When my teachers took it out of the classroom
Feb 03, 2024 by Nina Herschlikowitz Gabelko
This article immediately took me back to my high school days when the country was still within the noose of McCarthyism. Those days when a student could be expelled from school for having a copy of “Catcher.” (We weren’t stupid, so didn’t bring it to school.) Many of our textbooks were old enough to vote. Our teachers were severely restricted in what they could discuss in the classroom. So how did I, a rather poor but very widely-read kid, land at Cal (almost) ready to learn at a whole new level? Just like their students, some of our teachers knew—just like with “Catcher”—when not to bring it to school.
Technically, students’ parents would invite us (and
we would invite each other) to a social gathering on a weekend evening to get together to eat snacks and you know, talk about things that we teenagers think about. I’m sure you’ve already guessed what those teenagerly things were. You know, the effects of the radical right on society, updates on the fight for civil rights, and a range of readings from Drew Pearson’s column in the Daily News to existentialism. No parent would want to lead such a raucous herd of close to 30 kids, so they invited two teachers to join us. The teachers’ code of conduct would never have permitted the teachers to invite us to participate in such discussions. But, as a teacher of many years’ experience, I ask you what teacher would turn down an invitation from a supportive parent to join them at their family home?
What made the gatherings all the more valuable is that we were seniors and had loads of questions about how to avoid the abyss that was waiting for us after high school. What was going to save the world after we’d leave Hamilton? Well, for the majority of our group, the questions centered around how to meet our responsibilities to save society from evil. But for me, and my proximity to the abyss, that was my horror and my night terror. My world would end at that killer of a cliff I’d fall off on that fateful day near mid-June in 1960. (But keine hora, here I am still telling stories.)
I’m not certain what all of this means, but I suppose I’m talking about agency. Just to be flat-out corny—but I think that I just figured out in such times as these—agency is something we have to grow ourselves. And if we’re very, very fortunate, we have parents, teachers, and peers who light the way and support us as we support each other.
For the decades that I directed the UC Berkeley Academic Talent Development Program (ATDP), since we met in person only 6 weeks per year, I would tell all who participated (some for 11 years and more) that we were just like Brigadoon. After week six, as a group we’d disappear until Brigadoon would come to life the following year—happily, not after 100 years like the real one. Are there Brigadoons today that support wonderful dreams and encourage young and old to grow their own agency? Are there others like ours (in addition to my late husband's and now my son's)?
I sure hope so.
Technically, students’ parents would invite us (and
we would invite each other) to a social gathering on a weekend evening to get together to eat snacks and you know, talk about things that we teenagers think about. I’m sure you’ve already guessed what those teenagerly things were. You know, the effects of the radical right on society, updates on the fight for civil rights, and a range of readings from Drew Pearson’s column in the Daily News to existentialism. No parent would want to lead such a raucous herd of close to 30 kids, so they invited two teachers to join us. The teachers’ code of conduct would never have permitted the teachers to invite us to participate in such discussions. But, as a teacher of many years’ experience, I ask you what teacher would turn down an invitation from a supportive parent to join them at their family home?What made the gatherings all the more valuable is that we were seniors and had loads of questions about how to avoid the abyss that was waiting for us after high school. What was going to save the world after we’d leave Hamilton? Well, for the majority of our group, the questions centered around how to meet our responsibilities to save society from evil. But for me, and my proximity to the abyss, that was my horror and my night terror. My world would end at that killer of a cliff I’d fall off on that fateful day near mid-June in 1960. (But keine hora, here I am still telling stories.)
I’m not certain what all of this means, but I suppose I’m talking about agency. Just to be flat-out corny—but I think that I just figured out in such times as these—agency is something we have to grow ourselves. And if we’re very, very fortunate, we have parents, teachers, and peers who light the way and support us as we support each other.
For the decades that I directed the UC Berkeley Academic Talent Development Program (ATDP), since we met in person only 6 weeks per year, I would tell all who participated (some for 11 years and more) that we were just like Brigadoon. After week six, as a group we’d disappear until Brigadoon would come to life the following year—happily, not after 100 years like the real one. Are there Brigadoons today that support wonderful dreams and encourage young and old to grow their own agency? Are there others like ours (in addition to my late husband's and now my son's)?
I sure hope so.
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