Ingrid Parker–Teaching Statement 2001-02
Assistant Professor, Ecology and Evolutionary Biology

Tough Love

In this year’s convocation on teaching, Bettina Aptheker shared her number one rule of teaching: unconditional love. In other words, that all teaching requires giving of yourself in a way that can not be compensated. The subject of the convocation was the pedagogy of The Lecture, the venue in which it is most difficult to truly know one’s students, and therefore most difficult to love them in any meaningful way. Yet there it was, this exhortation to love without being loved, to give without receiving.

But I don’t think of teaching as a martyr’s vocation. I often feel that I get more out of teaching than I give. I enjoy the intellectual stretching that is required when putting together a new lecture. Primarily I teach courses on the biology and ecology of plants, both lecture courses and field/lab/writing courses. Teaching field ecology spurs me to learn ever more names of plants, ever more stories of the organisms I encounter in daily forays into the natural world. I use teaching as a motivator for learning natural history, as well as an inspiration for learning new details of the biochemical pathways of photosynthesis. There is a fascinating synergism between learning and teaching: the idea that one may be asked to explain a concept in public must exert some wonderful control over the brain chemistry that governs memory.

In addition, I have reaped enormous benefits from the students I have taught. Many have contributed to my learning just by asking terrific, insightful questions in class, launching me in some new direction of inquiry. When I’m lecturing, I like to present students with examples of research from the primary literature, including gory details like how many seedlings were marked with toothpicks or how dung beetles were followed with headlamps from midnight until 3 a.m. The idea is to present them with a tangible image of how science is done, not just the “facts” that result from the research. As part of this, I sometimes set up a problem for them, and then ask: “Okay, what would you do?” What is remarkable is watching the way they can, in small groups or together as a class, piece together the critical experiments they would need to perform to answer the question. Then I tell them the story of how a real researcher addressed that problem, and how it all turned out. Sometimes they hit it bang-on, and sometimes I end up thinking the approach they’ve come up with would have been even better than what was originally done. While they may be lacking in technical expertise, my students’ capacity for creative and unconventional thinking is a gift from them to me.

Many students have stayed in touch with me over the years. Some have sent cards and photos of themselves in their new lives, wearing lab coats or National Park Service uniforms. Some have gone on to graduate school and invited me to give a departmental seminar at their new institution. From these students, I have received warmth, inspiration, and abundant love. Yet, Bettina Aptheker’s words still ring true. A lot of what we do is a one-way street. So much of our effort is not even noted by our students, much less appreciated. It can’t be. How could they know? Yet we care whether they learn or not, and perhaps the best way to accomplish that is to accept them for who they are, exhort them to be the best they can be, and love them unconditionally.

This is not a wimpy love. On the first day of my Plant Ecology course, I say to my students: “Everyone needs to have goals, even if they are unreachable goals. I have two. First, for this to be the most fun class you’ve ever had. Second, for this to be the hardest class you’ve ever had.” (It’s an outrageous statement, because I have many colleagues who are amazing, talented teachers…but as I say, everyone needs to have goals.) I think sometimes my students see me as a merciless despot. I push them harder than they think they can go. I make them write, and write, and write. I give them impossible deadlines. I make them master statistical software they’ve never seen before, and within a week they are using it to analyze data they have gathered themselves from their own field studies. Sometimes the computer labs run for four, five, five-and-a-half hours; every year someone in the lab is reduced to tears. The irony is that I would not put them through this if I didn’t love them. We have a lot to learn from our athletic coaches on this point. In sports it is obvious that the only way to improve is to work to the very edge of one’s capacity and beyond, and a very good coach is one who is able to make her players reach toward that beyond. Athletes understand and honor that. Deep down, students also want to be challenged to go “beyond,” but they are also afraid that they might fail. I believe this is where unconditional love comes in: students need to feel that you will love and respect them even if they do fail, even if they can’t meet your highest expectations. With unconditional love, you can push students harder.

One of the realities of teaching is that we are often misunderstood, resented, even raged at. Learning to accept this reality is one of the hardest things about teaching. With equal parts mortification and commiseration, I remember how I misunderstood, resented, or raged at my own professors from time to time. As I send my unconditional love out to that universe of students, I remember the mentors who challenged me and loved me. We are all part of an unbroken chain, held together by that tough, unconditional love.