Teachers have to be the most adaptable creatures on earth. This Monday morning when Mrs. McCuish entered her classroom she found half the ceiling tiles in soggy bits all over the floor surrounded by a small lake of water and some soaked books and most sadly of all, the childrens’ art work ruined. Did she cry? Wring her hands and send her class home? Throw a spectacular hissy fit? No, she cheerfully enlisted a few helpers to move some chairs and tables into the library and by the time the bell went at 8:45 she was up and running–her class going as smoothly as ever with hardly a ripple. Most people were completely unaware of the situation and the work crew that arrived at 9:00am on the dot, quickly restored cleanliness and order.
That’s what teachers do best. We adapt to every situation that is thrown at us and still manage to keep a large group of children in line with very little fuss and maximum attention to detail. After the great flood of 2009, when our gym resembled the set ofThe Ten Commandments, did we all pack up and go home? No; volley ball games were quickly rescheduled at other schools, gym was held outside, in the portable, or in our classrooms; Christmas concert performances were held at various times and in various places so that most parents at least got the chance to see their child perform the piece that had been practiced for weeks, and the PAC stepped in to fill the void by putting on an amazing craft evening and bake sale. Life went on as usual, the gym floor eventually dried out enough to be used and we replaced some of the ruined equipment. It’s practically been forgotten as we gear up again for another try at a Christmas Concert. (Adaptable and foolishly optimistic).
Student teachers are taught the mantra early: You have to be adaptable. If an assembly, Terry Fox Run, Track & Field Day, Halloween Parade, dance performance, fire drill, or any other common school-day event disrupts your carefully planned lesson, smile and go with the flow. Nobody graduates from a teaching program without learning this important skill. My own student teacher, Christina Ciolfi, experienced this on Monday, her very first day of her first week of teaching, which also happened to be October 31st. Twenty-four excited little children in costumes with the promise of bags of candy in the not too distant future, and all sorts of fun activities planned for them, are not overly receptive to a carefully planned and executed lesson. Needless to say, Ms. Ciolfi passed the test with flying colours, and that’s all I really need to know about her teaching skills right now to predict that she will turn out to be a great teacher. All the rest is just practice and theory.
Obviously, I make the case for teachers because this is my blog and I’m a teacher, but adaptability is an amazing human trait that I often ponder about. I think about how it has shaped us and the world in which we live. It’s what got us where we are today; to a population of seven billion and counting, taking up space in every piece of land on earth whether Sahara Desert hot or Arctic cold, Himalayas high, or the flooded lowlands of the Netherlands, desiccated and dry or waterlogged and wet.
We not only live in all these inhospitable places, but we prosper and reproduce at an alarming rate. How can this be? We don’t have fur, large spikes, tusks or sharp claws, and our teeth are pretty useless and don’t continually replace themselves like those of the shark. Our eyesight and hearing are mediocre at best. Walking upright gives us a myriad of back problems, arthritic knees and hips, and if our feet scream out in protest about carrying us around all day with no help from our hands or arms, we tell them to shut up and squeeze them into ridiculously uncomfortable shoes. We can’t run very fast, we catch a cold every five minutes, and our children take a lifetime to raise; and we really do need a village to help us. That’s the main reason we invented schools.
Every other animal on earth is afraid of us, despite the aforementioned lack of claws, sharp teeth etc., and they have good reason to be. We kill them off in huge numbers, not with spears and guns (not all of us and not all the time anyaway) but with our cities and highways, our factories and farms, our urban sprawl and consumerism. But mostly it’s because we can adapt to anything and they can’t. The poor Neanderthals didn’t even see us coming. They were a small dying branch on the genus tree that we just snapped off and used to build a fire to cook the meat that was too tough for our multi-purpose teeth. Even chimpanzees, our closest DNA relatives, have more serious teeth than we do! And much as we love them, and the gentle gorilla, we are killing them off faster than they can adapt to the changes wrought upon their environment.
One of the smallest living organisms on earth, the virus, takes a pretty good stab at fighting back and adapting more quickly than anything else we know of, but even a virus that has no brain or thinking parts, knows better than to wipe out all of the hosts that guarantee its survival.
So, sick children or sick teachers, fire, flood, or earthquake—we handle them all. Many of the things I need to survive in the classroom aren’t taught at university. Lost shoes, knotted laces, broken toys, bloody knees, bruised egos, and frozen fingers and toes on a snowy day are just a few on a long, long list lodged in my head. When we seem to have nothing going for us, we always manage to pull something out of our hats–teachers especially. If the classroom fell down and we had to herd the children into a makeshift tent out on the field, you would still find order and activities happening. We make counters out of old buttons, pencil holders out of milk cartons, fun and learning with just word games, and amazing, talented, educated people out of small children.