Reverb 11, December Sixteenth

How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year? What will you do in 2012 to keep your sense of wonder alive/not become complacent in your surroundings?

Here's another thing my job makes easy, and not just because of all the travel to new and amazing places.

In tenth grade, we got a new principal.  When he came to our class meeting to introduce himself, he told us that "sophomore" was a portmanteau of "sophisticated moron."  (I fell in love right then and there - even as a teenager, I knew it took smarts to walk into a room of nearly 80 teenagers and call them morons, then leave them feeling complimented.) In so doing, he actually defined "sophomoric" as implying more sophistication than it really does.  He also insinuated that our assumption of sophistication had actually imparted some to us.  In retrospect, that was an awfully kind assessment of our maturity level.

As I watch kid after kid caught in the throes of violent adolescence, I find myself trying to emulate that principal. I am quite forgiving and accepting of my students. Not just because it makes for a dynamic classroom, not just because it's easier to challenge their assumptions obliquely than to confront them head-on; I allow them their false sense of their own maturity because I sense what lurks beneath it.  As long as they feel confident that I'm buying into their "whatever" face, they'll greedily soak up all sorts of information - until they remember to tell me, "Oh I already knew that."


Every now and then, though, the facade drops - and a teenager lets me see the light of realization come on in their eyes.  Susie just connected a pair of dots that had previously been in completely separate orbits to her, and the connection shifted the way she sees the world just a little bit. Together, we opened up just enough of a crack to let a little more light through.

The younger they are, the less guarded they are about these Eureka moments, and that is one reason I love working with middle school kids.  But the older the students, the more I prize these moments - because the older they are, the harder these moments are to achieve.  In either case - 12 or 17, wide-eyed or desperately "jaded" - these moments provide a vicarious sense of discovery for me.  I never forget what those moments are like, because I'm never far away from the last one.  The best part of my job is: I'm never far away from the next one, either.