I write this piece for two reasons. 

I’m still deeply impressed by it almost 20 years later.

If, perchance, the one written about reads this, then I wish to say thank you.  I have no idea who you are, but you made an indelible impression on my life.

I was sitting in on a lecture (at the teacher prep class) called The Art of Teaching.  The instructor was giving her presentation on the subject and doing a very fine job of it if I must say. 

She went through the three ways of getting to the students—heart it, see it, do it.  Which, by the way, I had not known about at all. 

Being the good teacher that she was, she incorporated all three ways of learning into her discourse, finishing up with a live representation. 

On the table in front of her she had the following: plate, knife, spoon, washcloth, bread (in a bag) jam (in a jar with a lid on), and peanut butter (in a jar with a lid on).

The lesson?  Make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Our instructor asked for two volunteers from the class of would-be teachers to come up there and teach her how to make the sandwich. 

To simulate the knowledge gap between the teacher and the student, our instructor did not allow herself to ask questions, but rather did as she interpreted the instructions given to her.

Our two volunteers began tentatively.

“First, get two pieces of bread out of the bag.”

Our instructor looked at the bag, which was still fastened closed, and finally started ripping at it, squashing the bread inside in the process.

One of the volunteers said, “No, take the twisty tie off first!” 

The instructor looked at the bag again and pulled at something other than the twisty tie.

“No, there, that thing!  Untie it!”

She fumbled and fumbled while the volunteers waited.

Finally, she pulled two misshapen pieces of bread out.

The volunteers were learning and gave a little more detail on the next task, telling their ‘student’ to unscrew the jar lid (she tightened it for a while), take the knife and put some peanut butter on the bread.

Our instructor grabbed the knife, sharp end first, and jammed the handle down in the peanut butter. 

“Oh, no!  You hold that end with your hand,” one of the volunteers said, and frantically looked around.  Whereupon our instructor turned the knife around and squeezed the handle, making little tendrils of peanut butter slide out between her fingers.   A few nervous giggles ran through the crowd as our instructor, after a brief pause and looking expectantly at the volunteers, dug out a huge glob of peanut butter and proceeded to paste it on the bread.

So far, the volunteers were getting the concept taught, if not in a rather zig zag way.

“Ok, next open the jam jar, take the spoon by the handle, and spoon some jam on the bread.”  This delivered with a bit more confidence in approach and style.  Our volunteers were doing better.

Again, our instructor looked a bit perplexed as she looked first at her peanut buttery hands and then at the jam jar.  She hesitated, ever so slightly, and in that instant my peripheral vision picked up a movement to my left side and a bit behind of where I sat.

“Stop.”

With one syllable of mercy, an end was put to the tense debate waged within our minds and to the impending disaster that could play out at any moment in front of us.

Our instructor stopped, hands midair, and held her pose while a new volunteer made her way out of the row of seats she was in and up the aisle towards her.

When she got to the table, she picked up the rag and in a quiet, and perhaps the kindest tone I have ever heard, told the instructor to extend her hands in front of her. 

She gently took each of them in her own and cleaned them off.  Next, she took each of the utensils and cleaned them up. 

When she had finished, she put the rag to the side, stepped back, and told the volunteers they could continue.

Her quiet kindness—her unwavering loyalty to the one under her charge—brought the moment front and center in supreme clarity to me. 

THIS. 

This was the true example of The Art of Teaching.  Because this, I realized, is the same thing I read in a certain Textbook that we are to do.  We are to lift the burden from the shoulder of the one oppressed.

No, we don’t give the answers, or try to slip around the problem in an easy way.  No, our Teacher doesn’t do it that way for us either.

But when we see those innocents in our care with a smudge of distress on their brow, be it from a math problem that has them momentarily confused, a scuffle out on the playground that has made its way into the classroom, or just a plain ole bad attitude that they really don’t know why they have, we help them clean up the mess they are in and direct them into a way that has a better end.

We let them know that we care about the lessons, yes, but more.  We care about making the road as easy as possible for them, like our Teacher does for us.

We aren’t dictators in an authoritarian role dealing out the power play to our satisfaction.  Because in that situation, we will always be frustrated at the seemingly dimwitted students we have, and we will never have the respect we are so anxiously trying to retain. 

No. 

We take their hands into our own.  We hold them gently, firmly, and with unwavering loyalty in such a way that they know we will never purposely let them drop.

Thank you, whoever you are, for teaching this to me, over there in that Michigan classroom.