Before lexicographer Samuel Johnson began writing his famous periodical, The Rambler, he prayed: “Almighty Father, giver of all good things, without whose help all labor is ineffectual and without whose grace all wisdom is folly, grant I beseech Thee that in this undertaking Thy holy spirit may not be withheld from me….” I like Sam’s prayer so much I quote it before entering classrooms.
The Lord helps those who help themselves, and I believe He helps those who don’t help themselves enough. Sometimes I’ve entered classrooms ill prepared, only to have the session turn out productively; sometimes I’ve entered classrooms so well prepared I felt like a walking encyclopedia, only to have the session flop. Such was the case recently when I gave an unusual composition assignment.
While discussing how to write argumentatively (or persuasively, as euphemists say), I challenged the students to collaborate in a project: Write an essay explaining why the curmudgeonly Mr. Reed, who fills their heads with mush, should be fired. I thought such an unusual topic would pique their imaginations, and hoped that, by letting them collectively roast their over-demanding teacher, I might make the unsavory task of learning to write college compositions more palatable.
Promising that nothing they conjured up would hurt my feelings, I quoted what Scottish writer Thomas Carlyle once said: “No man lives without jostling and being jostled; in all ways he has to elbow himself through the world, giving and receiving offense.”
For politically correct people, such thinking is probably offensive, but I agree with Carlyle, and on that basis gave the students what I thought would be an appealing assignment.
A student raised her hand. “You told us argumentative compositions must be serious and debatable. Why are you asking us to poke fun at you, and be sarcastic and cruel?”
Unwilling to relent, I gave an equivocating answer and dismissed the class. As they trooped out, their frowns indicated my bright idea wasn’t so bright. The next session, I could tell by their smug looks that the crew of the good ship English Composition had mutinied.
When I read their essay, I realized that, in an unexpected way, we all succeeded: I, because the students undertook my challenge with determination; they, because the essay was a well-written product of collective imagination.
The students prefaced their paper with a hypothetical scenario: My termination was being considered because I was the most recent hire, and a precipitous enrollment drop reduced the need for teachers.
However, instead of arguing that I should get the boot, they used all the elements an argumentative essay should contain to persuade readers that I should be retained. The students got A’s; I got a priceless memory.
American educator Gilbert Highet once said, “A teacher affects eternity: He never knows when or where his influence stops.”
Considering my experience with these wonderful youngsters, I say, “Students affect eternity; they never know how their positive attitudes affect teachers who hope to affect eternity.”
I also say: Thanks, kids.
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
