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!

Brown Nosing Revisited

I am drinking coffee in a Carmel living room bigger than any apartment I have ever lived in. Behind me, in the kitchen that I just walked through when entering the house, (I was not encouraged to use the front door), the coffeemaker looks like it belongs in a modern art museum.  You can see the ocean from the living room windows, but there is also an Olympic size swimming pool in back of the house down a stone stairway. 

I am here, in a family's vacation house, in the last August days before school begins, to interview for a job tutoring a junior high school student. He is about to begin freshman year in a highly competitive Silicon Valley high school, and he needs some help with the transition.
If hired, I will be the English reading and writing tutor. But his Mom is also worried about her kid's attitude.
"My kid hates brown nosing," she says, as two labradoodle dogs nestle at her feet.
"He's a very genuine person--but not all his classmates are. He won't suck up to a teacher or a coach that he does not like. If he is going to keep his grades up, at the very least, he needs to stay on the good side of his teachers."

"I can work with him on this," I say confidently, wondering how many brown noser contractors have worked in this home.

I reassure the Mom that her kid is very bright with a high E.Q. (and he is, really)--but now I am brown nosing, too.

(These red things below are backpack emojis)

🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒🎒

The wood floor is cool under my bare feet--I have been asked to remove my shoes, but not offered slippers. It is a warm summer day at the family's summer house in Carmel and the air conditioning is on--while earlier in the day, some miles north in Menlo Park, my husband and I considered whether it is hot enough to chill the air and spend the energy and the dollars. (We decide it isn't.)

I consider telling the Mom to invite the teachers down to the summer house for some coffee or a swim. They could choose between the ocean and the pool.
If the Mom actually made the invitation, would that be brown nosing on her part?

I think that the interview has gone well. On the drive home, as I pass farm workers in the fields of Salinas,I seriously think about how I would advise this student.

When I get home, I begin what I hope will be a thoughtful e-mail about brown nosing
I don't send it because I don't even have the gig yet--the family will get back to me.

I also don't send it because right in the first paragraph, as my mind roams free, the note evolves or devolves (is that a word?) into social satire rather than a helpful correspondence. If I do get the tutoring job, I will head towards the light and send my best altruistic thoughts about cordial student/teacher communications and developing mutual respect if not agreement. Someday the kid will thank me in his Nobel Prize acceptance speech. 

A week later, I learn that I did not get the job. If you know me, you know that I do not have a poker face, so maybe it was a raised eyebrow that did me in during the interview. I guess that the student is better off. I guess I'm better off, too. Still, I  saved that snarky draft.  So here goes:

Dear __________:

In the next few weeks we may begin working together reviewing your English assignments. But today I want to talk about another topic--getting along with your teachers while keeping your self respect. Your Mom tells me that you hate the idea of brown nosing. And based upon what I have observed about your life so far, you may never have the need. (I am snarky right there in the first paragraph.)
Take a look at the photo of the mug 

I could  advise you to bring the mug to every class.

You could find out the teacher’s favorite drink and fill the mug with the preferred beverage.

You could bring personalized mugs: They make mugs that say: I love my biology teacher; I love my math teacher.

But it’s probably not a good idea.

For one thing, it will look like brown nosing. 
That's because it is.

And brown nosing shows a lack of integrity—as integrity is defined in this green box.




(Your Mom also shared that you are a visual learner, particularly responsive to the color green)

But there are two qualities that you can show that can help you to get along with teachers, without compromising your values. And I know what those two things are, because not only am I a teacher, I am the daughter of a teacher, a cousin of three teachers--four if you count Cousin Max before he became a lawyer, and a friend to more teachers and professors than you can count.

We talk to each other. We won't ever mention you by name--we are sworn to confidentiality.  It is in our code of honor. Besides, our conversations are mostly about us not you. But brown nosing will now become one of our "issues."

But back to how you can get along with your teachers. What are those two qualities you need to show?

1)RESPECT

2)RESPECT

If you are lucky, you have a natural respect for the teacher standing or sitting before you. But maybe you don’t. Maybe you think that the teacher is doing a terrible job. Maybe the teacher IS doing a terrible job. The good news is that you don’t even have to speak to show respect.  Instead, you can show respect with body language and a few nonverbal actions. Here are some suggestions:

1) LOOK AT THE TEACHER—MAKE EYE CONTACT

Teachers want to think that you are paying attention.  Maybe you even are paying attention. Listening to someone, whether you agree or not, and whether they are boring or not, is one important way to show respect. If you agree with something that the teacher is saying, you can even go so far as to nod your head. Once!  Keep nodding your head all through class and you will be brown nosing. Or the school may call in a drug counselor.
Trigger alert: If you nod your head, also be prepared for the teacher to call you out. “Jason, I see you agree! Can YOU tell us why the Handmaid's Tale mirrors today's dystopic society?”

If you are going to hate answering questions like these, just stick to the eye contact.

The book Study Strategies Made Easy: A Practical Plan for School Success, has another suggestion if you are particularly bored or sleepy. If eye contact is too much for you, just (and I quote) : "Point your nose in the direction of where the teacher is standing."

3)LOOK LIKE YOU ARE READY TO WORK

Have your materials out on the desk and turn off your phone, unless you need it for class. Don’t sprawl your legs and plop with your head down on the desk. Try not to yawn. Pretend to look interested. This will serve you well later in life at the companies you own, the auction houses you attend, on Skype, in your Tinder photo and at the start of in-person hookups.

4) HAND IN ASSIGNMENTS ON-TIME OR EARLY. 
This will help you when you serve on the board of directors of  either the DeYoung Museum ora nonprofit or venture backed startup.

5)AVOID SOCIALIZING/TEXTING WITH FRIENDS WHILE THE TEACHER IS SPEAKING.  If you absolutely must get a message or send one (and we all do sometimes), be very low key about it and wait for a break or a lull. If you have voice recognition on your phone, learn to speak without moving your lips. In the old days this was called ventriloquism and people would pay money to see other people speak this way.

Maybe you know all of these strategies already.

Maybe you read this and are sorry that you will never get back those last few minutes of your  life.
No matter how you feel, write back and say—thank you, Lauren! That way I can forward the note to your Mom and other potential clients.

You could also write me  a brief note and tell me what was helpful and/or how it was helpful. Or ask a relevant question that you really want to know the answer to. Don’t make up a question just to ask it. Oh what the hell--make up a question.The  questions show that you actually read the essay. At least that's what the PhDs  who do educational assessment say. They also get paid more than me, which is really unfair because I have to do all the work, and all they get to do is, well, judge.

I look forward to working with you. Really, I do.

Yours truly,
Lauren John


       

Dog Whistles--Do You Hear What I Hear?

Decades ago, when I was in my early twenties and working in the library of a conservative accounting firm, my boss used to consistently call me "creative".

"What a creative approach!" she would say when I found a faster, but initially messier, way to update looseleaf binders. (This was before online data storage)
"Lauren is one of our most creative librarians," I would overhear her telling upper management as they gathered in her glass cubicle.
At the time, I thought it was a compliment.
Now I know that it was the kiss of death.

At a firm where everyone observed the dress code of blue suits and white shirts and conformity ruled, the word "CREATIVE" was code for non-conformist, or even troublemaker.   The creativity wasn't bad enough to get me fired, because I got the work done on time and had a high number of billable hours. But it certainly wasn't going to get me promoted.

Now that I work more with words than with numbers, I am far more sensitive to how adjectives are used and not used in the workplace and beyond. Creative is still a charged word--admired by many in Silicon Valley startups, but still suspect for others in larger organizations of all kinds.  

So when my boss at the accounting firm called me creative, she was doing what is known as "dog whistling." Now you may already know what this means, but the term "dog whistling" was unfamiliar to me, until I heard it four times on Tuesday within the span of an hour, on both CNN and Fox News.  (Yes--I watch both.) I now know that the term "dog whistling" has been around for a long time, and there are even dissertations on it. But, it was and is a new term for me.

Taking a guess, I thought that it meant beckoning a group of dogs to your side to either  to protect you or actively attack an aggressor or to simply celebrate as in the song/sports anthem "Who Let the Dogs Out?"   I thought that dog whistles, as when whistled by humans, were LOUD!

But, as I soon learned, an actual dog whistle is silent. Humans can't hear it and respond. Only dogs can pick up the frequency. Applied to politics, a "dog whistle" is a secret message that only some groups will truly understand. It often involves code words or phrases.

Need some examples?

I have only learned recently from friends who have lived in the Southern United States, that when Susan says about Helen, "Well, bless her heart", Susan thinks that Helen is misguided, crazy, naive, inexperienced or maybe even evil.

My friend Rachel, who lived in Raleigh, North Carolina, offers some examples:
"That was the first time she ever made a peach cobbler, bless her heart."
Meaning: The cobbler was lousy

How could she have known that her  gambler boyfriend would run off with all her money, bless her heart.
Meaning: How stupid could she be? Everyone knew that guy was a crook with a problem.

Wouldn't you think, though, that a woman saying "bless her heart," in reference to a friend truly wished to confer empathy in the form of a blessing.

Having lived in New York, Boston, and Silicon Valley, "East coast style" and "West coast style" mean very specific things to my husband and me.  When we say that someone has an "east coast" personality or text this to each other (we could even tweet this three word code if we tweeted)--the words are far from neutral--and we are not merely talking about geography or regional accent.  East coast style might mean someone more formal, someone who dresses up for business meetings, someone more impressed by an Ivy League education or, dare we say it, someone more articulate. Anyone old enough to remember the term, "Get me a Philadelphia lawyer?"
"West coast style" might mean someone who wears Hawaiian shirts even though they do not work at Trader Joe's or someone in a polyamorous relationship or someone who wishes that they were.

When we label our acquaintances with this coastal shorthand are we "dog whistling?"
Absolutely!

So let's look at "dog whistling" in politics.

Republicans may say, for example, that they want to make environmental protection regulations a state issue. This could be a dog whistle meaning that they will refuse to pass these laws on a federal level. And in fact, it could mean that no way in hell are they going to block oil companies from drilling.  That "state issue" could be shorthand for "Drill Baby Drill!"

When President Obama visited San Francisco and referred to guns and religion voters--it was a failed attempt at dog whistling--his disdain for gun rights advocates and evangelical Christians soon became loud and clear.

When Donald Trump spoke of "two sides" being responsible for the Charlottesville tragedy-the KKK thought it was a silent message of support and its leader David Duke applauded Trump.  Trump's spokespeople on the other hand, said, no way--Trump abhors racism and violence. That's where the "dog whistling term" came up on both CNN and Fox-was Trump supporting the actions of the white supremacists? Was there a secret or not so secret message of support to what Trump termed "the fine people" amongst them?The whistle became a bit more audible when Trump came out loud and clear with the message that he thought that the left was just as violent as the right. 

Dog whistling is not a new technique. It's just, at least to me, a new term for a time tested technique. But the messages are coming at us so quickly and furiously that we end up like, well, dogs, spinning in circles.

Instead, we need to slow down, sit, stay, perk up our ears and pay close attention.