have noticed what I lacked. I wish that
someone would have taken time to help. I wish I had the wherewithal to know
that I didn’t know. I was not a terribly self-aware child. Instead, I had to
figure it out on my own - as I still do most things. I wish I could have said
something without fear of some sort of reprisal or ridicule, but that was my
world then. Who knows what I could have accomplished.
All it takes is one person to help unlock the potential
within another. All it takes is one person to help you learn a skill. All it
takes is one person to offer an opportunity to learn. All it takes is one
person.
Be that one person.
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