I will never forget my first orientation meeting at Bryn Mawr College in 1976. I was a young and
nervous student when our class gathered with our Dean to hear her say, among other things, "In high
school, 100% of you were in the top 10% of your class. Here, at Bryn Mawr, only 10% of you will
be." Welcome to Bryn Mawr, I thought, with its 12-hour days in the library, weekly papers in the
infamous Freshman English class, fruit-fly experiments with 3:00 AM check-ins to preserve insect
chastity, 100-page honors theses, and donut-hour temptations during calculus class, all balanced
with basketball, admissions tours, and student internships. Over the course of those four years,
however, my opening orientation jitters faded away, and I got stubborn, determined, and confident.
At graduation, I was proud of myself for my resolve and, at the same time, I was aware of those who
hadn't made it. I wondered what distinguished those who had from those who had not.
To answer at least part of that question, I began my teaching career at a small, girls' boarding
school. It was a school for students with incredibly low levels of confidence. Whatever the culprit
- high-pressured families, talented siblings, exposure to poor and insensitive teaching - those girls
were completely unaware of what was within them. The school strove to reverse all of that, and it
did, in a methodical, clear, and consistent way. It is impossible to point to one reason for the
successful implementation of its philosophy - the truly caring faculty, the school's three core
principles, the highly-individualized advisor program, the emphasis on process first and product
next, the humor, or the fact that we were all believers, but it worked. This was a school that lived
its catalogue, and the experience had a profound effect on how I developed as an educator. When I
decided to leave, I was eager to discover whether that approach would work in a completely
different environment, so I selected a position at a school that seemed opposite: a coeducational,
academically competitive, urban, day school with 650 students, as opposed to a single-sex,
purposely non-competitive, rural, boarding school with fewer than 130 students. In a very short
time, it was clear that none of those differences mattered, and the results were equally profound.
The approach drew students in, and their appreciation and relief were palpable. The two
experiences led me to one, non-earth-shattering conclusion. All students are in need of a caring
school experience. It is the personal connection and the sensitivity to each student's history and
needs that will move the student to the product. Furthermore, it is the process, not the product, that
the student will remember.
My complete commitment to diversity is a natural extension of that base. Diversity is the
personal connection and the sensitivity to each person's history and needs. As educators and role
models it is imperative that we strive to understand each child's background, beliefs, ethnicity,
learning style, race, religion, sexual orientation, and socioeconomic class. It is imperative that we
realize not only that every person in our society does not come with the same level of acceptance,
respect, and privileges, but that these conditions do, in fact, affect the manner in which we live our
lives. It is also imperative that our actions, words, curriculum, overall program and population are
permeated with the goals of broad, inclusive exposure and understanding to the extent that every
single class, play, sport, assembly, speech, film, disciplinary decision, admissions acceptance,
discussion, and employee appointment - every single act - is carried out with those in mind. It is
only in this manner, a fully-supported manner, that we will eventually reverse society's deep-rooted
offenses and ultimately relish the richness of our world.
At times, I imagine that I am a teacher in a classroom in which there is a very quiet student.
Weeks and weeks pass and the student remains still, silent, and unsure. I am careful to include her
and to challenge her, but I am also careful not to put her on the spot and force her to a position she is
not yet willing to assume. One day, long into the school year, the student feels safe enough to raise
her hand. I notice her immediately and am so excited that she is taking a step, a risk. I am also a bit
nervous, though, because I want to handle it perfectly, so I listen carefully and sensitively, but, to be
honest, with this student, I am a little more careful and a little more sensitive than usual. I know that
no matter what she says, I will take it in and value it and encourage her classmates to do the same,
so that they may appreciate her and maybe even understand her, a bit.
That student, for me, represents the voices out there that need to be heard, that need to be listened
to with the utmost degree of openness, sensitivity, and caring - the voices that not for just weeks and
weeks but for years and years have remained still and silent. We must remember that we are talking
about people's cores, souls, and self-definitions. It is not a process that should be put on hold or
stopped and started with hasty judgments. Otherwise, it screams of fraudulence and continues to
weaken people's hopes for true change.
nervous student when our class gathered with our Dean to hear her say, among other things, "In high
school, 100% of you were in the top 10% of your class. Here, at Bryn Mawr, only 10% of you will
be." Welcome to Bryn Mawr, I thought, with its 12-hour days in the library, weekly papers in the
infamous Freshman English class, fruit-fly experiments with 3:00 AM check-ins to preserve insect
chastity, 100-page honors theses, and donut-hour temptations during calculus class, all balanced
with basketball, admissions tours, and student internships. Over the course of those four years,
however, my opening orientation jitters faded away, and I got stubborn, determined, and confident.
At graduation, I was proud of myself for my resolve and, at the same time, I was aware of those who
hadn't made it. I wondered what distinguished those who had from those who had not.
To answer at least part of that question, I began my teaching career at a small, girls' boarding
school. It was a school for students with incredibly low levels of confidence. Whatever the culprit
- high-pressured families, talented siblings, exposure to poor and insensitive teaching - those girls
were completely unaware of what was within them. The school strove to reverse all of that, and it
did, in a methodical, clear, and consistent way. It is impossible to point to one reason for the
successful implementation of its philosophy - the truly caring faculty, the school's three core
principles, the highly-individualized advisor program, the emphasis on process first and product
next, the humor, or the fact that we were all believers, but it worked. This was a school that lived
its catalogue, and the experience had a profound effect on how I developed as an educator. When I
decided to leave, I was eager to discover whether that approach would work in a completely
different environment, so I selected a position at a school that seemed opposite: a coeducational,
academically competitive, urban, day school with 650 students, as opposed to a single-sex,
purposely non-competitive, rural, boarding school with fewer than 130 students. In a very short
time, it was clear that none of those differences mattered, and the results were equally profound.
The approach drew students in, and their appreciation and relief were palpable. The two
experiences led me to one, non-earth-shattering conclusion. All students are in need of a caring
school experience. It is the personal connection and the sensitivity to each student's history and
needs that will move the student to the product. Furthermore, it is the process, not the product, that
the student will remember.
My complete commitment to diversity is a natural extension of that base. Diversity is the
personal connection and the sensitivity to each person's history and needs. As educators and role
models it is imperative that we strive to understand each child's background, beliefs, ethnicity,
learning style, race, religion, sexual orientation, and socioeconomic class. It is imperative that we
realize not only that every person in our society does not come with the same level of acceptance,
respect, and privileges, but that these conditions do, in fact, affect the manner in which we live our
lives. It is also imperative that our actions, words, curriculum, overall program and population are
permeated with the goals of broad, inclusive exposure and understanding to the extent that every
single class, play, sport, assembly, speech, film, disciplinary decision, admissions acceptance,
discussion, and employee appointment - every single act - is carried out with those in mind. It is
only in this manner, a fully-supported manner, that we will eventually reverse society's deep-rooted
offenses and ultimately relish the richness of our world.
At times, I imagine that I am a teacher in a classroom in which there is a very quiet student.
Weeks and weeks pass and the student remains still, silent, and unsure. I am careful to include her
and to challenge her, but I am also careful not to put her on the spot and force her to a position she is
not yet willing to assume. One day, long into the school year, the student feels safe enough to raise
her hand. I notice her immediately and am so excited that she is taking a step, a risk. I am also a bit
nervous, though, because I want to handle it perfectly, so I listen carefully and sensitively, but, to be
honest, with this student, I am a little more careful and a little more sensitive than usual. I know that
no matter what she says, I will take it in and value it and encourage her classmates to do the same,
so that they may appreciate her and maybe even understand her, a bit.
That student, for me, represents the voices out there that need to be heard, that need to be listened
to with the utmost degree of openness, sensitivity, and caring - the voices that not for just weeks and
weeks but for years and years have remained still and silent. We must remember that we are talking
about people's cores, souls, and self-definitions. It is not a process that should be put on hold or
stopped and started with hasty judgments. Otherwise, it screams of fraudulence and continues to
weaken people's hopes for true change.
| EDUCATIONAL PHILOSOPHY |
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