Kasey and I were talking about teaching, and teaching teaching, and about people. In any field there are some people that just don’t get “it.” Whatever “it” is for that field. There are some people who shouldn’t be cops. Sometimes because their emotionally vulnerability makes them unable to deal with manipulators, sometimes because their lack of compassion makes them blind… there are hundreds of personality traits that make someone a poor cop.
Some people will never be fighters. I’m not talking about strength or speed, but there are some people that have essential elements of heart that are simply missing.
And some people will never be teachers. There is something missing and they can’t command the respect to be listened to. You can force a hundred students to attend, give a simple and important subject and none of the students will make the connection, none of them will listen, none of them will learn.
And in the real world, there appears to be almost an inverse correlation between ability and desire. Probably for reasons of insecurity, many of the people least fit to be cops or teachers want to be cops or teachers. They think the position will give them the respect they can’t seem to get on their own. The people who can’t fight want to be fighters, hoping the label will make their fear and insecurity go away.
Kasey and I were talking about teaching instructors, and how to deal with the person who desperately wanted the title and was willing to put in the time and do the work, but would never achieve the standard. What do you do? This isn’t a bureaucracy. actual life and safety depend on the quality of a teacher in certain fields. At the same time, our internal ethics would demand that we treat all instructor candidates the same…
Fairness, or the actual lives of a generation of students?
That’s a question I’m going to dodge, for now.
But here’s the cool thing and one of the things I love about people. In certain circumstances, all of that is bullshit. Almost everything I am really good at is stuff that someone I had every right to believe told me I couldn’t do.
Yes. Some people can’t teach. And usually the honorable thing to do is to tell them that. And some will believe you and quit, and more will refuse to believe you and manage to get into a teaching position and suck for their entire career. And a few, a very few, a tiny number, will say, “Fuck you.” And they will leave and on their own they will become extraordinary teachers. They will work their asses off to prove you wrong.
Some people can’t fight. And usually the honorable thing to do is to tell them that. And some will believe you and quit, and more will refuse to believe you and manage to get into a force profession and suck for their entire career, and get other people and themselves hurt. And a few, a very few, a tiny number, will say, “Fuck you.” And they will leave and on their own they will become extraordinary. They will work their asses off to prove you wrong.
I don’t know what it is about that tiny number. I can’t pick them out of a crowd. But that incredible diversity of human attitude is one of the things that makes people so damn cool.
1970 – I was told I couldn’t cut it as a Navy Radioman. I told them that being an RM was ALL I’d ever wanted to be in the Navy. They gave me one more chance past the normal drop point. I graduated three months later from Radioman “A” School. Every other school I attended in the Service, I graduated in the top 10%, two courses as Honor Grad. As an E-5, RM2, I was selected at the Sailor of the Quarter at Naval Communications Station Honolulu. I even attended two Air Force technical courses. I started taking the Chief’s (E-7) test at eight years in the Navy. I was so junior, I was not promoted until I had twelve years in service. I had Staff billets, Joint Command duty, one Frigate, one Cruiser, one Tender, one Fast Attack Nuclear Submarine, and one Deep Submergance Diesel Submarine. The shore duty that I loved the most was as an Instructor at Radioman “A” School, seven years after I was almost dropped from that same school. I later taught a highly technical course of instruction, alternating between shore applications and shipboard applications. I was rated in the top 2% of instructors, command wide, three years running. One evening, a year into my three years as an Instructor, I met one of the Instructor’s that told me I couldn’t cut it, and the only one who would not approve my one last try. He had been an E-6, RM1, in 1970. Now in 1977, l we were both RM1.
I think I qualify as one of that “tiny number”! I was able to all the above, and much more, because a handfull of instructors took the time to talk with me and to listen to me and take that leap of faith that I would not fail them. And maybe the one who wouldn’t take that leap as well. Maybe I wanted as much to prove him wrong as I wanted to prove the others right.
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1970 – I was told by several Instructors that I couldn’t cut it as a Navy Radioman. I told them that being an RM was ALL I’d ever wanted to be in the Navy. They voted, with one decent, to give me one more chance past the normal drop point. I graduated three months later from Radioman “A” School. Every other school I attended while in the Service, I graduated in the top 10%, two courses as Honor Grad. As an E-5, RM2, I was selected as the Sailor of the Quarter at Naval Communications Station Honolulu. I even attended two Air Force technical courses. I started taking the Chief’s (E-7) test at eight years in the Navy. I was was very junior and not promoted until I had twelve years in service. I had Staff billets, Joint Command duty, one Frigate, one Cruiser, one Tender, one Fast Attack Nuclear Submarine, and one Deep Submergance Diesel Submarine. The shore duty that I loved the most was as an Instructor at Radioman “A” School, seven years after I was almost dropped from that same school. I later taught a highly technical course of instruction, alternating between shore applications and shipboard applications. I was rated in the top 2% of instructors, command wide, three years running. One evening, a year into my three years as an Instructor, I met the Instructor that told me I couldn’t cut it as a Radioman, the only one who would not approve my one last try. He had been an E-6, RM1, in 1970. Now in 1977, we were both RM1.
I think I qualify as one of that “tiny number”! I was able to do all the above, and much more, because a handfull of Instructors took the time to talk with me and to listen to me and take that leap of faith that I would not fail them. And maybe the one who wouldn’t take that leap as well. Maybe I wanted as much to prove him wrong as I wanted to prove the others right.
I retired in 1992, E-8, Radioman Senior Chief, with 23 years active service. My goal was E-9, Radioman Master Chief, and 30 years service, but failing health precluded that one last promotion.