When I get there, the classroom is empty. There are fifteen minutes until class starts. Fifteen minutes until I step into the role of “teacher” for the first time. With one sweeping gesture, I erase the notes still scribbled on the chalkboard (yes, chalkboard) from the previous lecture. With the largest piece of chalk I could find, I write: “Writing with Power: the Empathy Approach.”
After a few minutes, the students filter in. They are seventh, eighth, and ninth graders from around the Bay Area, students from all backgrounds. And for forty-five minutes today, they are my students.
Once they are settled, I begin.
“My name is Amanda Rizkalla. I am a freshman here at Stanford, and I’m originally from Los Angeles, California.”
And then, “I am a writer.”
I point to the board. “Let’s talk about this word right here: empathy. What does it mean?”
I watch as the students shift in their seats, as the myriad of postures in the room turns into a singular one; everyone sits up straighter, scanning the room.
I expected this. SPLASH expected it, too, and provided each of the teachers with a small bag of candy specifically for this purpose. I take out the bag and pour the contents out in front of me. Suddenly, they are effusive with responses. I make a mental note: ‘Students’ plus ‘Skittles’ equals ‘so much participation.’
“Now, what about the word ‘sympathy’? How are they different?”
We get through the class — and even after the candy is long gone, the students keep participating. I am taken aback by the quality of their contributions to the discussion. Was I this insightful when I was their age? I don’t think so. They’re smiling, they’re engaging, their focus is on the chalkboard. And you can see it on their faces — they’re learning.
I couldn’t help but smile, too.
We finish a few minutes early, and I leave time for questions. I look at the sea of young faces looking at me. I wonder if I did my job. I wonder if I brought them closer to understanding that these yellow pencils in their grasps are yellow swords in disguise — sharp, poised, and angled to fight as much as they are to write.
I told the class that words are inherently powerful. And reader, from all the words I know, I have one for you: teach.
Teach because if there is something that you know, know that it is better shared. Teach in any capacity — help your friend struggling with that p-set, use your actions to help someone learn about compassion, show someone the proper way to dance salsa. What are professors without something to profess?
Teach because you’re in college, where your job for four years is to learn. And you would be surprised about what you can learn about yourself by sharing a tiny bit of that knowledge with others.
It’s about time we start giving back.
Contact Amanda Rizkalla at amariz ‘at’ stanford.edu.