The Classroom. It was a standard classroom on a university campus with tile floors, a large chalkboard, a podium that I could use if I wanted, 25 wooden desks, and 25 students looking up to me with note pads and pens in hand on the first day of class. The air conditioning kept the room almost too cold. This was the first day of the first time I had ever taught a university-level class.
I was nervous and I hoped that the students didn’t notice. I wrote my name on the chalkboard. My hands shook slightly as I passed out the syllabus that I had put together the previous week. I introduced myself as a first year Ph.D. student who had grown up in West Virginia and was new to Texas. One student, Julie, raised her hand and said she had grown up in Charleston before moving to Texas her sophomore year in high school. I told her that I grew up near Huntington and went to Marshall University for my BA and MA degrees. She asked about the Marshall plane crash that killed the football team. I indicated that it had happened about a mile or so from my house and that I was actually there that night.
One young man, John, a freshman, jumped into the discussion and said he was on the football team. He stated very clearly that he had never flown in a plane and was not sure about having to fly to some of the away games this fall. Despite a few laughs from some of the other students, he noted that President Reagan had fired thousands of air traffic controllers a couple of weeks ago and he didn’t trust the new ones that were filling in for the more experienced controllers. Not sure how to respond, I indicated that I had no doubt that the new ones had been rigorously trained by the Federal Aviation Administration. I don’t think my response really calmed his fears.
I went around the room and let students introduce themselves and identify their home town and their major if they had decided upon one. Those that identified a major I asked them to explain why they had picked that field of study. All of the students were in the class because it was required by the university to graduate. I asked who would have taken the class were it not required and only three raised their hands. I knew at that moment that it was imperative that I make this class in basic American government and politics relevant to their everyday lives.
“So, what do you want to learn in this class?” Not giving them enough time to answer, I quickly asked them who had taken a course in government in high school. All of them raised their hands. One student noted that government was a required course to graduate from high school in Texas. I asked them if they had read the Bill of Rights. Most raised their hands. I moved on to another question, “So, what is free speech?”
John, the football player, quickly replied, “It means that I basically can say anything I want and the government can’t stop me.”
I replied with two questions, “Anything you want? So, can people say anything they want in this class?”
Sarah in the front row timidly said, “Yes, they can.”
I then replied with another two questions, “So what if one of the students uses the “n” word when speaking to John in a class discussion? Should I as an instructor working for the state be able to prevent that type of speech in this class?” There was an awkward silence in the classroom. Rather than wait for an answer I then asked another question, “Should students be able to protest outside this building and use bullhorns that are so loud that I am unable to teach in the classroom?” Sarah quickly said, “No, they would be interfering with my education process, my rights, so the university should be able to prevent that from happening.”
One perceptive student, Jamie, sitting in the back of the class raised her hand. “I think the point you are trying to make is that free speech is never absolute. It must be balanced against the rights of others or the community as a whole.”
“Absolutely correct. None of the Bill of Rights are absolute. Individual rights must be balanced with other individual rights or the rights of the community as a whole. This is one of the basic themes that we want to explore this semester.”
We had a similar question and answer discussion about freedom of the press. Still, only a handful of students participated. I dismissed class and the perceptive student, Jamie, from the back of the class, walked up to me and said she was a senior education major. She liked the way I handled the class but she said, “I know some of the questions you asked were rhetorical but others, you know, you should go ahead and simply wait until someone answers. Even if there is an awkward silence for a minute or two. Over time it will encourage more participation. Trust me.” She turned and walked away.
I had not received any training as a teacher. I was simply imitating the styles of my own favorite teachers. For the next few weeks, I decided to follow the advice of Jamie, the soon to be high school teacher. I waited, despite what sometimes seemed to be an eternity, until someone answered my questions. By the end of the third week participation had increased dramatically. I spoke to Jamie before the next class. “What you said after class on the first day works. Thank you. I learned something from you.” Jamie smiled and sat down in the front row rather than the seat she had occupied in the back of the class. From then on I couldn’t wait to get in the classroom to teach the students and to learn from them. I began to refer to them as “my” students.
That first class that I taught changed my academic path. I had originally seen myself simply as a researcher working at a large research institution. I was now on the path to be a teacher first and a researcher second. My career was set. Thank you Jamie, where ever you are now, for teaching me to listen to my students.
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