Why I teach

For the longest time, I have been meaning to read a book by Colin Wilson called The Outsider. Even blogged about it once before.

I have had difficulty finding an edition for various reasons, but I will get to it one day. Here's a quick precis of the text: In his early 20s, Wilson found himself alone on Christmas Eve in his one-room apartment. He was struck by how similar his position was to many of his favorite characters in literature. "It was not a position I relished," he wrote of the time. "Inner compulsions drew me to it, forced me to this isolated position. I was an outsider." It is a state of mind that while not exactly like my own, I find it kindred. I think of it often as I fear the future of English, History, and other Humanities disciplines in an increasingly bottom-line world. That, I promise, will be the subject of another essay, but for the scope of this blog post, I would like to examine how it spurred, and in select ways continues to spur, my teaching.

In my early adulthood, I worked in a typical business office. I wasn't sure, despite any proclamations to the contrary, just what I really wanted to do in terms of a career. What I did know was that I felt like an outsider. I would mention books that I've read or explain aspects of how humanity came to be, and in return I would get furrowed brows and tilted heads, responses of "How do you know that?" or "What does this have to do with delivering our services?" Now I don't mean to paint these people in a negative light. Not at all. They're fine folks and contribute positively to society. The experience simply served to help me realize I needed to be back in an atmosphere that was a "culture of ideas." More than that, I wanted to be engaged in showing others how to express their ideas in writing.

By accident of fate, I found myself making a visit to a DePaul University extension campus and the rest is history.

After grad school and the commencement of my career as a professor, my drive to teach transformed. I still wanted to discuss books and ideas and show students how to develop their own writing, but the motivation was different. After just finishing a year's worth of classes in my MFA program on the teaching of writing, have spent a great deal of observation and reflection in terms of my pedagogy. I now think I can at last put that transformation into words.

"How can I help?"

That phrase, or several variations upon it, is what I found myself saying more than anything else in the classroom. It also happens to be exactly why I teach.

I want to help.

If someone has been historically frustrated by the writing process, I want to help.

If someone hates school, I want to help and make them hate it a little less, even if for just an hour.

If assigned reading and essay structure induce palpebral twitches and eventual drowsiness, I want to help that student find a new and exciting way to look at it all.

If someone feels like an outsider themselves, I want to help and show them there are a lot of cool outsiders out there. Often, they do amazing things for society.

Whatever is going on with a student, whether it involves writing or not, I want to help.

And yet that "outsider" feeling comes creeping back. After my college closed, I was once more greeted by harsh realities of the high walls and the fierce competition of higher education. Others, namely "vodka tonic guy", asked why I would still fight to get back into a college. "It isn't 'market valued'" he said. "Why would you struggle to go make a quarter of what I could make in business, like doing marketing or PR?" Thus, I feel again as an outsider. Sort of brought back adolescent memories of wearing my long coat, the brooding, melancholic literary artist who listened to The Cure and had poetic insights to offer if only otheres would listen.

Thank God I'm not that dreary or insufferable anymore (I hope), but the "outsider" feeling resurfaces when facing individuals like Vodka Tonic Guy. So why do I teach?

Here's why:

"Thank you. I don't think anyone else would have helped me the way you did."

"You teach like you care. You care about us."

"Thank you for challenging me to always keep thinking critically and intellectually."

"You're the best teacher I've ever had. Thank you."

And in response to the blog post "Lost Causes" (linked above with "Vodka Tonic Guy"):

"Thank you for everything you taught me. The lessons I learned with you have been fundamental. I know our last months at SJC were tough, but I know I and everyone else are just as grateful that you didn't leave us. Thank you."

So, I hope that I may humbly take that as evidence that I helped. That's why I keep going.

That's why I teach.


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