Here and Now
This is a note that
one of my Bhutanese students wrote me at the end of 2011 as the school year was
drawing to an end and Scott and I were getting ready to leave the country:
Even when you are away fromour us, we will be always thinking of you.
You are the best teacher in the univers world. I will miss you. From, Yeshi Jamtsho
When Scott and I arrived in Juneau at the beginning of this year and were unpacking our things, this note somehow found its way into our boxes and bags of belongings. I keep it on the table by the bed and as books and tissue boxes and the alarm clock get moved and shuffled around, this note resurfaces every so often. Inevitably, I always think it’s a scrap piece of paper that should be thrown away, but then it dawns on me what it really is – a reminder that for a short period of time, I had the privilege of being highly regarded by groups of students who called me teacher.
I don’t for a second believe that I’ve remained in Yeshi’s mind as the “best” teacher. For Yeshi and his classmates, I was a novelty, their first of what has likely become a string of American teachers. Also, Yeshi was bright, one of the brightest students at Kanglung Primary School, and the type of student who inspires their teacher to be their best for the sheer hope that the student will one day succeed. If I could somehow know that I, in the minutest way, contributed to what Yeshi will one day become, then I will feel like I did something in my life.
I feel that way about so many of the students I’ve taught, especially the ones in Tanzania. It was so easy to feel like I was doing something worthwhile when I was with them. I don’t believe I was a good teacher – I’ve written many times on the fact that teaching is not my calling – but I do think I was decent and for whatever the reality was, it didn’t really matter. What mattered was that I was there and trying my hardest to help them, to make them feel good, to show them I cared. I wish teaching was my calling because I could’ve been happy just being with them, being a teacher, and getting notes of gratitude every so often for what I did. What could beat that?
Recently I did a radio story on a weekly tradition that takes place in the Alaska Capitol and it aired locally in Juneau and got picked by the state-wide news program. It had been over three years since I interviewed someone, used sound editing software, or sat in a studio voicing a script that I had written. It had been over three years since I heard my name on the radio followed by a story that I had created. And it felt so good. That’s it – for me, that’s what beats the satisfaction that comes from teaching students in need. That's what compelled me to convince Scott that we should return to the states.
If only I could just do that for a living, here in Juneau, now.
Even when you are away from
When Scott and I arrived in Juneau at the beginning of this year and were unpacking our things, this note somehow found its way into our boxes and bags of belongings. I keep it on the table by the bed and as books and tissue boxes and the alarm clock get moved and shuffled around, this note resurfaces every so often. Inevitably, I always think it’s a scrap piece of paper that should be thrown away, but then it dawns on me what it really is – a reminder that for a short period of time, I had the privilege of being highly regarded by groups of students who called me teacher.
I don’t for a second believe that I’ve remained in Yeshi’s mind as the “best” teacher. For Yeshi and his classmates, I was a novelty, their first of what has likely become a string of American teachers. Also, Yeshi was bright, one of the brightest students at Kanglung Primary School, and the type of student who inspires their teacher to be their best for the sheer hope that the student will one day succeed. If I could somehow know that I, in the minutest way, contributed to what Yeshi will one day become, then I will feel like I did something in my life.
I feel that way about so many of the students I’ve taught, especially the ones in Tanzania. It was so easy to feel like I was doing something worthwhile when I was with them. I don’t believe I was a good teacher – I’ve written many times on the fact that teaching is not my calling – but I do think I was decent and for whatever the reality was, it didn’t really matter. What mattered was that I was there and trying my hardest to help them, to make them feel good, to show them I cared. I wish teaching was my calling because I could’ve been happy just being with them, being a teacher, and getting notes of gratitude every so often for what I did. What could beat that?
Recently I did a radio story on a weekly tradition that takes place in the Alaska Capitol and it aired locally in Juneau and got picked by the state-wide news program. It had been over three years since I interviewed someone, used sound editing software, or sat in a studio voicing a script that I had written. It had been over three years since I heard my name on the radio followed by a story that I had created. And it felt so good. That’s it – for me, that’s what beats the satisfaction that comes from teaching students in need. That's what compelled me to convince Scott that we should return to the states.
If only I could just do that for a living, here in Juneau, now.
posted by Siapiau | 5:08 PM
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