Often a Teacher, Always a Student

As a student teacher, my mentor Paula told me that the best teachers were lifelong learners. Following her own wisdom, she took fiddle lessons every week. She practiced daily. Be a student—of anything—she said. That way you'll always empathize with those you are trying to teach.

For the last three days, I've been learning complex choreographed dances right along with my students. I am being schooled in my mentor's lesson and in dance.

Each year, our school ends the academic year three weeks early to spend the remainder of the year in something we call [2] post-session. It was devised nearly a decade ago to ensure that all students at our small, science-oriented school would get the elective credit they needed to graduate.

Every spring, teachers team up to design and carry out an art or PE course, which we teach all day to a mixed group of ninth- to 12th-graders. In years past, I've stuck to outdoorsy courses that feature hiking. But this year, I was offered a chance to co-lead a dance course, and I jumped at the chance.

I haven't been a student of dance since I was 5 years old and spent a summer in tap and ballet classes. Last summer, my fiancé and I practiced some moves the night before our wedding. We lucked out and found magic. Still, the idea of learning choreographed pieces alongside my students was more nerve-wracking than the idea of a first dance at my wedding. After all, none of my invited guests would laugh at me. My students certainly would.

I'm happy to report that my first two days went better than I could have imagined. The first day we learned a hip-hop routine. We practiced for three hours and then took it on the road. First, we performed for one of the other classes. Then we performed as a flashmob [3] at the Fruitvale BART station to idle onlookers. I was even complimented by a student who said, "You never told me you could dance." To which I replied, "That's because I didn't know I could." Our second day focused on the basic steps of belly dance. Apart from being excruciatingly sore from the previous day, I felt pretty good about my foray in to the world of dance.

But I soon discovered that learning how to dance is not unlike learning a second language. While most people in the class were merely physically exhausted, I was suffering from the mental fatigue that comes from climbing high learning curves. We were learning a fast-paced Latin dance called punta. I had done well with the previous dances because they did not require any partner work. With punta dancing I struggled. It required precise hip movements and staying on the balls of my feet. There were also challenging spins. At one point, I got so frustrated I felt like crying, cussing, and quitting all at the same time. I blurted out "I can't do this!" in a tone I usually leave at home.

Luckily, a few of the seniors in our class came to my rescue and offered reassurances. During my meltdown, more than a few students had wandered off to the auditorium chairs to avoid dancing. I wanted to join them, but I knew I had to be the good student and a role model. I kept trying. And in the end, I got myself through a difficult sequence.

I'm not sure how much of the punta I'll remember when we practice again. But I see the value in being a dance student. Dance is hard for me. Just like reading and writing in a second language is hard for many of my students. I may not be able to relate to a student's specific struggle, but I can understand the humiliation, confusion and pain that show up with failure—or even just perceived failure. My dance lessons will have lasting impact. No wonder Paula said teachers should always be students.

Thomas is an English teacher in California.