I was at a dinner party this week, hosted by a former debater and student of mine, who is now a writer here in the City. In the Fall, he’ll be heading off to Ohio for his Masters in Fine Arts, and as part of his program, he’ll teach some undergraduate courses; in the Fall, he’ll be teaching Rhetoric 100.

He asked me, as he and I were in the kitchen doing dishes, what’s one lesson that I’ve learned over the years that I’ve been teaching.

That is perhaps one of the most difficult questions that a teacher can be asked. To boil every student interaction, every day’s lesson plan, every individual in-class learning activity or homework assignment down to just one lesson is incredibly difficult. But I knew that despite the nearly ten-years since actually being his teacher, and despite growing to consider him a friend, standing in that kitchen, he was asking me a serious question; he genuinely wanted to know the one thing that I’ve learned about teaching.

I’ve learned that what I teach is not nearly as important as who I teach.

As much as I love Psychology and as much as I enjoy ancient world history, in the grand scheme of things, these are not important. There might be elements of what I teach – such as the importance of critically examining the research methodologies and data behind studies reported in the media, or the importance of respecting the common good in a society – but most of the names, dates, and details of the what will not stand the test of time with students — that is, in ten-years, much of what they learned in my class will have faded, replaced by later, more nuanced, more relevant content. And when I’m stressing about a student turning in a late paper, or a quiz that the whole class did poorly on, this is an important lesson for me to remember.

What is important is the who I’m teaching — and that can be divided into two. First, it’s ultimately the student who is important — the student standing in front of me holding that late paper, the students watching our interaction, the students who see me in the street, the students who come to me with big life problems — those are who are really important. Fuck Forget lesson planning on the ancient city-state of Great Zimbabwe when you’ve got in your office a student in tears, worried about her older brother who’s gotten into hard drugs. And, second, sometimes the “who” I’m teaching is me. I’m still practicing how to teach, I’m still learning Psychology and World History, and I’m still learning how to do ministry. I’m also sometimes using me to teach them. When students see me reading a recently published nonfiction History book, they learn what it means to be a lifelong learner; when students see me admit a mistake or apologize for a harm, they learn what it means to be honest; when students see me pray and try to do Good, they learn what it means to be a sinner called by a loving God; when they see me run, they learn what it means to live a healthy life.

I’ve learned that what I teach is not nearly as important as who I teach.