I remember a teacher workshop from about ten years ago. I was in a group of five or six teachers. We were asked to name our greatest strength as a teacher. I think we were given some examples. The first person said it was his ability to relate to students. The second teacher said the same as did everyone else until it got to me. I was last. Before I talk about what I said let me point something else out: all teachers think that they can relate to students, even — maybe especially — ones who can’t. I remember in particular one of the teachers in the group that day was an older woman (older even than me!). I think she was used only as a sub and I recall that she was eventually let go. This woman could no more relate to students than I can relate to aardvarks. But she’d deluded herself into thinking that she was a “cool teacher” who “got” students and who students liked. There’s a lot of that. In a way it's a good thing. If you think you can't relate to students then what the hell are you doing there? But it's not as easy as it sounds and in many ways it's not as important as it sounds. If you can't relate to students but they learn from your class isn't that good enough.
Countless times during my career I’ve heard teachers talk about an activity they use in class and say something like: “the students love it.” No they don’t. Okay, sometimes they do but a lot of times I’ve known for a fact that students didn’t “love it” or even like it. One of the biggest problems that a lot of teachers — especially those who are new at the game — have: they haven’t a clue how students perceive them or their lessons and worse they think everything is hunky dory even when it isn't.
The first time I stood in front of a middle school class I was lecturing about a topic in U.S. History. As far as I knew everything was peachy. But at one point a student interrupted and quietly pointed out: “ain’t no one listening to you.” I looked around the room and I mean I carefully looked around the room and noted that the young man was right.
Over the years I learned how to “read a room.” I can tell if I’m losing a class, or half a class, or several students or one student. It’s second nature to me now. It was an impossibility for me at the beginning of my career as it remains for many teachers throughout much if not all of their time as a teacher.
Recognizing how a class is responding to a lesson is critical in teaching. Because I can do it I regularly “call audibles.” Students are zoning out after too much grammar? I stick them in groups and give them a few lively topics to discuss. Students haven’t really understood something? Instead of moving on to the next topic we stick with it for awhile.
You look for bored faces. You look for confused faces. You look for frustrated faces. You also look for content and happy and satisfied faces. Students will tell you how they feel without saying a word. It’s crucial in ESL because students from a lot of cultures — particularly Asian ones — are hesitant about asking questions, especially when they flat out don’t understand.
(I once had a class of eight Japanese students. On Thursday we reviewed the week's vocabulary. When we finished I asked for any questions, if there were any words they ween't clear on. Silence. The next day I gave a vocabulary test and six of the eight did poorly, they clearly didn't understand most of the words. I gave them a lecture about the importance of asking questions then I invented a question-asking exercise on the spot. They got better.)
Let’s circle back to the first paragraph. So how about it? Can I relate to students? Yeah, I suppose. But more importantly I can sense their needs. I generally know when they don’t understand, when they need to talk, when a certain activity isn’t to their liking, when they could use a laugh, when I need to be a little tough, when I need to give some TLC or a pep talk. I know how to read a room.
I probably come off as a braggart. I’m not. I take teaching — not myself — quite seriously. I’ve been doing it for forty years. I’ve learned one helluva lot about the job. Anyway, I’m just stating facts. I never refer to myself as a “great” teacher — no good teacher does, I’m simply doing my job as best I can.
You may be wondering what I said was my greatest strength as a teacher that day. Here it is: I’m reflective and have the ability to see when a lesson had a problem and needs tweaking and when a lesson went well and how to maximize it.
I felt kind of bad about my answer because it seemed like I was showing up the other teachers. Didn’t mean to, just being honest. Anyway, they probably didn’t notice.
