I enter the classroom in a jumble of bags, papers, and coffee. The students are all present all ready. My mentor is standing at the front of the class addressing all of them, fielding questions. When I set my things down and get my head about me, they actually seem to quiet.
This is my class of college freshmen. This has been my "problem" class, the one I've had to scold and lecture about attention and the ability to follow verbal directions. So, imagine my surprise when I set out to read the poem of the day and they appear attentive.
The essay we are set to discuss for the day is Andrew Sullivan's "What Is a Homosexual?" and they all appear ready to launch into the discussion. I've scheduled for half the class period to be taken up with discussion of the essay and then we will move on to the handout and sample essay I have concerning illustration. Well, I almost don't get the chance.
The class comes alive with discussion within a matter of minutes. There are people expressing views that range from the simple and biased to complex and rich. It's a lovely conversation, one where I am simply operating as a mediator and not an orator. I love these days. We talk about gender versus sex, cross-dressing, segregation, and various pleas for acceptance from certain corners. It is engaged, respectful, and honest and I find myself loving them in that moment.
I'm so proud of them and I remember why I'm a teacher. I love it when I see people thinking about ideas and discussing them respectfully. I don't care if I agree with them or not. Without lively debate there is no new knowledge. Or is that no new wisdom? Not sure and today I don't care. Can't wait to get back in the classroom.
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