The Gatekeeper

“Education is that which remains, if one has forgotten everything he learned in school.”  -- Albert Einstein

There is a phenomenon off the coasts of Peru and Chili that occurs in the Pacific Ocean waters.  It is a strong, cold current that runs along the continent’s edge and slams into the steep continental shelf.  When it does so, it dredges up water from the ocean floor that contains rich nutrients and microscopic life and pushes them to the surface.  These nutrient-rich waters support a variety of sea life in a food chain that results in some of the best fishing in the world.  It is estimated that one-fifth of all the world’s fishing happens in these waters.  This amazing, life-giving phenomenon is called the Humboldt Current, and its impact is incalculable, for fishing is only a portion of its benefits.

It is said that the very air that comes off the current is filled with life-sustaining nutrients.  As the air moves inland off the ocean and is warmed, it forms a dense fog that travels to the foothills of the Andes Mountains.  The fog layers itself onto trees and makes them lush and green, then condenses, and drips onto the ground and feeds the plants and wildlife on the forest floor.  This occurs in an area that is some of the driest on earth, receiving as little as four inches of rain a year.  What should be a desert wasteland is watered and fed by the benevolent Humboldt.  It is a miraculous interaction between unrelated biomes.  The Humboldt Current flings its life-giving waters to plants and animals many miles away with elevations up to 2,000 feet high.  It is a remarkable and beautiful reminder that God is the very essence of creativity.

This is akin to what I long for as I stand in my classroom in the middle of the North Dakota prairie.  When I teach my first graders about math, and reading, and the wonders of a world beyond our narrow horizons, I want it to change their very lives.  And then I want them to go out and change their world.  I want the ripple effect in the lives of six-year-olds from the middle of nowhere to be to grow up and make a positive mark on this big blue marble. 

Is that so inconceivable?  I do not think so.

I think a person’s ability to be a positive force in their own universe has less to do with opportunity, breeding, or income, and more to do with the awakening of curious discovery and exploration.  Some of the greatest leaders and innovators in history began humbly, but rose to greatness because they had awakened in them the desire to create or govern or investigate or entertain. 

The Teacher is merely a conduit.  We hold the keys, but we are lowly Gatekeepers.  But this Gatekeeper has lofty goals for landlocked, farming kids.  I throw open the creaking gate every single day and urge them to run through it and chase whatever curious knowledge sparks their little minds...

“Run, children!  Race the wind to the four corners of earth and laugh with delight at the marvels you will discover.  Spend your entire lives calling out to Knowledge and her sister Discovery.  Then lie on the grass and revel in the feeling of having learned something you never knew before. Be satisfied for a brief moment until a new thought pops in your head or the wind whispers a compelling question in your tiny ear.”

They are as bright as any other kid on the planet, these students of mine.  They do not get expensive tutoring or join flashy traveling teams, or hang out at the mall.  But they can ask a question and explore its answer just like anyone else.  They are inquisitive, whole-idea thinkers who long to absorb as much information as I can fling at them. 

I was reminded of this recently and encouraged to hang tenaciously to my dreams.  I attended the funeral of a man I had never met, but he was my friend’s father and I went for her sake.  As I listened to others recount his life and deeds, I was struck by the love affair this man had had with knowledge.  He had a wide variety of interest, from astronomy to horticulture, and while he was not formally trained in those areas, he taught himself to become knowledgeable and something of an expert in those areas that intrigued him. 

This is the very thing I envision for my students; that they will become lifelong learners who know how to find the answers to the questions that interest them.

One of my favorite quotes goes like this:

“The purpose of education is to learn to die satiated with life.”

                                                    -- Oscar Kwageley

Satiated.

I love that word and the simple meaning of this man’s use of it.  Satiated is to be filled to the point of perfect satisfaction (Vonda’s definition).  I want to die content that I have answered as many questions about life and this world as I possibly could.  I never want to grow weary with learning or consider it drudgery. 

I want my students to have the same longings for learning.

I began this journey only recently.  I will soon turn fifty years of age and am only in my second year of formal teaching.  Going back to college as a middle-aged, mother of four has all been chronicled in my first blog, Diary of a First Year Teacher:  Beginning Your Career at the End of Your Life.  It was quite an adventure.

My teaching goals are no different, really, from the goals I carried around in my heart as a mother of three boys and a daughter.  Of humble beginnings come great leaders, I have always known.  I wished such things for Trevor, Ryan, Cody, and Hannah – the joy and light of my heart.  For most of their growing up years, I stayed home and immersed myself in being the best darn mother I knew to be.  I am proud of their journeys and the young adults they are blossoming into.  I feel it was time well spent and regret not a single day of it. 

Teaching feels like an extension of mothering.  I love and care about these kids very much.  I dry their tears, and listen to their tattlings, and clean up their puke, and shove tissues onto green, slimy noses.  I also hold great hope for them.  I believe in them and their abilities. 

This is what I say to them,

“Do not tell me you can’t.  Tell me it is hard, or that it is boring, or that you simply do not want to try.  But don’t tell me you can’t.  For I believe you can.”

January 18^th of this year celebrated the first anniversary of the first day I stepped into the classroom as a licensed teacher.  It was the end of a year filled with every emotion under the sun, smiles by the truckload, and the beginning of a new chapter.  I toyed with the idea of ending the chronicling of my journey and the tales it produces, but there are simply too many wonderful, and awful, and life-changing experiences to share.  These children of mine, my Little Darlings, as I affectionately refer to them, are a microcosm of the world at large.  They are just like the little people in your life… I know you feel a connection when you read about the happenings in my world. 

I will keep writing and sharing … and living and loving … and crying and laughing.  It is called Life.  I will share mine with you, sometimes in frustration and sometimes in gut-busting laughter, but it will always be the honest, naked truth.  Nothing airbrushed or sugar coated here.  It may make you uncomfortable at times.  I will risk that in the name of recounting the things seen and witnessed on my path.  If you have the inclination to peek into my world occasionally, you too will share those emotions and maybe, just maybe a smile will cross your face and you will be happy you stopped by.

My name is Vonda, Mrs. Dahl to my Little Darlings, and I am glad you are sharing my journey.  Let me show you the wonders of a first grade classroom that sits on the prairie in the middle of nowhere.  The winters are long and so are summer days.  The sky above is as expansive as an upside down ocean.  The view is horizon to horizon and if you stand on your tiptoes, you can almost see the other side of the world, or so it seems.  The coyotes sing mournfully in the dark and the Northern Lights give an impromptu show occasionally.  You have never seen so many stars in all your life.

This is my home and the land that is written on my heart. 

This is the journey of a prairie teacher.  Take my hand and walk with me. 

We may just both be changed forever…








I got most of my information from this interesting web site.  To read more about it, click here:

http://www.scienceandthesea.org/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=265&Itemid=10