We have all met tourists. Tourists are the people we see with fanny packs and cameras around their necks; they usually stick to the popular attractions listed in the guidebooks. They hope to stay safe and to return home with fun pictures and happy stories. Tourists ask a travel agent to plan their trip for them or they ask for suggestions from the concierge at the hotel or resort where they are staying. People in the tourist category take the tour bus out to see the sights, getting the obligatory pictures at each of the stops, returning at the end of the day to the safe “bubble” of their lodging. Tourism departments advertise and seek to recruit tourists, highlighting the sights to see and the experiences to enjoy. Tourists look forward to the trip, but they don’t like surprises.
A vivid example of a tourist came from my experience while through hiking the Pacific Crest Trail from Mexico to Canada. While in Yosemite, I clearly recall walking one morning to get coffee and breakfast and seeing a long line of happy campers with their cameras, day packs, and hiking boots waiting for a ride to the trailhead. That long bus trip and day hike would be enough for them. They could snap pictures of El Capitán, Half Dome, and Double Falls. Because I was on a rest day, I was able to watch each of these tourists return home safely that evening and fill the restaurant, sharing stories over their meals. Having already hiked over nine hundred miles, I was content to spend the day resting and reflecting. I was a seasoned hiker at this point, no longer a day hiker in need of a tourist experience.
Not to be unkind, but I think there may even be a subgroup of tourists to whom we might give the name “duke and duchess” tourists. I am sure one could find some wonderful real dukes and duchesses if one looked, but I use this title because I want to convey a certain picture. I have actually met such people. They want to see what other tourists want to see, but they really don’t want to see poor people on their way there. In some cases, they may want to taste some local delicacies, but only if the food they eat at home remains available as a backup. At their worst, they want some modern-day equivalent of being carried in a litter by four locals.
Duke and duchess tourist teachers are the ones who complain when they have students with challenging academic, physical, and behavioral needs in their class. These teachers want the “good” kids who come from “good” homes. With supportive parents, these students are the ones who will stay on task and work hard with little need for external motivation. Similar to tourist mountain climbers who pay for the Sherpa to guide and carry their things, ensuring they have a memorable experience at the peak, these teachers want things arranged for them to guarantee that their jobs go smoothly.
Are there really teachers who want everything done for them? Perhaps there are a few, but I think most seek other work once they discover that, while a noble profession, teaching is also one of the hardest. The protagonists in a few teacher movies tend to have a duke or duchess colleague, but we recognize those characters as stereotypes.
Whether that subcategory of teachers exists or not, we all have met teachers who want teaching to be like tourism; I think of the teachers who expect everything to go as planned. When tourism works perfectly, bags don’t go astray, guides don’t get lost, bus engines work perfectly, and hotel bathrooms are always spacious and clean. And in tourism teaching, teaching likewise remains bump free. Students from stable families come to school ready to learn and are able to focus solely on school. They understand their assignments perfectly and complete them neatly and on time. Administrators are all above average and coworkers collaborate and work well together with no personality conflicts. New curriculum initiatives come from above only after careful thought and thorough consultation with all stakeholders.
I see three categories of teachers as tourists who want to see everything go as planned: first-year teachers, experienced teachers going through a life event, and experienced teachers who are content in their practice. First-year tourist teachers have their ideas, supplies, and classroom in order. These teachers are eager to follow the curriculum and make it through the first year without questioning much around them. They are hoping an experienced teacher has things planned out and can guide and assist them through the school year. First-year teachers discover along the way that even with the best plans and ideas, teaching is a daily adventure and events do not always go as anticipated.
Two of my colleagues have written in this issue about the proper role of teacher mentor-guides and about teaching as adventure. These mentor-guides are necessary to help beginning teachers make their way into the profession. Left to struggle on their own, many new teachers would make it to the end of the school year feeling frustrated (and some would not even make it to the end of the year). For them, the school would resemble less of a tourist resort and more of a true community, filled with people representing each of the teaching postures, including travelers, adventurers, pilgrims, and refugees.
In my first year teaching, I was this tourist. I had my classroom ready with cute decorations and I had my curriculum planned. I was ready to take on the challenges of my first year teaching with my fresh ideas from the university. Thankfully, I had two experienced mentors on my team. These veteran teachers helped me learn what I did not know, and they guided me through that first year. Things did not go as planned, and I was exhausted by October from my lack of experience. Like the Yosemite day hikers, I was relieved when June arrived and the year was finally over. My school no longer resembled a resort where teachers and students came to learn and play each day, but an imperfect community where everyone worked together to meet the needs of our students and each other.
