The Teacher as Tesla: I Used to Have a Personal Brand; Now I Need A Metaphor

Long ago teachers could simply describe their teaching style by saying that they taught high school history or early childhood education or English as a second language. But now, teachers are being encouraged to develop metaphors to describe what they do and how they do it. 

I made this discovery when I joined a  local tutoring company that takes a holistic approach to learning--looking, for example, at issues such as whether an individual student learns better visually or by hearing instructions or by doing a "hands-on" project. By extension, the tutors are also encouraged to take a good look at themselves. 

Here's the ice breaker for next weekend's "teach the teacher" workshop:

What is your teaching metaphor?  

Be prepared to share it with others. 

Rest assured, there is no ONE correct answer.

The founders of this company are kind and reassuring. I am not under any particular metaphor pressure. But competitive person that I am, I want a boffo metaphor.  I want a metaphor that will become the gold standard for future classes--even if there is no one correct answer. I want a metaphor that will make the other tutors take a deep breath and go: WHOAH! Now there's a teacher!

In preparation, I decide take suggestions from people who have seen me teach. My husband George has attended many of my public presentations and has watched me rehearse over the years.

"What's my teaching metaphor?" I ask him suddenly in the car, as he drives me to my job at the Menlo College Writing Center.

"You mean style?" he asks.

"Well....... more like a symbol or visual"

"You're a middle aged Jewish woman." 

(See below--guess which one is me!)

"Yes. That is actually what I am. But I need an image, like a gardener who sows the seeds of knowledge, or an octopus, with eight hands, who multitasks. Or even a Tesla--energy efficient, self driving, and found mostly in California!

George drops me off at school and says he'll get back to me with a metaphor by the end of the day.

When I get to the Writing Center, I decide to ask my boss. I know he'll give a great answer because in addition to running the center,  he is an artist who teaches drawing.

I burst in with "Good morning! What is my teaching metaphor?" 

He's ready for me. 

"Hurricane Harvey!"

"You mean I am a natural disaster?"

He pauses thoughtfully. This is a Writing Center. We are precise with words.
"No....just a whirlwind full of energy!"

"Destructive energy?" 
I am more curious than defensive. In the art world, destructive energy is a good thing.

But then, my first student walks in and we have to quit the discussion.

Later at lunch, I ask a group of colleagues.

"What is my teaching metaphor?"

Now, mind you, ALL of the colleagues know what this means and what I am asking. And ALL are ready with answers.

The beloved economics professor in his early seventies groans and says,

"God I hate English majors!"

The English professor and the librarian at the table are more helpful.

"Chameleon," says the librarian.

"You mean I am what Holden Caulfield would call a phony?"

"No," she answers, "I just mean that you are very flexible and adaptable and change your style to meet the audience."

I can live with that.

"Midwife," says the English professor, going with Socrates. "You help students to give birth to great ideas."

I can live with that, too.

Someone at the table, I forget who, calls me a mother hen, which I am less pleased with. But I don't have time to ponder because we are soon into a digression about free range students and free range parenting and helicopter parenting and the conversation is no longer about me. I consider calling my mother, now ninety years old and living in Queens, New York, and asking what her parenting metaphor was. Or better yet how it has evolved over the decades.

 

I get home and tell George about all the metaphors people suggested. 
My brilliant husband thinks about this and says, "Aha!  I have the answer!"

YOU........are........... a weaver!

"What?"

George explains.

"You ask lots of questions, and take all the different answers that you get, and put them together into something that makes sense for you. Hopefully something useful. And then you share what you have discovered with your students. And then you teach them how to weave."

"What if what I create is NOT useful. What if what I weave is just beautiful, like a tapestry or wall hanging? You know...like teaching as an art!"

George pauses.

"Well.....your storytelling is beautiful. I love your stories. You weave them together from different ideas into something beautiful."

Ladies and gentleman--we have a metaphor!
And...a 25 year marriage!