The Sum Total

“We are the sum total of our experiences. Those experiences – be they positive or negative – make us the person we are, at any given point in our lives. And, like a flowing river, those same experiences, and those yet to come, continue to influence and reshape the person we are, and the person we become. None of us are the same as we were yesterday, nor will be tomorrow.”

― B. J. Neblett

I'm not sure I will ever fully get my head around this quote, but it certainly makes its way around my head a few times a week. I will be in the middle of a high-stakes chat with a child, explaining to them why using fists to solve disputes is wrong or why using unsavoury language is senseless; I might be helping a child with using similes for description and Neblett's words will suddenly echo within me. A cold fear of the damage that I could cause to the future of this child with the wrong advice or example looms to the fore of my consciousness. It is a fear of how I will potentially feature in the sum total of their experiences.

I should say here that I actually pride myself on the guidance I give to children whilst wandering the theme park of scenarios we find ourselves in as educators. My superiors have even told me that I have a knack for phrasing guidance in a unique and interesting way for children (and even parents, sometimes). But I am, nevertheless, quickly overcome with the fear that I am doing some kind of damage.

Neblett's postulation would suggest that a wrong word, even amongst a thousand other positive ones, could have a ripple effect through time and cause chaos. Movies like Back To The Future, Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure or About Time have taught me that cause and effect through time is a powerful thing. The Harry Potter stories say the same. What does that mean for us as mortal teachers who cannot travel back in time?

I often wonder, after a few glasses of adult's pop, if I have ever been that teacher who made a future adult hate maths forever. I can't help but agonise over the idea that, somewhere in the year 2038, there is a grown man or woman telling stories about Mr Knowles and the way I made them hate grammar, or art, or life-cycles.

Were I able to travel back in time, I would give medals to a smorgasbord of adults from my past if I could - they kept me in school and they ignited my talents beyond the pathetic embers that were my own self-motivation. These adults made me who I am. I am the sum total of their generosity and support, and any brilliance I can claim as my own is simply a cover song of their original impact on me.

I also have a hodge-podge of adults in my past from whom the dark beasts of my pride and shame crave flesh. These were adults who type-casted a hyperactive boy before he walked in the room. They were educators who assumed ignorance where there was genuine confusion. I played the role of the 'clever and able, but easily distracted' boy in school and my innate energy and enthusiasm was often not weaponised for the good of my learning. It was battled, and rarely defeated. It's these teachers that left me scared of science and sport - two of my favourite subjects to teach now. It is these teachers that I strive not to become, and I hold them in the darkest esteem.

I also have a lot of adults in my past that told me I was 'very intelligent' and 'special'. These probably had the worst impact overall. I've never been very anything, except loud. I am intelligent, but not very. I am talented and special in my own ways, but not very. I've met Mr Very Talented a few times and believe me - I am not him. However, teenage me didn't know this and he lapped up all the praise...and, of course, slacked off a fair bit, thinking he didn't have to work hard. It damaged me. Its contribution to the sum total of me left me less whole as a learner than I could have been, and I imagine that this is the same for many others.

That's where Neblett's words land and take root, for me - more as a warning to not be, than to be. I don't know whether my hyper-awareness is a good thing or a bad one, but it reminds me to simply be aware that my job has few second chances, and fewer take-backs.

I suppose that's why old school friends furrow their brows and say YOU? when they find out I'm a teacher...