A Beautiful, Double-Edged Sword

I firmly believe that teaching something you love can be one of the best and most rewarding experiences of which we as humans are capable.  There is so much richness to the action.  I always learn more, see more, when I am the one teaching.  I don't know what it is about telling it to someone else that makes the hidden wonders of whatever it is, literature, mythology, even grammar, reveal themselves.  

Even better, there is that moment when I see enjoyment, recognition, comfort in the eyes of my students.  They connect to something larger than themselves, and it's like seeing the sun cut through storm clouds.  There is absolutely nothing like that, like knowing you've been a part, however small, of helping to add to the world around somebody in a positive way.

The blade has another edge to it, though.  Sometimes, that beautiful experience can turn around and cut you wide open when the effort to share meets hostility, rejection, apathy.  I've had years like that, and what is usually a source of shared wonder becomes painful as the teaching instinct is repeatedly thwarted.

This year is not one of those years.  I have had several wonderful days lately that have reinforced that, days where everybody plays along, days where I have overheard students with nothing to gain and who weren't even aware I could hear them saying, "I ain't gonna lie.  I got into it yesterday," when talking about Hamlet.  These are the days that make the moments of darkness bearable.  These are the days to fold up and store carefully away so when the blade in my hand accidentally does me some harm, I can use them as a magic cure and wait for the good to come again.