The teaching daimon appeared in my childhood when my Dad hung a large blackboard in the basement and placed old-fashioned school desks in front of it. At 10 years old, I had my first classroom. It was in a dark basement, and my students may have been stuffed animals and dolls, but I had a classroom in which I spent hours playing school, always the teacher.
At its best, teaching allows me to nurture and support others, qualities that help bring me out of myself and give me a greater sense of connection.
Without a classroom, I am at a loss. How can I share the information I collect? Where can I stash this idea and that idea?
At my best, I see the world as a classroom in which we all learn from one another. But even in this scenario, I see myself facilitating. I even have a pointer. It is a very friendly pointer with colorful marbles that were wedged into the twig as it grew, but it is a pointer nonetheless.
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