90 Days (Part 2) — Bridging the Great Divide

From August to the end of December 2019 (Monday through Friday) you can find me in a high school English Language Arts classroom learning the craft of teaching under the tutelage of master-teachers who have honed their techniques through decades of trial and error. There are definitely moments where I question if I have the “chops” to disseminate information to young minds. Who wouldn’t? High school students smell fear. I’m convinced they have a seventh sense, innately borne from a primordial need to filter out adults who don’t have a clue about the subject matter.

Case in point: I was assigned to a 9th grade Honors English class for eight weeks. On the first day, the master-teacher introduced me to the thirty-eight over achieving students as their new bright and shiny student-teacher. Shortly thereafter, I began a classroom discussion about a random English fact that was part of a larger lesson plan. I distinctly remember pausing to look down at the teacher textbook and heard from the back of the room a powerful female voice say, “Prove it.” I looked around for the master-teacher thinking she was testing or teasing me, but what I saw would have surprised a grizzled war veteran. Sitting in the fourth row third desk from the left, a young female stared directly into my soul as though boring through rock with a diamond tip drill. Keep in mind, this was not a subject to be proved; rather, the information was common knowledge. Shaken but not completely stirred, I recovered my composure and nervously laughed out loud as the class sat in silence waiting for a response. Had the students conspired to break me on the first day? Could they smell blood in the water? I felt my heart pounding against the wall of my rib cage. Blood rushed unimpeded to my frontal cortex trying in vain to keep me from completely digressing into a blubbering idiot. I countered her demand with a slightly sarcastic comment of my own pulled from eleven years of law enforcement experience and then dove into the next subject. Her gaze followed me, while I walked around the room, as though she was a cat toying with a mouse or a lioness crouching in the tall grass waiting to finish her wounded prey. Finally, the bell rang signaling an end to the torment.

Later, I spoke with my master-teacher who told me the students had no idea I was flustered, but I knew better. Each student sitting quietly at their desk understood something that I didn’t; I entered their domain and must be vetted. To be accepted, I had to recognize their community was unique. They functioned for eight hours of the day under a set of unwritten rules where friends were of paramount importance, emotions ruled reality, the shadow of external environmental influences followed their every move, and school assignments tested their resolve to succeed or fail. I needed to look deep within myself and gain their respect by creating an atmosphere that bred engagement at the deepest level. I had the opportunity to learn from one phrase, “Prove it”, that possessing knowledge is one thing but teaching knowledge is a whole other beast. The quicker I embraced this concept; the quicker I could enjoy playing this game with them. Truth be told, ninth grade high school students were the ones who bridged the great divide and became my greatest teacher.