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I always think of my uncle, Luke. A high school English teacher of over 50 years, he has dealt with ALL OF IT and has somehow maintained such a giving, benevolent spirit. How? How did he manage not to succumb to the cynicism that seems to hover around me every time I start grading? To be honest, one of the reasons I signed up for this course is because I’m afraid that I’m losing the joy in teaching (which directly effects the kindness in teaching) and I refuse to put that on my students’ shoulders. I need to find a new approach that will resonate with the students and with myself. Me being excited about the material is *not* enough. I am reading book upon book about interactive learning, but much of it is either failing in practice or not implementable in my classroom. Much of my own experience with learning was fear-based — do well or else. That’s not something I want to emulate. But I’m hopeful that this session will get me thinking more creatively in how to achieve the learning objectives in my courses.

The love for learning has been in my family for generations, but the most significant influence has come from both of my parents. They inspired me through storytelling and by modeling their own behaviors. My mother, in particular, was a lifelong learner. In addition to continuing her formal education in areas different from her original career, she would also take on new challenges—such as fixing small appliances—without prior knowledge, simply out of curiosity and determination. Both of my parents approached their work with diligence, perseverance, and genuine enjoyment. From them, I learned the importance of a strong work ethic—giving my best in any given moment and striving to contribute positively to others. Their example continues to guide how I approach my teaching and professional responsibilities. Joy, love, and kindness are present in my continuous effort to grow and improve, both personally and professionally. I am constantly updating and refining myself as an educator. Knowing that my students are gaining knowledge that will benefit not only their careers but also their lives brings me a deep sense of fulfillment. Although I do not know all of my students’ stories, the few they have shared over the years have shown me that learning can be a truly life-changing experience. Additionally, I find great joy in updating my courses, as it allows me to better support and engage my students.

Mr. Sassenberg. 11th grade English. You’ve probably encountered a version of a Mr. Sassenberg in a film or novel. He filled his classroom with props and transformed his lesson plans into performances. When we got to Romanticism, he lined the walls in forest green and dragged in a three-foot tree stump. Whenever we said something mediocre, he would pose on top of that stump as Rodin’s Thinker, begging us to make him reconsider what we’d said. Once, he plotted with my friend in class to set-up an over-the-top altercation about a homework assignment – the kind of over-the-top performance that had my friend turning over his desk and storming out of the room – just so as to dramatize our SAT word of the day (it was ‘irate’). But it’s not just that he was theatrical; it’s that he cared so much and went to great lengths to encourage potential. He also understood – in ways few teachers I ever had did – that a student’s attitude and failed assignments are not indicative of essential character traits. He taught me not just to imbue my lessons with passion and caring, but to never write off a student who might not respond to my pedagogy as I would have liked.

When I think of the ancestors who lift me up in my teaching I immediately think of my late friend Arnold. Arnold was an elderly man who I unexpectedly met at a recreational center. I was only 14 years old when I met Arnold and was at a point in my childhood where I was beginning to take on responsibilities. After graduating Junior High my parents insisted that I volunteer at a institution where I could get real world experience and understand the value of work. About 2 miles from where I lived stood a recreational center for the elderly. One hot summer afternoon I had walked into the establishment and was greeted by a tall man who had grey hair and a genuine smile. He introduced himself as Arnold and had offered me a box of oatmeal cookies and a Hersey bar. He immediately started talking to me as if I was his nephew and had introduced me to all the members of the establishment. He later asked if I had any relatives at the center. I told Arnold that my grandmother had passed 3 years earlier and I was there to volunteer so I could gain real world experience. He jokingly asked, “you don’t want to play ball with the other kids in the neighborhood?” I told him that my parents were pretty strict and did not let me hang out with my friends because my grades were poor. It was at that point that Arnold told me he was a retired school teacher and from that moment forward we had developed a strong bond that had lasted up until his passing. Up to this day I consider Arnold as the most influential mentor of my life. In the 10 years of knowing Arnold, he helped me through high school, encouraged me to continue my studies in college and after his passing I was motivated to continue my studies into graduate school. Arnold was a widow who never had the chance of having children but despite this he was a very graceful man who was full of happiness and had lit up a room everywhere he went. He was a World War 2 veteran who had lived through some of the most amazing times in history was always full of stories. Arnold’s wisdom and kindness is what led me to pursue teaching. Arnold saw potential in me that was hidden for years. I always thought of myself as a poor student who could not retain much information. After years of mentorship and encouragement by Arnold I came to understand that there is no such thing as a poor student. Everyone has potential. It is all about helping students recognize their potential so that they can live up to their fullest and pursue every dream they desire. This is what I strive to achieve as an instructor and a former student.

One of my ancestors of wisdom and heart is a student whom I’ll call N.K. He was in my Introduction to Literature class in 2015, and I still smile when I think of him. He thought everything was funny, even Oedipus the King. In a class in which nobody had much to say, he had to bottle up half his hilarious observations because, in addition to being smarter than everyone else, he was also socially aware and too kind to monopolize every discussion. He had both wisdom and heart and an inspiring sense of the absurd, also needed in teaching. Another ancestor of heart, if not wisdom, was another student from another year. A. became emotionally lost in every story and poem to the point where she would often burst into tears. During a segment on poetry, she agreed to bring in some of her own poetry. She had set the poems to music, which she played on the world’s tiniest ukelele. I smile when I think of her too. The chorus of one song, which she sang in an angelic voice—and which everyone soon joined in with— was “Ooooh, you are so f_ed up. Why are you so f__ed up?” And there is also the ancestor, a student from a non-Western culture, who inadvertently offended some of the women in class during a discussion. On the advice of his father and uncle, with whom he lived, he showed up to the next class with an apology and a red rose for every woman in the class. He inspired me with his heart and his openness to the wisdom of his elders, even though the high gallantry of his gesture was like a flip side of the perceived insult. My joy and love of teaching come from the students with whom I cross paths and who teach me all the time through their perceptions, culture, and ways of being.

When I think of joy and kindness in teaching, I think of my 7th grade Latin teacher. The subject was not a popular one amongst my peers (I secretly loved it – although I pretended otherwise with my friends), so she had a tough public to contend with. She was a small woman, but carried herself with great confidence and cool. She wore jeans, funky bandanas and sat cross-legged ON the desk while telling us about Greco-Roman deities. She brought great energy to each class. Even the students struggling with Latin conjugation had a smile on their face when listening to her. I will never have her natural cool and innate positivity… but I try to channel her when I find myself struggling to engage students on a topic.

I am grateful to come from a long line of educators who have positively impacted by life. I attended an alternative public high school that centered social justice and student-centered practices. Having the freedom to be myself and express myself in my academic life from ages 13-17 fundamentally rewired my brain to love learning forever. Two teachers in particular showed me that teaching is much more than dissemination of information. I grew as a person, a citizen, and a thinker because of their guidance and continue to rediscover what they taught me so many years later. My English and philosophy teacher once told me that, while I was occasionally did a less than acceptable job as a teaching assistant and student, I was born to be a teacher myself. I didn’t believe him! My parents are also educators. My father teaches high school Spanish and my mother has historically worked in childcare but is now an occupational therapist. My mother and I actually attended college together when I first enrolled in vocational school at age 19. I dropped out, but my mother didn’t. Her and my father’s persistence have shown me what is possible. This academic year was my first experience teaching. I’ve loved the entire experience even thought it’s been incredibly difficult and emotionally taxing. I get a lot of joy out of working with students to help their ideas come to life and do my best to cultivate a social, community-oriented space in the classroom. I’m a little shy about posting selfies, so here is a picture of my toothless cat Rex! I hope that is acceptable. I am happy to be here!

Two of my pedagogical ancestors are Paolo Freire and bell hooks, both of who showed me the way out of the banking model of education that I had come through. hooks especially challenges me to bring love to learning experiences I create and join in, and Pema Chödrön (among others) reminds me to stay present and that life is a practice. I only remember one course from college; the philosophy professor who guided us in that class was so passionate and inspired us through dialogic activities toward community-constructed learning. I also think of my second grade teacher as an ancestor; when I moved away just a few weeks before the school year ended, she gave me a big stack of books, a loving, kind gesture I carry with me still. And finally my mother, while not a teacher, left her country to come to the U.S. because she was denied an education beyond the age of 16. She passed on her curiosity and love of learning to all her children and grandchildren. While I’ve strived to bring joy, love, and kindness to learning experiences throughout my time as an educator, more recently I’ve been thinking about how very crucial these are at this particular moment, as they have been at other times of struggle in U.S. history. For those of you who have taken our seminars in the past, you may (or may not!) recognize joy in the cute animal photos shared (evidence-based focus enhancer!) or the embedded links in our emails. Love and kindness are a practice that I sometimes fall short of, especially when feeling particularly beleaguered by bureaucracy. I practice (over and over again) love through unconditional positive regard, loving the learner in front of me regardless of their actions and behavior. And this I learned from another ancestor, Alfie Kohn.