Greg Cantwell

OWP Paper #4

July 2001

Oregon Writing Project

It takes special people to devote nearly half of their summer to a writing project. There are many different reasons to be part of such an adventure. College credit for a reasonable price is certainly tempting. The opportunity to make connections with other professionals sounds like a noble pursuit. Above all, the opportunity to become a better writer and a better teacher is paramount.

A people person, I am not. The job I seem ideally suited for is a Forest Ranger quietly surveying the woods for an elusive bird and counting the number of times it speaks. That is far from the middle school classroom. How did I end up in an environment so far from the way I feel about myself? Fate? All things happen for a reason, but that reason is unknown. The buzz and crash of the lumber mill was slightly related to the forest through the presence of wood, but every day was just like the one before and the one after. No difference was made in anyone's life. No impression was left. Effort was expected, but not rewarded.

Whether or not I now make a difference in anyone's life is certainly debatable. I was recently cleaning out my room and came across the writing assignment I had eighth grade students do on the first day of school last year. In terms of style and writing skill, they looked much like the papers the same students did at the end of the year. Did I make a difference in their writing? Maybe. Maybe not. Students don't say I made a difference in their writing, but instead, in their lives. Maybe this is more important. I try to help them discover who they are as much as I try to teach them about writing and literature. The writing project, for me, is as much about learning how others teach English as it is about learning how others struggle with teaching.

As stated earlier, I'm not much of a people person. I still cringe every time I hear the words, "work in groups or with a partner." I have a very independent mind that is guarded at first, then highly opinionated and direct. As a last-minute planner, I always rely on things coming together in the end and they always work themselves out. In front of the classroom, most of my words are calculated for effect. I think on my feet and use a calm, sometimes personal approach to deliver an intended message. Seeing other teachers deliver their presentations made it clear that there are many different approaches to conducting a lesson.

During the workshop, Nat mentioned the title "Master Teacher" on several occasions. That seems to be an amorphous idea. If a master teacher is someone with years of experience who thinks they have everything about teaching figured out, I have my doubts. I have met very experienced teachers who kids don't respect and who don't enjoy what they are doing. Others are pretty interested in kids, are comfortable with content, but still struggle with management. At the other extreme are proud new teachers that go on endlessly about all of the wonderful things happening in their classroom and how they have everything figured out. They're just like the new drivers at the racetrack. Some strut around in their driver's suit with proud smiles because they have become "Race Car Drivers." Others, like me, can't wait to get out of the hot suit, work on our cars, and learn from experienced racers about the things we have done right and wrong.

The teachers I find most interesting, regardless of how much experience they have, are the ones who say they do not have everything figured out. They are excited about kids and learning new ways to reach them and frustrated with the ways some students choose to act. They bring fresh ideas to the classroom and try them, not knowing if they will succeed or fail. They are humble and honest and willing to share when asked. This is the freshness I hope to keep in my teaching. The Oregon Writing Project is a place to keep this freshness alive. Experienced teachers and inexperienced ones mix to learn from one another and this is what benefits the students in all of our classrooms.