The movie theater is crowded in anticipation for an inspirational escape.  Holding buckets of greasy popcorn and carbonated corn syrup water, they begin to believe in the magic of the cinema. It doesn’t matter which film they are watching, the story arc is universal – a white woman goes into a ghetto and fixes the lives of poor, black kids.  She plays the role of a savior. She’s a Silverscreen Superteacher, like Superman without the tights of ability to fly. (Though she does have a soul-search x-ray that allows her to know students intimately within minutes of knowing them)

It’s the Hollywood prototype, as make-believe as an action movie, but more subtle in its deception.  Based on a “true story” it lacks the vitality of life.  Sure, the voice is magnified, the actress well-dressed and the folks on screen playing a magnificent game of pretend.  Yet, it’s all a vapor, a play of light and sound.  It’s bread and circus. However, it’s also our cultural mythology.  It’s the story we tell about what makes a “good teacher.”

The true story?  All of these Silverscreen Superteachers burned out.  They lasted a few years and then left teaching altogether. They were educational fireworks, lighting up the sky with their brilliant performances.  But now we are left with cinder and smoke, wondering if perhaps a different model is the ideal.

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I’m lousy at trying to start a fire.  Blame it on my suburban upbringing or my lack of tactile / kinesthetic learning or the fact that I never joined Boy Scouts. I begin too big, with large logs and lots of smoke.  Sometimes I cheat by trying to douse the wood with lighter fluid.  My wife, however, seems to have a method.  It begins with smaller wood, some starter sticks and a little flame.  After awhile, the fire grows until, without realizing it, we have something warm and powerful and capable of turning an ordinary marshmallow into something magical.  I’m not exactly sure how fire works, but it seems to be the opposite approach to fireworks.

The best teachers I had were like a steady fire, with a strong and steady passion that grew over the years. Sure, they were interesting to observe, but more often they were what drew us into community.  The focus never seemed to be the teacher, but the conversations that happened over the camp fire.  The end result was a safe community where we could be ourselves and learn from one another.

Fireworks are more entertaining – huge explosive displays of color, ear-splitting booms, the murmering of “oohs” and “ahhs.”  I realize they are technical and scientific, but to the person using fireworks at home, they are simple compared to starting a fire.  Light a fuse and watch the explosion.  Follow a simple set of instructions and it’s “aha moments” for a lifetime.  A firework show might be more entertaining, but a long campfire is more memorable if, for no other reason, it’s more authentic.

I can’t blame Hollywood.  Watching the dedicated veteran teachers grade a stack of papers wouldn’t be much of a box office draw.  Indeed, I doubt that I’ll ever see a stadium packed to watch a person start and maintain a steady fire.  However, I want to be a teacher who is all about “fire works” rather than “fireworks.”  Instead of a loud, thundering message and a flashy display of lights, I want to be a steady fire that can maintain a small community and provide a platform for dialogue.  The best campfires do not provide attention to themselves, but serve as a place of warmth where others can grow close together.