Guts

There are three kinds of people who come to Crow Canyon (www.crowcanyon.org), leaving aside those who work here for the sake of discussion: children who come in groups for reasons that are not yet their own, adults who pay handily to come learn about archaeology, and college-age interns who are learning to be archaeologists. I am sitting in a small house on Crow Canyon’s campus distant geographically and experientially (but not temporally) from the teaching that I do during the school year, and it dawns on me that those same three categories broadly apply to the university classes I teach: those who are there not (yet) for their own reasons, those who have life experience (whatever their age) and just want to learn, and (rarely) those who want to be archaeologists, geographers, or ecologists.

And these thoughts have led me to other thoughts, a process that always seems to happen. This time, I am dwelling on one of my greatest frustrations, which is simple; but communicating it may seem complicated. Professors are charged with being “effective teachers.” We are assessed thoroughly in terms of how well we teach, and there is much debate as to whether or not typical forms of assessment, such as student evaluations, actually measure whether or not students learn or if ‘they’ simply like ‘us.’ Honestly, however, I question whether or not teaching effectiveness matters much at all, which is the root of my frustration. It is an honest frustration, and though I think that I may have a few answers, I may have none. Let me just voice it; ‘it matters not how I teach if the willingness to learn in others is secondary.’ On average, I believe that most Americans (me included) are willing to have, but I would not characterize many as willing to learn.

So what is the job of a professor? What positions do we occupy in society? Are we elite experts? Is an attempt at humility and respect for education false modesty? Are we disillusioned messengers believing in yet another false god? Are we stewards for maintaining knowledge in our areas of expertise? Have we let that go to our heads? Do ‘we’ have what ‘others’ want? Are we belligerent egotists when we set high standards or manipulative shirkers when we pander to student interests? Both? All of the time? Or only some of the time? We are each of these things, sometimes all at once. And in our best moments, which nobody has all of the time, we transcend our limitations and teach very well.

Niggling deep inside my psyche is the feeling that I still have more to say. If you are one of those students (and I know you are out there, and your existence greatly disturbs me) who believes that I am responsible for your learning, here’s what I will do for you. I am an expert at learning; I have been doing it for years. If you want to learn what I know, I will stand up in front of you for days, weeks, and months and share. I will use digital images, handouts, video displays, humor, dry-erase pens, respect, fear, opinions, information, exams, patience, frustration, examples, anecdotes, passion, homework assignments, artwork, more dry-erase pens, and other tools in the classroom—I will teach from my guts. But, I will walk in the door a human being and leave the same way.

Outside of class I will read, write, and analyze stuff that fascinates me so that I know more when I come back to class—more about stuff, more about learning. In addition, like all people, I will go home and balance the rest of my life into ‘what I do.’ Will it make a difference for you? Should how I teach matter to you? Yes! Professors must assemble organized, meaningful materials, which matters a lot. It also matters a lot that we show respect to learners. But the rest is just passionate window dressing that makes no difference if you do not want to learn from your guts! Do you have to like me to do so?!

My students tend to fit into one of the three categories of people who come to Crow Canyon. I came here years ago as an intern believing that I had very little to learn. The interns here now are, for the most part, not like I was. They want to learn more than I did then. I am lucky that I get to work with them, learn from them, and share my knowledge with them. I needed someone else’s passion when I was their age; they probably do not need mine. They want the information in my head, as do most of the adult program participants who pay to be here.

I wrote posts on service and research earlier this year, the two other realms of the academic profession. I planned to discuss ‘teaching effectiveness’ sooner, but I had trouble getting to it. Why? Well, ‘Hell’s bells!—as my dad would say, if I do it during the semester and my students read the post, might it bias their evaluations of me? I am young, untenured, and perhaps too brash; might that cost me in terms of professional development (e.g., tick off my colleagues)? Nah! The timing never felt right to write this; it seemed unfair and selfish to vent these frustrations to the world (still does). I had to gain some perspective, another experience on the long list of gifts that Crow Canyon has granted me. I believe other professors share some of these musings, and I think some students do to. Teaching effectiveness… if you want the best out of me, do your best to learn from your guts!