My philosophy of teaching

I just happened to come across this in a comment from a year ago on this post (itself on my approach to teaching, something which might well become a mini-series of its own), and thought it was worth reprinting.     I am very sceptical of the idea of "teaching" poetry. I think the best teachers can do in most subjects - and just about all they can do in teaching literature - is to communicate their own passion. You can't tell kids that they ought to be excited about something; you can't even really show them, most of the time, why they ought to be excited by something; all you can do is show them that it is possible to be excited by something - and hope that they may be inspired to go in search of that excitement themselves.   This in turn reminded me of an especially dismal metaphor that has long haunted me, an image that was elaborated to me - with great earnestness, as the sum of wisdom in the profession of teaching - by a particularly embittered and cynical old schoolteacher I worked with on one of my first teaching practice stints during my teacher training year (20 years ago now).   This miserable old git told me:  "Imagine there's an empty milk bottle on each desk in the classroom.  The teacher stands at the front of the room with a tin pail of water, and hurls the water into the air. Every once in a while, a few droplets may fall into the open necks of a few of the bottles.  But not very much.  And none of the bottles will ever be full, however long you fling water at them."     I've always preferred this analogy:  "There's a tap at the front of the class.  The teacher, without comment or explanation, goes to the tap and operates it, pouring himself a tall glass of clear, cool water.  He drinks the water, with quiet satisfaction, and returns to his desk.  He invites his pupils to help themselves to a glass also, any time they feel like it."