Patton Oswalt on Teaching

This post has profanity in it. But not mine.

I came across Patton Oswalt's blog today - not sure why. He's a comedian and actor; he was in The Fan, which I didn't see, and he was the voice of the rat in Ratatouille, which I did see but can't spell without looking up. He wrote a New Years post on phrases he hates, phrases that are not invited to 2010. It's called "These Phrases Are Not Invited To 2010." One of the phrases he is not inviting is "Those who can't, teach."

I've read a million saccharine posts and viral emails about how wonderful and inspiring we teachers are. They're not condescending at all! We love that! Here's one of them. I've seen it many times, most recently sitting on the lunch table during Faculty Appreciation Day. Skim it:

The dinner guests were sitting around the table discussing life. One man, a CEO, decided to explain the problem with education.

He argued: "What's a kid going to learn from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?"

He reminded the other dinner guests that it's true what they say about teachers: "Those who can...do. Those who can't...teach."

To corroborate, he said to another guest: "You're a teacher, Susan," he said. "Be honest. What do you make?"

Susan, who had a reputation of honesty and frankness, replied, "You want to know what I make?"

"I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could."

“I make kids believe in themselves when no one else will.”

"I make a C+ feel like a Congressional Medal of Honor and an A- feel like a slap in the face if the student did not do his or her very best."

"I make parents tremble in fear when I call home"

"You want to know what I make?

"I make kids wonder."

"I make them question."

"I make them criticize."

"I make them apologize and mean it."

"I make them write."

"I make them read, read, read."

"I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, and definitely beautiful over and over and over again, until they will never misspell either one of those words again."

"I make them show all their work in math and hide it all on their final drafts in English."

"I make them understand that if you have a dream, then follow it...and if someone ever tries to judge you by what you make or what you do, you pay them no attention."

"You want to know what I make?!"

"I make a difference."

"What about you?"

You tell him, Susan!

Of course, if they had left the camera running, the story would end with the CEO's response: "120 million dollars a year."

(Susan should also make them learn the rules for quotation marks.)

But here's a response to the "Those who can't, teach" saw that rings true with me. Oswalt captures the truth of it in a way that I hadn't heard before. Here:

"Those Who Can, Do. Those Who Can't, Teach"

Bullshit.

Yes, there are shitty teachers. There are unimaginative, by-rote educators who take no joy in their profession. Maybe they went in full of idealism and energy and got beaten down. Maybe they never had it. Yes, they exist. But the bulk of teachers -- at least, the ones I've encountered in my life -- teach because they are truly passionate about a subject, concept or discipline. They don't take any pleasure in the amassing of property or finance. I know that must sound like low-grade insanity, especially these days. They want to keep kicking open new rooms and dusting off windows in their minds and souls. They get a truly endorphic lift from delving deeper and deeper into something -- an author, an epoch, a science -- within which they perceive a teasing glimmer of the infinite.

And since there's only so much someone can read about a subject or person or book or piece of music, they create new strategies for revelation. One of the surest is to see the thing they love through untrained, unbiased eyes. In other words, students. Semester after semester, year after year, sometimes generation after generation, they watch how the changing world warps, diminishes, or builds up this thing they've become obsessed with.

People who toss this phrase off were probably shitty students, and were too dull to spot the passion in the eyes of their quality teachers. These were the assholes I encountered at college, who "studied for the test", and bragged about how, "I'm never gonna read another fucking book or listen to this faggy-ass music ever again..." and became lawyers who can't spell and who nod their heads to the same five Bon Jovi songs over their buffalo wings at Bennigan's.


I love that. Here's my favorite part, other than that whole Bon Jovi, Bennigan's cheap shot:

They get a truly endorphic lift from delving deeper and deeper into something -- an author, an epoch, a science -- within which they perceive a teasing glimmer of the infinite.

You tell 'em, Rat-chef man. Now take that last royalty check and buy your high school theater teacher a Mercedes.