As a former
elementary classroom teacher, the idea of modeling instructional strategies in
middle school classrooms scared the bejesus out of me. And now here I was
tasked with modeling in the class from “Dangerous Minds.” When I had last set foot in this seventh
grade classroom for an observation I nearly had to dodge a punch as I walked in
the door. I’m exaggerating, of course, but in all honesty I thought I was being
“punked” - that someone had set this up as joke, maybe as an initiation into
coaching.
Students were shouting out
disrespectful comments toward their peers as well as their teacher. They were throwing things at each other,
passing notes, and basically doing anything and everything except
learning. I kept waiting for the teacher
or students to point at me and say, “Gotcha!” and then go back to working
diligently on their assignment. But that
never happened. This was in fact the
class from hell.
So, when I was asked to model a lesson
for this teacher I wondered if I would come out of it alive. Needless to say, I bombed the lesson. In all
fairness I “managed” the class as well as I could. They were respectful . . .
enough. But, there was no glory on my part.
I did not walk into that class and “show the teacher how it was done.”
Coaches are not without egos. In all truthfulness,
we like to think that we know what we are doing and are pretty damn good at
it. So, when our modeled lessons turn
into disasters, we can taste our pride as it slips down our throats.
As I left the classroom the teacher
looked at me curiously and said, “Thanks?”
“Great -” I thought. “My first chance to prove to these middle school
teachers that it wouldn’t be a worthless endeavor to work with me, and I ruined
it.” To make matters worse, I had to
model for this same teacher the very next day.
I couldn’t sleep that night. Finally I resigned to simply do the best I
could, and to use my failure to inspire reflection on my practice, just as I
ask teachers to do. I had gotten so
caught up in needing to appear “an expert” to the teachers for whom I was
modeling that I had neglected to think about the students. What was it they needed?
The next day I went in vulnerable but
with nothing to lose. I took off the
“expert” hat and was simply myself. As a
classroom teacher I was always pretty laid back, and if I must admit it, pretty
darn funny. The students responded so
much better to me than they did the “expert” that was in their room the
previous day, and the results were miraculous.
I didn’t want to leave when the lesson was over, and neither did the
students. They did FANTASTIC, and the
lesson was a success. As I walked out
the door the teacher was glowing and called down the hall to me, “That was amazing!”
I cannot decide which was more
valuable: failing in front of that teacher, or successfully modeling in her
classroom. I think it is crucial that we
as coaches do not get hung up on being the experts. First of all, we aren’t. And second of all, students and teachers
alike don’t need experts. They need people who are willing to be vulnerable and
real because learning from our failures is as necessary to teaching and
learning as success is.
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