Riding home from a friend’s house on a warm Friday night with my daughter was a privilege I know I won’t have much longer. She is only nine, but it won’t be long before her Friday nights are spent socializing with her peers while I anxiously await her safe return. So I cherish these times. We spent the drive trying to see who was faster at naming the songs and artists on the local radio station. Lucky for me they played mostly hits from yesterday.
But as we neared home, the songs they played were becoming more current. Then Taylor Swift’s Style came on. She not only knew the artist, but she was able to tell me the entire story behind each and every lyric. The fact that it was written about Harry Styles, her imaginary crush, didn’t hurt. Was this a sign of things to come?
Then as we were minutes from home, my daughter caught me by surprise. She hit me with a series of questions that I wasn’t quite sure how to answer.
“Daddy how did you become such a good father?”
It was very sweet and yet I gave a canned answer. I told her that I have been learning as I go.
Then, “Did you learn from your dad?”
She knew the answer was going to be yes. She never got to meet him, but she has heard much about him her entire life. But her next question stumped me.
“What was something your dad taught you?”
I actually had no answer. How was that possible? My father is probably the person who has had the greatest impact in shaping me into the man I am today and yet I could not think of a single response!?
How was that even possible?
I told my daughter that it was hard for me to think of just one thing. When really the honest answer was I could not think of a single thing.
A few minutes later we pulled into the driveway, but the question my daughter asked continued to perplex me. Or more specifically, the fact that I couldn’t answer what should have been an easy question, was upsetting. But as I thought more about my inability to answer a seemingly simple and innocent question, I began to realize why I was speechless.
It is because the people who have the greatest impact on our lives do so in a way that is seamless. The people who help shape our lives never let go. And once we let them in, it becomes difficult to determine where they end and we begin.
They gradually help shape us over a period of time. So trying to identify what was taught and what we became can be tricky. I am sure that my father taught me many valuable lessons in the twenty-nine years I was able to spend with him. But I honestly can not name a single one. I became my father, and therefore when my daughter asked me to tell her something he taught me I did not know how to answer. I didn’t see us as two different people. What he taught me and what we became together were both part of the journey that I continue to travel.
Like a sculpture created over time, there was no one chisel or chip that shaped me into the man I am today. It has been a process. And even though my father is no longer around, I can still feel his touch. His hands continue to shape me and they always will.
This is exactly what happens with great teachers. When we close our eyes and think back to what they taught us, it is rare that we are able to identify specific skills or bits of knowledge. On the other hand, when we close our eyes we are often able to picture ourselves in their classroom. They made us feel a certain way. And if they were really good, they became a part of us and we them.
Children come to us as shapeless pieces of clay. And instead of gradually waiting to see what they might become, we immediately begin to feel as if we must assemble them into what we think they should be. Adding a piece here, taking a piece there. We worry that they will leave us not knowing how to multiply and divide or how to read and write. We make our focus the skills and the knowledge and not the child.
I believe we need to focus more on the experience. Five, ten, twenty years from now our former students will not look back on their days with us and be able to remember what we taught them. But they will remember how we taught them. They will remember what it was like to come to our class each day. And maybe if we are lucky, when someone asks them what they learned in our class they can say, “I don’t know Man, but Mr. Harper made learning fun. We had a good time in his class.”
I would be okay with that.
In fact, that would make me smile!
I wish I had another chance to answer my daughter’s question. I think I am ready to give a better answer. If she were to ask the question again,
“Daddy, what was something your dad taught you?”
I would pause, look in her in the eye and say,
“Honey, I am my dad, tell me something I’ve taught you.”
- My daughter wrote the poem below and read it in front of her class today. 6 months after I published my piece. Once again I am speechless.
The man who turned blues into joy.
The man who turned the world upside down.
The man who made memories.
The man who turned a quiet room into a booming room.
The man who’s voice could heal someones pain.
The man who saved lives yet he did not know it.
The man whose heart was bigger than a star.
The man who is up there looking down on us.
The man who I feel even when he is not here.
The man who I miss but I hate to admit it.
The man who I see when heartbreak happens.
The met who I never met but I love him so.
Even though I have not met him I feel like I have through pictures and dreams.
Written by Bailey Harper