I was paying attention. I was sitting close to the front of the room, facing the presenter. I was making frequent eye contact with the speaker and the material being presented. I was pausing frequently to make short, meaningful notes on post-its or in the margins of my handbook. I made murmurs of ascent when I agreed with something, or raised a quizzical eyebrow at those moments that caused me to pose a question. I was being a good student.
Perhaps more to the point, I was giving the appearance of being a good student. As a fourth grade teacher, I know what to look for and for the purposes of today's lesson, I was paying strict attention. There was no doodling. There were a few side conversations, but most of the silly or bizarre subjects were saved for our break times. I understood my role as a participant. I was not the star of the show.
That's the challenge for me, and others in my profession, to sit back and soak it in. When you are a teacher, the temptation is to show just how smart you already are, and just why you don't need to attend the workshop you're at in the first place, since what you do in your classroom works so very well. We're all experts. We generally come in with a great big chip on our shoulders inscribed with this motto: "What could these people possibly have to tell me that I don't already know?"
The truth is, a lot of the time we are mightily justified in our antagonism. I have sat through day-long orientations that amounted to having a manual read to us, page by page. So many of the things that we expect of ourselves as teachers fly out the window once we start teaching teachers. Keep it fun. Keep it focused. Don't just read from the book.
There was a little of that today, but I made a promise to myself to sit in my chair and stay on task until the bell rang at last at three o'clock. I did it as an exercise in understanding the experience of my students. The sun is out, and I've got thirty pages of homework to read. I can do it. I just don't know what kind of promises I can make about tomorrow.
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