The beauty of teaching is that you get the entire gamut of students, from long time readers and analyzers of literature to people who don’t really belong in the class they’re in. Lately i’ve been in a good headspace about the type of students I get. I still am, but recent challenges have left me questioning the lines and responsibilities of a teacher.
At what point is writing –especially bad writing– a cry for help? We instructors ask students these deep any meaningful questions. We cast them out into the void like tiny lights, hoping depth and understanding will seek them like tiny moths. Sometimes I don’t get moths. I get angry fireflies who cast a light of their own and have no time or patience for the larger light of understanding. They shut their eyes against meaning and poke fun at understanding.
Teaching and learning is a relationship. I provide part of the relationship, but the student has to meet me halfway. They must want to open their eyes to understanding for actual understanding to occur. If that doesn’t happen, all that can come of the class is frustration and a reinforcement of the ideas that they came in with.
I wonder if that is what some students are looking for in the first place.