The Teaching Life: Classical or Improv? (Part III)
But what happens when I re-frame my teaching in terms of improv?
My goal as a teacher has never been “classical,” not for my classroom atmosphere, not for my students, and certainly not for me, as a teacher! I’m not after duplication, precision for the sake of precision, or doing what everyone else has done a hundred times before.
My favorite moments of teaching involve collaboration and synergy, give-and-take, throwing out questions and being surprised by students’ responses. I expect that not only my students’ minds will be expanded in each class each day, but that my mind will, too. After a good classroom discussion, I’m still thinking about what various students said days and weeks later, kinda like getting a catchy tune stuck in my head.
A teacher I knew many years ago quit after three years of teaching junior high because he didn’t want to teach The Outsiders over and over again, year after year. It struck me that he and I were working from totally different paradigms. I love teaching the same book “year after year” because each year, the students are different! I’ve taught Fahrenheit 451 fifteen times, and each year I read a brand new copy along with the class. I have all new students, so I anticipate — and have! — a fresh experience with them.
Improv, it turns out, is a fabulous metaphor for how I love teaching.
Listen to “Blues” and notice how the sax, trumpet, piano, bass, and drum all take turns with the lead. I might start class with a bit of lecture, just as this piece starts with trumpet. But then I throw out a question, and the discussion goes back and forth, louder then softer, changing voices, combining ideas, trying out new ones, coming back around.
When not leading, each instrument plays support, or “comps.” I have to ask myself: How well do I comp at school when it’s not my turn to lead? Do I show up to support the PE teachers, the coaches, and our students during Football Weekend, or do I hide at home, thankful it’s “not my weekend”? (The honest answer is not flattering.)
When the quartet stops for a few bars, they are especially intentional about starting back up again. Each player watches the other, counts carefully, and even nods or calls out to make sure they all start back up again on the right note at the right time. The Monday after Christmas break, how intentional am I about making sure my students and I “pick right up where we left off”? (I don’t think, “Okay, turn to page. 273” cuts it!)
But it’s the way of handling “errors” that draws me post powerfully to improv as a metaphor for teaching. When there’s dissonance, when things don’t go quite as expected, when a new idea flops, or when I misread a situation, none of these errors is deemed a failure.
In the paradigm of improv, errors are considered “competent mistakes.”
And there is a world of difference (at least for me!) between being a failure and being a maker of competent mistakes.
When I re-frame last year in terms of improv, it changes everything. Because I was doing so many new things, I made many errors, many competent mistakes. This year, I’m not teaching any new classes, so I probably won’t make nearly as many.
But I’m realizing that in teaching, competent mistakes are part of the job description, not reasons to question my aptitude. Or my calling.
Competent mistakes are evidence that I’m learning and growing in job that’s complex, often paradoxical, and still the most rewarding way I could ever hope to spend my life.
Thank you for sharing the lessons from your class. I serve on a school board and have friends who are teachers. At some point in their careers I think that all of them have said, “I feel like a failure.” It is encouraging to know that their are always different ways to see a situation, whether it is a paradigm shift or just a different perspective. I especially appreciated the Blues link that spoke of business vision and the tune that we play. It really made me think of what tune I leave behind whether in business, school or whatever vocation or position that we find ourselves. Thanks for sharing. Cindy