Grace Schierberl
In the 2nd grade, I wrote a 12-page, hand-written essay on dinosaurs. I wrote about the T-Rex, brontosaurus and pterodactyl. I drew colored pictures (with captions!) of every dinosaur I could think of, and described, in detail, their size, habitat and what they ate. In the 2nd grade, there is space and freedom to let passion dictate learning. But, somewhere between elementary school (and perhaps pre-K these days) and adulthood, that integration of passion and learning is lost. By my senior year of high school, my intellectual self-worth was predicated on an archaic, futile system of standardization and letter grades. I had forgotten what it felt like to learn for fun and to explore something because I was genuinely interested in it. When I look back on high school, I cannot remember one thing I learned about that I was truly passionate about. I read interesting books and had inspiring teachers, but there was always this intangible box students were forced to exist in, and while you could bend and jump and sit in this box, you could never smash it and rebuild it.
I smashed this glass box my sophomore year of college when I decided to take Intro to Global Studies. Don’t get me wrong— it wasn’t this beautiful, easy learning experience. No, no. It was a pain in my ass mixed with awe and excitement. At times I tried to glue the glass back together and then I would sit on the glass (metaphorically, of course) and it’d hurt and I’d cry. I didn’t know what to make of a “classroom” structure that defied every perception I had of academia. I was confused and inspired and intrigued.
During one of the first few weeks of 101, tom asked that we write a “self-identity” essay. In typical, robotic fashion, I wrote where I grew up, what I thought I might major in, why I chose PC. The next week my essay, along with my 15 or so classmate’s, was returned. Dig deeper. Give me more. I’ll never forget sitting down in my dorm room, still relatively new to the college experience, not knowing where to start. I remember thinking, “but I even wrote it in 5 paragraph format!” How open was I supposed to be? How vulnerable was he expecting us to get? Dig deeper? So, I said screw it. I decided I didn’t want to do this assignment 3 times, so I better make it good.
And it was great.
I wrote from a place of freedom and passion and vulnerability. I wrote about hating Harry Potter, even though all my contemporaries loved it growing up. I wrote about being sexually assaulted when I was 12. I wrote about my strained relationship with my sister and her struggle with body image and anorexia. It was cathartic and empowering. When he and Leah asked to anonymously share it during the following week’s class, it felt incredible to be academically validated for submitting an assignment from a place of honesty. I was hooked. A few weeks later, I declared GST as my major. And suddenly, tom king, with his intimidating 6’8” stature and quiet presence, became my teacher, my mentor and my friend.
When I look back on my experience in Global Studies, from 101 to piloting a Global Activism course to Capstone and team-teaching, it’s easy to remember those years with nostalgia and fondness. But they were hard. They were really, really, hard. Not only because the level of effort and passion tom demanded from his students was high, but because it required significant mental and emotional effort to undo a decade plus of schooling. Wait, I can swear at my teacher? I don’t have to raise my hand? I can challenge his feedback? I can choose what I want to learn about? It was incredibly difficult for me to breakdown the archetypal hierarchy of learning I had existed in for so long. But, because tom viewed his ‘students’ as co-learners and partners and collaborators, it became easier with time. It also became easier to tell him when I felt uninspired or pissed off or disinterested in an assignment.
For example, tom asked if we’d go on a class field trip one Saturday. So, we woke up at 8am (which in college years felt like 4am) and went to a farm in the middle of Rhode Island. We had just completed our ‘food diaries’ in which we tracked every food we ate for a week (dining hall, grocery store, restaurant) and listed where it came from, how far it traveled to get to our plate, what type of food it was, etc. I HATED this assignment. I was like a petulant child complaining about it over and over again. It felt tedious and annoying and, well, hard. So, the culmination of this assignment was to go to this farm and learn about local food systems. The next week, as we sat in class reflecting on the assignment and field trip, an incredible discussion unfolded about food and body image and agribusiness and culture. Having now worked in healthcare for 5 years, specifically within the realm of pediatric obesity, I feel immense gratitude for this assignment. From tracking food and learning about sustainable farming, I learned how agribusiness relates to the economy and how this exacerbates global warming. As a class we discussed the intersectionality of wealth and food insecurity and racism and poverty. I remember all of this now, almost 10 years later, because we each brought our own experiences and passion to the discussion. We didn’t memorize stats or take an exam. I remember now because I cared then.
When I came back from my semester abroad in Cape Town, South Africa, I was asked by tom to team-teach GST 101. Having spent 6 months in a country rife with socio-political history and incredible culture, I couldn’t wait to start motivating and working with students the way tom had motivated me just two years prior. However, with senior year stress being as pervasive as it is, I got scared and backed out. But, tom emphasized to me that team-teaching is collaborative. It’s a partnership. Being someone who often puts too much pressure on myself and then cracks, I was reminded in that moment that I wasn’t alone in this experience and that there was room to create something unique and awesome. So, I brought my loud, bubbly, enthusiasm to a classroom full of nervous, fidgety freshman (who turned out to be among the most inspiring, intelligent, challenging group of freaks, whom I love dearly). tom brought his quiet, compassionate, pain-in-the-ass, always-deflects-the-question-back-at-you self and together, we created a space rooted in learning and exploration and passion. Team-teaching 101 with tom taught me about mentorship, about the importance of confidence and the value of humility, about working partnerships (which has transcended every job I’ve had post-college) and about integrating excitement and curiosity in everything you do.
tom—thank you for your friendship, for your guidance and for the impact you’ve had on my life. Here’s to many more years of laughing and learning together.