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¿¡¼¼ÀÌ(Answering The Call (¿µ¹®)

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ÀúÀ۽ñâ : 2005³â 12¿ù

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answering the call: inspiratio
n for teachers
where does the inspiration to
teach well come from? how and why do we teachers keep going at a time in ontario when we are so often depicted as public enemy number one? what is the motivation when funding for kids is considered such low priority, and testing them such a high one?
the answer is quite simple.we
know we make a difference.we know we are called to make a difference.sure, the academics are important, but in the years after the children leave our classrooms, they won t remember the cs or the bs.what theyll remember is whether they felt loved in our classroom, whether they felt safe, and whether they felt god.and that can make all the difference in the world.
in 1986, i was 22 years old,
immortal, and out to discover the world.i had just completed the first year of a two-year volunteer contract to teach mathematics in africa.i was posted to an impoverished boarding school in malawi, a sliver of a country in central africa, with another canadian teacher for a roommate.unlike my roommate janet, i was a novice teacher, still feeling my way through lessons, spending long hot nights planning and grading, while i listened to distant drums and nearby crickets.
my job was fulfilling despite
the overcrowded classrooms and 1920s british textbooks and by the end of the first year i was beginning to realize that job satisfaction was dependant on a lot more than my student s academic successes.besides the new experiences in my community, the opportunities to travel were fantastic.it was near the end of one particular trip that i learned how important one teacher s influence can be.
on this occasion janet and i
had been visiting the fabled victoria falls
that livingstone had so loved
.we had been lucky enough to hook up at the end of our trip with some young american missionaries who were driving their new pick-up truck back from south africa to their malawian mission.they were in a hurry to get back as one of their number had just come down with malaria, and they were eager to have as big a company as possible.
i was worried about accepting
a lift in a vehicle with south african license
plates.this was, after all, s
till the apartheid years, and zambia had been
bombed by the south african a
ir force less than six months before our trip.i was afraid that the soldiers that manned the many roadblocks on our route might not.2 give us the chance to explain that none of us were actually from south africa before they reacted.but there were going to be risks whether we accepted the lift or rode along the twisting pot-holed road in one the zambian buses whose undercarriage was held together by chicken wire.janet and i had already decided that avoiding adventure was neither possible nor always desirable.
nevertheless i tensed every t
ime we came to one of the many military roadblocks that lined our route.
at first all went well at the
various stops.in the heat of an african afternoon, the soldiers were happy to do no more than a quick check of our
papers and vehicle before ret
iring to the shade.we were actually beginning to
enjoy the breathtaking views
of the distant mountains, and close to the road, the sight of brilliant scarlet-leaved trees announcing a rainy season soon to come.
janet and i sat in the back o
f the pick-up for the entire journey and the breeze kept us cool as we covered our heads in the local cloth, or chitenge to prevent sunstroke.   (ÀÌÇÏ »ý·«)

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