I was made to write this.
Upon receipt of the instructions, I slowly unfolded my arms. I policed my face for a scowl and was pleased to find none.
I picked up my purple Stabilo and I wrote:
“I think that a great teacher is knowledgeable, a great communicator, and a humane agent of creativity (both for themselves and fostering creativity in others).
A great teacher is also organised and has clarity of purpose.
I’d like to develop the following in order to get closer to my ideal:
1) deepen my understanding of the threshold concepts that form the milestones of my curricula;
2) communicate with greater empathy and clarity – simple messages that spur students and colleagues to fruitful practice;
and 3) move beyond the administrative and strive to create cerebral and memorable learning experiences.
To achieve the above, I need clear objectives and a straightforward understanding of curriculum development – from objectives to short-term planning.
I also need simple and clear organisational strategies – the means to avoid repetitious data-handling – to make sure that I don’t administrate myself out of humanity.”
I wrote this quickly, stopped and furtively looked about me. I folded the paper with no little precision and slid it smoothly into my satchel. I felt the paper pulse in my satchel as I walked from the hall.
I think I may have alluded to a life’s work: the reason why teaching feels like I have hit the Mother lode.
Next week, the maelström rears again and a centrifugal sea of children’s faces will rise to circle me once more.
I’m so excited. And so English in my concealment thereof.