Our Mutual Friend
“I suppose you,” said Eugene, “judging from what I see as I look at you, to be rather too passionate for a good schoolmaster.” As he spoke, he tossed away the edge of his cigar. (Charles Dickens, Our Mutual Friend, p. 289)
Does a good teacher repress himself daily to discharge his duties well? Should he dismiss man's nature? Is she highly qualified? Is she ever too passionate? Should he wear a different suit every day of the week, or failing that, a different necktie? Does he forget to match his belt to his shoes? Does he teach like a prizefighter or an architect? Does she sit behind her desk or stand on it? Does he show up on time or always a few minutes late? Is he sad about life? Does she let the students know she is sad, and why? Does he teach with white-hot passion or cool solemn apathy? Does she make good lesson plans? Does she care about MLA citations or not? Does she disappoint her administrators? Does she do so as a matter of principle? Does he shine his shoes when nobody looks? Does he leave the room out of frustration sometimes? Throw the kid's books out the window? Should she make the obnoxious kid cry or give him confidence? Should she do both? Does he move through the ranks and succeed his master? Does he flip a coin to decide whether or not he will attend graduation because every year some of his graduates will think they have mattered to him more than others and he wants them to believe that? Does he believe that?
Note 1: “I’ll start by saying a great teacher is a tough guy who cares deeply about something that is hard to understand.” (Norman Maclean, “This Quarter I Am Taking McKeon”)
Note 2: “Is he? Competence is hard to define. He stays in the room with them, which is the most important thing. Furthermore, he’s faithful to me. He’s faithful.” (John Updike, The Centaur)