The mans name was Charles. He failed to - nor did he try to - create a vibrant environment for debate, where people were free to say whether they did or did not understand and ask questions. He definitely wanted the group to have done more reading outside the class. Our lack of preparation seemed to make the low engagement in our class our fault. If we wanted the class to be interesting, we ought to have worked on cultivating an interest to bring with us.
Frankly, I get it.

I really liked him. He used to explain rather basic economics to a sea of blank faces. No, not a sea, we were a small group. A puddle of blank faces. He would cast an eye across our group and ask - “make sense?”

It became our practice that the room would nod their agreement, a few did understand, more didn’t. I almost never did. So after he asked his question, he would often look me dead in the eye. We would take a beat together. He looked hopeful. I looked out of the window to the thin bollards where we would practice balancing one-legged before class. Charles joined us trying it a few times. I was in my early twenties. He was not. I came back to him still looking at me.

More often than not I would just get it over with and shake my head - “No, Charles, sorry I don’t get it”. He always appreciated the truth. We would go through it again and again until I knew what he was referring to. There was a handful of times when he would go over it three times. At three times the polite thing is to say you understand no matter what. You can pick it up in your own time. But Charles knew when something had clicked for me. Or not.

Honestly, most of that year felt as though he were only teaching me and my friend Cameron. As though if he could land the plane for the two of us, the rest of the class would likewise arrive safely.

The third time - “make sense?”

I started nodding.

He would give a wry smile as he tilted his head to look back at me, willing me to understand but imploring me not to lie. My nod slowed as we both laughed silently as I started shaking my head.

“Lets cover it again”.

It was a beautiful thing that Charles did for me in his class. He understood that his job was not solely to give information, but to endeavour to deliver it in such a way as to assist me to rightly understand the concepts he was teaching. Perhaps more importantly, he helped me not to lie to ‘protect’ my fragile ego.

I did not understand, I did not know what to do. Once, twice, three times, four times! More! The fact that that was alright by Charles was remarkable. I doubt he would recall me today, but his practice there left a mark on me. A mark related to the dignity of the individual and the confidence and motivation borne in them when a guide demonstrates deep care and much patience.

If you looked in that classroom you’d never have told by his demeanour how safe he made that environment for me to engage at an optimally challenging level.

A great teacher. Funny too.