Volunteer Teacher
Thanks for having me, Bob. I am honored to be part of the Club. Good timing too, as I’ve been meaning to get some bloggage going but have let the mind-numbing particulars of pixel manipulation keep from actually uploading words into the pipeline. With the year ending and some down time to contemplate, I’ve been thinking about the following quite a bit and this seems like a perfect opportunity to put it down and stake my introductory flag on Mumble. Have at ye.
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The first subject I ever taught to an official “class” was the Yang Style 24 Tai Chi form to a group of friends in Elysian Park. I had studied Taoism and Taijiquan for two years with a Chinese Master, and he had given me the go-ahead to lead a small beginner’s class towards learning this basic and popular set of martial art moves that frequently occupy old people in comfortable track suits and are reputedly among the most lethal in the world.
I met with the group (which included my wife and my brother) and began leading a willing group of people with my words and actions, unsure that I could channel a measure of knowledge to them, a knowledge that I wasn’t even sure I myself possessed. But I acted the part and gradually conveyed some of the basic movements and philosophy of the Yang 24, as best as I understood them at the time. Therein lied a great revelation: for even as a teacher, my understanding of the subject matter was always developing. Even the highest teacher remains a student to the subject matter, and the resonant affect of teaching someone anything allows you to know your subject and yourself better. The role of a teacher allows a different perspective.
This lesson- the teacher learning from the student- is obvious enough that tinged with a Chinese accent it becomes a weary punch line. But obvious things have never been my specialty, and I often take a circuitous route to the most pedestrian and common sensibilities. I was 32 years old when I taught my first class, and more than a decade had passed since I attended a formal learning institution (not counting some martial arts and yoga practice I had undertaken.) Despite attending a great public school with excellent teachers, having lots of friends and girls and extracurricular activities and getting decent grades, I detested school from about 2nd grade until the bitter last days of high school. And when I went to college, hoping the idyllic sunshine of Southern California would at least partially offset my repulsion to the classroom setting and allow for a modicum of higher education, as soon as I really put two and two together and understood that I was now paying a royal price to attend school, I bailed out on the whole operation and never stepped in an admissions office again.
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