Some might say that my teaching career got off to an auspicious, if not unusual start. My first experience in a real classroom was as a senior in high school. I taught three sections of 9th grade algebra for six weeks, as a substitute teacher. This came about when one of our high school math teachers became seriously ill and the district couldn’t find a long-term math sub. I was available because I had completed all the necessary requirements for graduation except three credits. Therefore, I only had three classes and three study halls my senior year. The two remaining math teachers at my high school didn’t like teaching 9th grade algebra. I was an excellent math student who was successfully tutoring a number of students, so they talked the principal into putting me in front of the algebra classes. They provided lesson plans and I taught their lessons. To have the “necessary adult in the classroom,” the district hired an English sub to sit in the back of the room “to keep order.” I enjoyed teaching. I think I did a good job at it. The students in my sections all passed the district’s 10th grade math readiness exam.
Although it’s been many years, I still recall my first class as a college professor. I remember observing students walking into that class as if it were yesterday. Unfortunately, I have lost track of many of those students. Although I tried to be the teacher that they needed, sometimes I wish I could go back and respond to them differently.
There were two in particular who were as different as night and day. One was from a well-to-do family. This student had everything he or she could have wanted. All this student had to do was ask. The student had a fancy car that daddy bought. The student had the latest in trendy fashions. The student had a job waiting in the family business immediately upon graduation from college. The student was intelligent, good looking, and athletic, a celebrated, all-conference player. In everything to do with classwork, this student’s attitude and expressions shouted the questions: “Why do I have to study? Why do I have to work in class? I have everything I need.” Every day this student would walk into class with that attitude that said, “Teach me! I dare you!”
The second student was the child of a successful athletic coach at another small college. However, this student was anything but athletic. The student was unattractive, lacked many social graces. and had a complete lack of coordination. Be an athlete? This student could trip over the sideline chalk. The rumor was that this student was enrolled at our school because the father was embarrassed to have this student around his school. This student threw him/herself into studies and barely got C’s. No matter what he/she did, it wasn’t good enough. So the student developed this enormous chip on his/her shoulders. When the student would walk into class, you could see in his/her eyes the lack of hope. You could almost hear the stutter, “I-I-I can’t do-do-do anything. Go ahead and te-te-teach me! I d-d-dare you!”
Through more than 40 years of working with students, these two students were just two of the many examples I have seen. Student after student would enroll in the colleges where I worked and walk into classes or my office, and by the attitudes they expressed, say, “Teach me! I dare you!” They had many different stories.
“No one loves me so why should I bother?” “My parents were supposed to be this perfect Christian couple. They were the pillars of our home church. I go away to college and they get a divorce. What’s the point? God let my family down. He is not going to care about me.”
“I want to be an artist, but my parents insist that I go into business. I’ll show them. If I flunk out or just barely graduate, nobody will hire me when they see my grades. I will be a failure in my parents’ eyes. However, I will be free to be the artist that I am meant to be.”
“I don’t see why I need this class to be a [fill in the blank]. Why do I have to take it? It’s not important for my major. I’ll never use this stuff as a [fill in the blank].”
“God has called me into ministry. I’m leaving school at the end of the semester to follow His calling, and do His work full-time.”
“I have done something terrible. I can’t forgive myself. God won’t forgive me. I am worthless. What’s the sense in trying to make something out of myself?”
Some were whispering; some were crying; some were shouting. “Teach me! I dare you!”
I was a teacher. What should have been my response to these students? Could I, or should I ignore them? After all, I had 10, or 30, or 90 other students in the class who really wanted to learn. As a teacher, I had a responsibility to help students learn. There were students in the class that really wanted to learn. They did the assigned work. They went far beyond the minimum. Those students expected me to help them. They were grateful when they realized that they had learned something.
Helping students learn is the ministry that God assigned to me. Teaching is what God called me to do. Teaching is what I studied and trained to do. It was exciting. It was exhilarating. (And it still is.) Isn’t it enough to work with those students that really do want to learn? At the end of the day, I could cash my paycheck with no regrets and no second thoughts. Or could I?
I can’t get the faces of the myriad of students with problems out of my mind. Students that one way or another sat in front of me and said, or screamed, or cried, “Teach me! I dare you!” I had a responsibility to those students to get to know them; to understand their problems; to be engaged with them and determine what they needed and how best they could learn; to value them and help them value themselves; to love them because they were people. If I did that, I would have the right and the responsibility to stand in front of them and say, “Okay, I accept your challenge…if you accept mine. I double-dare you to learn.” With some, I was successful in that classroom scene. With others, I have often wondered if something I said or did planted a seed that would later grow fruit. If it didn’t, was there something else I should have done? I know that teaching and learning are mutual responsibilities, and that students share in the process. However, I was the teacher and that is supposed to mean something.