Today I received a golden opportunity -- a true gift -- and I hope I took proper advantage of it. In one of my classes, an activity I had planned completely bombed. Right from the start, the kids were not into it; they reacted in exactly the opposite way from what I had hoped. I thought it would be an inspiring, enjoyable project, but to them it seemed more funny than inspiring, more silly than enjoyable. They were very respectful in their reactions, but their negative opinions were clear. I think I reacted to their response fairly well. I maintained a relatively (though not completely) calm exterior, and, once it was clear that the activity was not working, I quietly moved on to another part of my lesson. Despite my utter disappointment, I stayed composed and unperturbed, at least on the surface. Later, as I reflected back on it, I saw in my mind a picture I have often seen when thinking about failed lessons. I saw the earth from far away in outer space, moving among the innumerable planets and stars. I saw how relatively insignificant my students and I are when set against the background of the infinite universe. Millions of people on earth are hungry to the point of death as I write; millions of people are celebrating wonderful achievement or anniversaries; millions of people are crying right this minute because of some serious sorrow in their lives; and in space innumerable galaxies are sailing along as they have been for billions of years. Against this, how can I possibly fret about a tiny failure in an infinitesimal English lesson in modest Stonington, Connecticut?
Perhaps I should thank the students for the gift of wisdom they unknowingly gave me.
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