I am a teacher. Officially. Who knew?

So, for the past three weeks now, I’ve been teaching 4 sections of Introduction to Medical Anthropology. At first, I was worried that I wouldn’t have time, that it would suck, that I wouldn’t know how to generate good discussions, etc. This is an upper division class, which means that instead of cutting my teeth on freshmen (now that’s an image for you!), I’m dealing with a bunch of juniors and seniors. These are not children, they are budding adults. And they are whip-smart. For anyone who doesn’t think there is a qualitative difference between a ranked top 25 school and the rest of us, think again. 

First off, these kids are serious about their studies. For the first time in my life, I’m dealing with people who do the recommended reading. Seriously. There was a Tambiah reading a couple of weeks ago that was only recommended, and several people emailed me to say it was ‘missing’ from their readers and online. Would I find them a copy? 

I’m having the students send me a question or reflection each week before section, to help me figure out what is interesting for them, or what is puzzling them. So far, I have been impressed with the results. Good questions that link ideas together. Thoughful responses that show how they are thinking through things critically.  Suddenly, I’m not quite as worried about our ‘future’ as I once was.

My job is both harder and easier because of the level of ’smarts’ I’m dealing with here. I have to engage them, but I also have to challenge them. So far, so good.

One of my students, a bright senior who sometimes looks dubious in lecture, lingered after class and told me that it was the first time that she had ever understood the need for a section. 

“Usually, this is just about a graduate student pretending to be a teacher,” she said. “But this is different. I just thought you should know.”

I almost cried. I’m serious. Tears.

Then, a freshman that is bold enough to take an upper division class at Berkeley came up to me. She’s feeling lost. She doesn’t get it. I tried to calm her down by telling her that she’s smart, that everyone feels stupid at a place like Berkeley, and that she should have some faith in her ability. She’s here for a reason.

And, the funny thing is, I believe it – both for her and for me. 

The other night, I got an email from a student who was still thinking about what we discussed that day in our section – while walking home from class, he had thought of a few additional things he wish he had said in class. He wrote me a page-length email about the various problems with the link between vaccines and autism in the readings I assigned, and anticipated our next author’s arguments. It was a brilliant email. 

I’m a teacher, yo. And I’m truly geeked out about it. This is the best and the hardest job on earth, and I love it. I’m in love with being a professor. Cynicism be damned – I believe in these 20-somethings.