LY #84: Coward-ly Comments or Another Thing I'll Miss About Teaching

Noel Coward (Criterion Collection)

The first day of my last Winter Quarter of teaching was just like every other.  It started at 5:00 a.m. with unhappy sinuses and a bad back letting me know they weren't rested from my night of fitful sleep.  In other words, I woke miserable, tired, and feeling every one of my sixty years.

As I walked the dog three hours later, I softly sang a song by Noel Coward:  "Why Must the Show Go On."  In this lively ditty, the late, great 20th Century master of English theatrical wit wonders why showfolk insist on going on stage when they are suffering.

"Why stifle a sob when doing your job
When, if you'd use your head,
You'd go out and grab
A comfortable cab,
And go right home to bed?"

But later in the day, when I met my three classes, I knew at least one answer to that question:  because performance can be a curative.

For me, the first day of of classes is an event that masks and overturns almost any unhappiness and discomfort.  Because I have communication apprehension, I always push through my anxiety about meeting new students by entering each new class "big."  I'm loud, move a lot, and have a routine that strives for humor.  Sometimes, when I'm lucky, I have classes that respond with smiles and laughter.  This happened yesterday in my late afternoon public speaking class.  I got laughs all the way through class -- which, of course, stimulated a lot of goofy side comments from me which resulted in more laughter from them.

Classrooms, like every f2f communication situation, are reciprocal, self-regulating systems.  I like to have fun and I think that my interest in fun is usually (not always) appreciated by my students, especially in the fear-inducing setting of the public communication classroom.

Yesterday's public speaking class began with the roll call followed by my swift decision about where to cut off the long wait list.  I usually allow 3 extra people into the class with the hopes that at least three folks will drop out after the first two speeches.  It's important to keep the class at the required number of students because of the time needed for the student speeches themselves throughout the quarter.  I explained this to the students before calling the names on the waitlist.  After three names I made the cutoff.  I said told the six folks who did not make the cut, "Sorry, good-bye, and thanks for playing our game.  Better luck next quarter."  This got a laugh yesterday from those remaining in the class.

After that decision, I always play a game I call Toss.  Students tossed two Koosh balls and a soft dog ball back and forth.  They are required to toss over the head of at least one colleague and not allow the ball to drop to the floor.  Laughter ensues during the activity.  After I stopped the game and have them turn in the tossed objects, I tell them.  "I do have a reason for having you play this game.  First -- because it amuses me."  This got a huge laugh yesterday.  Then I went on to talk about the pedagogical reason -- that success in Toss requires skills and attitudes that are shared with success in public speaking. 

I had two other classes yesterday (my Tuesdays end at 8:25 after the completion of my once-a-week interpersonal communication class).  While neither was as lively as the public speaking class, each had their own positive energy.  If performance were the only part of teaching, if I could be like the peripatetic philosophers and not worry about grading these people with whom I'm in relationship, I might not be retiring this spring.

LY #28 What I love about teaching! (1) Part of a Series?

I had one of those moments, this morning.

The students in my speech bootcamp killed doing their second speech.  They were hot!  The change in delivery skills from yesterday's introduction speech to today's 3 Point evocative was astonishing.  Yesterday they read their speeches and many had little energy.  Today their faces were off their papers, they smiled and made great eye contact, many had natural gestures, and they stood tall and spoke smoothly.  Their performances were filled with honest emotion.  It was terrific.  I sat there and listened to the stories about parents and children and friends and just smiled and smiled, except when the stories were too sad.  Three of the students themselves cried during their speeches but all stayed up in front of the room.

The tribute/eulogy that evoked the most tears across the room was about a dog.  One student asked me yesterday if paying tribute to a dog was allowed.   I said yes.  Her speech was organized appropriately, followed all the structure rules, and was deeply moving.   In the main point focused on the dog's courageousness, she talked about how he had blocked her childhood bedroom door from a father who had violent drunk rages.  Wow.

I love to see the miracle of anxiety made invisible, courageousness come out, and I will miss it.  It makes me smile so much.

It's not uncommon for the bootcamp students to excel in the second speech they have to write overnight.  Nevertheless, this was an exceptional group.  Now, I just hope that our second weekend together (November 1, 2, 3) they do as well on their informative and persuasive speeches.