"He believed, for instance, that no matter how erudite a teacher, or how clear his presentation of the material, he could not be a good teacher unless he could understand and relate to the needs of each pupil, unless he could relate to the inner worlds of his charges." (A. Cockerill, 1999, p. 11-12)
Alan Cockerill's account of the life of V.A. Sukhomlinsky was my first introduction to this educator. What he described was a hard-working man, dedicated to educating the whole child. Two things stood out to me while reading about Sukhomlinsky's short life. The first I take from this quote above. This quote articulates the conflicting educational ideologies that I find value in. I consider myself to be scholastic. I value knowledge and education. I find ignorance challenging. I also will admit to being a snob of sorts, sometimes having little patience for those who don't know basic things (simple Canadian geography, the difference between you're and your, or how to count change - those sorts of things). This aspect of me is tempered by the fact that I have mingled with some very highly academically oriented people who probably find me ignorant of things they consider to be common knowledge. The other ideology that I have gone back and forth with in my career is how much to put value on learner centred education. I have learned that you have to know your students and the world in which they occupy to really understand them, how they think and where they come from. The value I now place on knowing and educating the whole child supersedes the need I have to impart knowledge on my students. I still want to do both. How can you be both academic and learner-centred? It seems like two opposites that pull at each other. But perhaps they can co-exist. Perhaps you can inspire children in knowledge and still place value on truly knowing the student?
The second part of Sukhomlinsky's life that really struck me were the tragedies that he faced during the Second World War. He was first seriously wounded, almost losing his arm. He then returned to the classroom, where he worked with children and families who had been impacted by the war. He then had to face the most devastating news of all: the death of both his wife and child at the hand of the Gestapo. Sukhomlinsky could have let tragedy overcome him and dwell in hate. He did the opposite. He channeled his grief into his work, finding purpose in his students. Sukhomlinsky said, "Work, work and more work - in that I found at least some degree of relief from my grief...Even now I wait every morning for the children. With them is my happiness." (quoted from Cockerill, p. 14). This reminded me very much of the movie, The Pianist (2002). Set in Warsaw during WWII, it tells the story of acclaimed pianist Wladyslaw Szpilman, who survived the Nazi occupation of Warsaw in hiding. These stark and accurate tales of humanity's atrocities are emotionally imapactful. We often glorify and romanticize the wars of the past. It makes me wonder who would I be were I to survive something just as horrific? I think about teachers who recently have faced tragedy, such as the staff of Sandy Hook Elementary and then return to the classroom. Would I be one of them? Would my love for the children be enough to step foot back into the classroom again? I don't know. I would like to think so, but I really don't know.
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