“Teachers are those who use themselves as bridges, over which they invite their students to cross; then, having facilitated their crossing, joyfully collapse, encouraging them to create bridges of their own.”
—Nikos Kazantzakis (1883–1957), Greek novelist and philosopher, best known for ZorbatheGreek.
Whenever I think of Labor Day—not just today, the official day of celebration, but at any time of the year—I hear Walt Whitman’s poem, “I Hear America Singing.”
In spirit, it remains one of the most comprehensive and inclusive celebrations of labor I know. Whitman exalts the varied carols of America: mechanics, carpenters, boatmen, masons, shoemakers, wood-cutters, mothers, wives, girls, fellows—
“Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else.”
Even though Whitman’s intent was to celebrate all labor, I’ve often wished he had stretched his litany further: to nurses and caregivers, to social workers and librarians, to the quiet hands who stock shelves at dawn or clean buildings long after everyone else has gone home. So many vital songs go unsung. And yet, by inference, perhaps he did include them—since he was singing America itself, and since his deepest wish was to be the poet of Democracy, the poet of the people, all people.
I especially wish–maybe with a touch of occupational selfishness–that he had included educators—those whose labor shapes every other voice in the chorus. Educators labor not with saw or chisel, but with patience, persistence, and vision—tools just as demanding as Whitman’s mechanics and masons. Their labor is not confined to the classroom or the clock. For many—certainly for me—it was twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I went to bed thinking about my students and woke up thinking about them again. Lessons, endless papers, worries, hopes—and encouragement, too—followed me everywhere. Teaching was never a job; it was a calling that claimed my whole self. Like countless other educators, I gave my students my all—and then more.
Educators also give second chances, ignite new beginnings, and shape futures that might otherwise have been lost.
A day never passes that I don’t think about one or more of the bridge builders who taught me—my third-grade teacher who handed me Robert Frost’s poems and lit a lifelong love of language, or my high school biology teacher who welcomed us to his desk day after day, giving us not just knowledge but his time, his presence, himself. My college and university professors, too, showed me that education was not a finish line but a lifelong pursuit. Their labor was quiet, personal, and lasting.
I know this firsthand. I walked the bridge that educators built for me, and in time I became a builder myself—pouring my own labor into students, carrying them forward just as others once carried me.
And when I needed a bridge of my own, the Virginia Community College System gave me not just one opportunity, but two. In 1998 after I left the Library of Congress, it opened the door for me to finally live my childhood dream of teaching English. And years later, through the Chancellor’s Commonwealth Professorship Program, it offered me something even rarer—a second chance to complete research I had set aside nearly forty years earlier. That truth has reshaped how I see education itself. It’s not only about beginnings. It’s also about returnings. Sometimes, opportunity does knock twice. The Virginia Community College System gave me mine.
It gave me that second chance with Unmasking The Humourist: Alexander Gordon’s Lost Essays of Colonial Charleston, South Carolina. What began as a graduate paper in 1973—sparked by the encouragement of mentors like Calhoun Winton and J. A. Leo Lemay—has at last found its full voice. The forgotten essays of colonial Charleston have their rightful place in American literary tradition, and I have had the rare privilege of finishing the work I once left behind.
That’s why I dedicated Unmasking The Humourist to the Virginia Community College System and its educators:
―For the Virginia Community College System― ─────────────── Dedicated to transforming lives and expanding possibilities throughout its 23 colleges, proving that education is not just about learning, but about unlocking potential, shaping futures, and ensuring that no great idea goes unfinished.
And because words alone weren’t enough, I decided to act on that dedication. I have never forgotten the benefactors—sometimes unseen, sometimes unknown—who helped carry me across my own bridge: from a coal camp childhood to a college classroom, to a professor’s life I once only dreamed of. Their quiet generosity made my journey possible.
All proceeds from the sale of this book will be donated to The Virginia Foundation for Community College Education
On this Labor Day, I hear Whitman’s chorus again. It grows stronger, more complete, when we hear the steady song of educators—singing what belongs to them, and to none else. Their song is the bridge that carries not just students, but all of us, forward.
“Just as electricity transformed almost everything 100 years ago, today I actually have a hard time thinking of an industry that I don’t think AI will transform in the next several years.”
–Andrew Ng (b. 1976; computer scientist and entrepreneur known for his work in artificial intelligence and machine learning; co-founder of Google Brain; Chief Scientist at Baidu; significant contributor to deep learning research and online education through Coursera.)
The other day, I found myself reflecting on some of the major technological advances that I’ve witnessed since the late 1940s when I was born. I’m thrilled by how far we’ve come.
● TVs that brought the rest of the world into our living rooms. ● Major vaccines that protected the public from polio, diphtheria, and smallpox. ● Machine Readable Cataloging (MARC) that led to worldwide automated cataloging. ● Landing on the Moon that showed a modern twist on human ingenuity and the relentless quest for knowledge. ● Personal calculators and digital watches that made everyday tasks a bit easier and added a touch of futuristic flair to our lives. ● CTscans thatallowed doctors to see inside the human body with incredible precision. ● The rise of the Internet and personal computers that gave us the ability to interact with the world at any time. ● Smartphones thathave enabled us to stay connected, informed, and entertained no matter where we are. ● Recent space advances with missions to Mars and the proliferation of private space travel that continue to push the boundaries.
Okay, let me pause right here, right now. I hear what some of you might be saying.
You might be saying that what I’ve witnessed during the Modern/Contemporary Era doesn’t begin to compare with the Renaissance (c. 1450-1526). Leonardo da Vinci. Michelangelo. Shakespeare. Copernicus. European exploration of the Americas, Africa, and Asia. And let’s not forget, Gutenberg’s printing press.
Or maybe you’re saying that what I’ve witnessed doesn’t compare with the Industrial Revolution (c. 1760-1836). The spinning jenny. The steam engine. The power loom. Transformations in manufacturing, factories, and mass production. Railways and steamships. Rapid urbanization. And new economic theories.
But what I’m talking about goes beyond the Industrial Revolution and even the Renaissance. Here’s why. The kingpin to the technological advances that I’ve witnessed is Artificial Intelligence (AI). AI is what grabbed hold of me and made me start reflecting on the technological advances of my lifetime in the first place. Simply put, I am blown away not only by the speed with which AI is advancing but also the speed with which it is being incorporated into our lives.
Let me explain. I was smitten by AI, specifically generative language platforms like ChatGPT, from the start, so much so that in 2023, I published 10 posts about AI. The first one “Cutting Edge Technologies: Promise or Peril?” (January 24) ended with a caustic warning:
It seems to me that the perils being voiced by AI skeptics aren’t too different from those sounded by other skeptics down through the ages about other cutting-edge technologies. The Printing Press. Online Cataloging. The Internet. Online Learning. Open Education Resources.
But here’s what we have to accept. Whether we like it or not–whether we feel threatened by it or not–AI is here. It has started. It will not stop. It is the future.
Promise or Peril? I have to decide where I stand. You have to decide where you stand. We all have to decide where we stand.
We can’t ignore AI.
Sadly, we can, but only if we want to be among the left behind.
In the crucible of this moment, we must choose whether to embrace AI’s potential or turn away from it. The history of civilization is a testament to humanity’s willingness to embrace change and innovation. The road to a better world requires boldness, foresight, and the audacity to dream beyond our limitations. We’re standing on the brink of a future where we can develop and use AI’s extraordinary potential. I have a fervent hope and a deep-down desire that we will remember the lessons of our past and seize the AI opportunities that can propel us forward toward greatness.
Then, a few months later in my November 27 post “I Want a Robot,” I didn’t feel a need for a plea or for a warning. I just wanted to fool around with ChatGPT to see how far we could get with designing my very own robot named Caden, with fully operational arms, legs, and articulate facial features along with human gestures, expressions as well as a sense of sarcasm and humor.
It was a marvelous post exploring a possibility that excited me so much I even threatened to sell my coveted Rubicon Jeep Gladiator in order to have Caden in my home. But ChatGPT cautioned me that I might be getting a little carried away with my idea:
Brent: I hear you. If you had to guess how many years from now Humanoid robots like Caden might be available, what would you guess? Be bold: guess.
ChatGPT: Making predictions about the timeline for the development of humanoid robots like Caden involves a high degree of uncertainty. Technological advancements can be rapid, but predicting specific breakthroughs is challenging. If I were to make a bold guess, I’d say it could potentially be within the next 20 to 30 years, considering the current trajectory of AI and robotics research. However, this is purely speculative, and various factors, including ethical considerations, regulatory hurdles, and technological challenges, could influence the timeline. It’s always exciting to follow developments in these fields and see how they unfold over time.
Brent: We’ll see. Just for the record–yours, mine, my readers, and posterity–I’m going to guess within 10 years. Again, it’s just a guess on my part.
And my prediction was far closer than ChatGPT’s! The speed is astonishing!
The dawn of complex humanoid robots is here, less than a year after ChatGPT and I had our conversation. In fact, when I started this post, I had planned to call it “The AI Times They Are A-Changin’.” But as I tapped away on my Smartphone, I had a realization. The AI times are not changing. They have changed already.
Right now, 22 humanoid prototypes are out there, ready to get to work. They’re already making waves in logistics, manufacturing, healthcare, and hospitality, though their use is still a bit limited due to the high costs of development.
But things are looking up! The market for humanoid robots was worth $1.8 billion in 2023, and get this: in the next five years, it’s expected to skyrocket to over $13 billion! That’s a staggering growth rate of over 600%, which shows just how fast this technology is advancing and how much potential it has to change our lives.
I’ve got my eye on my very own Caden, of course, but I’m fascinated by several others, too. Meet, for example, Aloha, a housekeeping humanoid that can cook and clean! I’ll do the cooking. Aloha can do the cleaning!
Or what about Pepper, a humanoid robot developed by SoftBank Robotics. Known for their friendly demeanor and ability to interact with humans through voice and touch, Pepper “stands out from the crowd.” Designed to assist in various environments, from retail and hospitality to education and healthcare, Pepper showcases advancements in AI and robotics aimed at enhancing human-robot interactions.
Then we also have Sophia, created by Hanson Robotics. Sophia gained fame for their human-like appearance and advanced AI capabilities. They can hold conversations, recognize faces, and express emotions, making them suitable for applications in customer service, education, and research.
And let’s not forget Atlas. Known for their impressive agility and bipedal movement, Atlas is a humanoid robot developed by Boston Dynamics. They’re designed for tasks in environments that are challenging for humans, such as search and rescue missions or construction sites.
What can I say? Dayumn! Shazam!
Aside from these major advances in such a short time, I take heart in something else, too! AI is finding its way fast and faster into the halls of academe and that is exactly where it belongs. Take a look at these headlines. Better still, click on the links and read the articles yourself. Stay informed.
It thrills me to see educators involved in AI. Educators play a crucial role in shaping how humanoid robots and other AI technologies are perceived and utilized in society.
● We are responsible for preparing students to navigate a world increasingly influenced by AI and robotics. This includes teaching them about the capabilities, ethical implications, and potential impacts of these technologies.
● We can foster discussions around the ethical and social implications of AI and humanoid robots. We can encourage critical thinking and help students develop a nuanced understanding of the benefits and challenges associated with these technologies.
● We can familiarize students with these technologies from an early age. This hands-on experience can demystify robotics and AI, making them less intimidating and more understandable.
● We can help students develop skills that will be valuable in a future where AI and automation play prominent roles. This includes skills in programming, problem-solving, collaboration, and adaptability.
● We can advocate for policies and practices that ensure AI and humanoid robots are used responsibly and ethically and that, in turn, can influence educational institutions, policymakers, and the broader community.
And if you’re an educator working in a system that has yet to embrace these tools, I urge you to advocate for their inclusion, collaborate with colleagues, and seek out resources and training to effectively incorporate AI education into your teaching.
As educators navigating AI, remember this. AI is not a choice. AI is not an option. It is your responsibility to help students navigate the new AI world.
For students eager to embrace AI education and its potential, there are actionable steps you can take to encourage your educators and school systems. Start by expressing your interest and curiosity about AI technology in classroom discussions and projects. Seek out extracurricular activities or clubs focused on technology and innovation where you can explore AI concepts further. Advocate for AI literacy within your school by organizing student-led initiatives, such as petitions or presentations to school boards and administrators, highlighting the importance of integrating AI education into the curriculum. Engage with teachers and mentors to share resources and ideas on how AI can be effectively taught and learned. By actively demonstrating your enthusiasm and commitment to learning about AI, you can play a pivotal role in shaping a forward-thinking education system that prepares students for the challenges and opportunities of tomorrow’s world.
As students navigating AI, remember this. AI is not a choice. AI is not an option. It is your responsibility to learn everything that you can learn about AI so that you can navigate our brand-new world and make it the world of our most hopeful dreams.
So, here we are, Dear Readers! The AI revolution is no longer a distant forecast, but a reality that’s already transforming our world in ways we never thought possible. In less than one year, my message has changed from warning to plea to invitation. We’re at a crossroads, and it’s up to us to decide how we want to harness the power of AI. Let’s choose to use it to enhance our humanity rather than diminish it. Let’s educate ourselves, our children, and future generations to navigate this brave new world. And let’s create a future where technology and humanity converge in harmony. The AI times have changed, and I invite you to embrace the AI potential and change with the times!
“Computers are incredibly fast, accurate, and stupid. Human beings are incredibly slow, inaccurate, and brilliant. Together they are powerful beyond imagination.”
–Slightly Modified Quotation by Albert Einstein (1879-1955; known for His monumental contributions to physics and our understanding of the universe with his theory of relativity, E=mc², and numerous other discoveries.)
Those who know me well–and even those who know me, but not well–know that I always gift myself on my birthday. I purchase my gifts in advance, I have them wrapped in over-the-top paper with ribbons and bows beyond glitzy, and, without fail, I include a note reminding myself of how special I am. Well, I am. If I don’t celebrate me, others won’t celebrate me either. Right? Right. (You’re special, too. Gift yourself when your birthday rolls around.)
I’ve written at least one essay about a gift that I gave myself for my birthday. Who amongst us does not remember last year’s “Celebrating the Gateway to Who I Am”? In that blog post, I shared with you my 75th birthday gift: my decision to not let others diminish my identity by calling me Sweetie, Dearie, or Honey, instead of calling me by my name. I shared with you what I planned to do whenever those well-intentioned terms of endearment grated my ears and pierced my being. Simply put, I decided to rise up to the full height of my politest best and do my utmost to turn those ageist comments into learning moments.
I am pleased to report that I have done just that for the last year, and it has brought positive results, particularly in my doctor’s office and at my local pharmacy. I’m now “Brent.” My name. My God. My name. Who would have believed that one word could be so symphonic?
I thought that last year’s birthday gift might have been my best, ever.
Maybe so. But this year’s gift might be even better. Once again, it will be a blog post–today’s actually–made up of ideas lounging lazily midst glamorous and glitzy spaces.
But only the ideas will matter. Nothing else ever matters, really. Only ideas.
The idea that I want to explore as my 76th birthday gift is simply this. How can it be that I am hyped beyond hype about Artificial Intelligence (AI) and its potential? I am, and candidly, it might just be the greatest technological thrill of my entire life. I’ve written about its potential in “What If We Use Artificial Intelligence (AI) to Become Even Better than We Are?”
But here’s what I’m trying to figure out. How can it be that I am so turned on by AI? After all, I’m the guy whose entire being screams, “Humanities!” It strikes me as rather strange, so much so that I’m beginning to think of myself as an oddity, peculiar even to myself.
Doesn’t it strike you as strange, too, especially when I tell you that in all the standardized tests that I’ve taken down through the years, I have always scored substantially higher in math and science than in English?
I mean, those test results would have had me marching right on down the STEM side of life, focusing on science, technology, engineering, and mathematics.
You certainly wouldn’t have expected me to sashay down the liberal arts aisle, having endless affairs with literature, philosophy, history, languages, and everything else that focuses on human culture, creativity, and critical thinking.
But that’s just what I did! I think my mother started it all. While I was still in her womb, she was reading a novel with a protagonist named Brentford. She fell in love with the name and decided that she would pass it on to me. I don’t think my mother read novels after that, no doubt because she was preaching and shouting the Gospel’s good news in the little Pilgrim Holiness Church that she pastored until I was five or so.
During that time, I fell in love with language, listening to my mother and watching others as they were slain in the Holy Spirit while she preached. I also saw that my mother valued the beauty of diversity. Even though it was not politically correct to do so at the time, everyone in our multiethnic coal camp came into our modest home through our front door and dined at our steel-framed, Formica-topped kitchen table. I saw my mother stand up time and time again for what she thought was right. She never compromised her convictions. She believed in forgiveness and taught us to never let the sun go down with an ought in our hearts. She embraced positive thinking: if you think you can, you can. She was the epitome of steadfast cheerfulness and optimism.
In addition to my mother’s influence was the impact of living in a multiethnic community made up not only of Blacks and Whites but also of Greeks, Hispanics, Hungarians, Italians, Jews, Poles, and Puerto Ricans, many of whom were first generation immigrants. I appreciated the rhythm of diverse languages, the symphony of cultures echoing through every corner of my little coal camp. I learned how to have conversations with passionate hand gestures and animated facial expressions. Black gospel music and spirited conversations in Italian became the backdrop of my days. The rich aroma of soulful collards and pintos, garlicky Greek beans, savory Italian pasta sauces, and Hungarian goulash wafted through our community. Our dinner tables were a melting pot of international flavors. Hands of varied textures united—Pole with Greek, Jew with Black—and danced the hard dance of shared labor and celebrated the simple things in life that forged our coal-camp community.
Such were the ordinary threads that made up the fabric of my early childhood, yet they were sufficient enough to help me understand how people think and feel and yearn, and they were ample enough to make me feel at home in my future educational pursuits that encompassed language and literature and philosophy and religion.
Little wonder that I’d go on to earn my bachelor’s degree in the humanities with a concentration in English and allied fields in philosophy, religion, and speech. I had the luxury of studying the parts of life that meant so much to me. Later, I would earn my doctoral degree in philosophy with specializations in American literature and British literature.
But here’s what’s remarkably beautiful and equally strange. An education–especially in the humanities–prepares and empowers us for many undertakings, ironically not always related directly to what we studied in college. To my surprise, after I earned my bachelor’s degree, I was hired as an editor at the Library of Congress (LOC). For someone who grew up in a home with three books, it was staggering for me to be working in the world’s premier library, the place with all the books.
It was in that position–going all the way back to 1969–that my love of the humanities started to intersect in silent and seamless ways with my love of computer technology and my current fascination with Artificial Intelligence (AI). Looking back, it’s clear to me that my first editorial job at the LOC allowed both hemispheres of my brain to work together and complement one another even if I was not aware of the tight interconnections.
In that editorial position, I worked under the leadership of Henriette Avram, a computer programmer and systems analyst who developed the MARC format (MAchine Readable Cataloging) that revolutionized cataloging and libraries. (Computer technology had begun in the late 1930s, but when I started working at the Library of Congress, computers were still referred to as machines.) As an editor, I identified the various bibliographic data fields on conventional 3 x 5 catalog cards, and those tags–signposts, if you will–allowed Library records to be converted into online catalogs. The MARC format became the standard for most computer programs and for cataloging books worldwide.
At the same time, the LOC launched its Retrospective Conversion (RECON) project to convert older cataloging records into machine-readable form. On January 1, 1981, the LOC stopped filing cards into its main card catalog: online cataloging of its collections officially began.
As I moved into other positions at the Library of Congress, my background in online cataloging was among my key assets. I would go on to serve as an editor of the Catalog of Copyright Entries, making final determinations for automated cataloging, editing, and publishing activities constituting the bibliographic and legal record of works registered for U.S. copyright protection.
After I left the Library of Congress and crossed over into academe, fulfilling my third-grade dream of becoming an English professor, my new career path provided other notable intersections that would integrate my knowledge of computer technology and my love of the humanities. When Laurel Ridge Community College (formerly Lord Fairfax Community College) launched online learning and teaching in 2000, I was among the first faculty to embrace the initiative and to offer classes using Blackboard as the delivery platform. Years later when the college wanted faculty to use Open Education Resources (OER) to lower the textbook costs for students, I volunteered and within a year I had designed and developed my own OER courses in American Literature, College Composition, Creative Writing, and Leadership Development.
Now, we are at poised at another historic milestone as Artificial Intelligence (AI)–specifically ChatGPT–offers us new learning resources that will revolutionize classrooms and lives. As an educator and as a human being, I embrace these technological advances fully. For me, it’s perhaps the most exciting moment in my entire life.
In tracing my path from my coal-camp beginnings to the vast landscape of Artificial Intelligence, I am reminded that life’s narrative is a complex dance between the humanities and technology. As I reflect on the unexpected turns, from my early days influenced by my mother’s sermons to my involvement in pioneering work at the Library of Congress and now my fascination with the marvels of AI, I find a harmonious integration of seemingly disparate worlds.
Just as the humanities laid the foundation for my understanding of the human experience, technology provided the tools to amplify and share that understanding with others. My journey from machines to Artificial Intelligence mirrors my own evolution, from a coal-camp kid fascinated by language and diverse cultures to a lifelong learner who eagerly embraces the next chapter of technological marvels.
As I celebrate this milestone year, I am grateful for the intersections of the humanities and technology in my life. It’s a testament to the ever-expanding possibilities that come to fruition when we allow these disciplines to not only coexist but also enrich each other. With a heart brimming with gratitude and a mind ignited by curiosity, I step into the AI future, ready to explore the uncharted territories where the humanities and technology continue to move in a captivating rhythm.
I hope that sharing highlights of my journey from my birth year of 1947, marked by the invention of the transistor, to the present day of Artificial Intelligence, serves as a testament to the enduring power of embracing change, fostering innovation, and finding harmony in the symphony of human and technological progress. Today, I see a dazzling future where the humanities and technology intertwine, creating a narrative that transcends the boundaries of what we ever deemed possible.
“If a man empties his purse into his head, no man can take it away from him. An investment in knowledge always pays the best interest.”
Benjamin Franklin (Poor Richard’s Almanac)
This week I’m thinking about education, far more than usual. The reason is simple. Exactly one week from today, I’ll be meeting a new group of community college students who have decided wisely that getting an education is their best move. With them, I’ll be standing on the brink of now and the future. It’s a new beginning for me and a new beginning for them.
As an educator, my role is to provide students with the knowledge base they need in English, especially American Literature, Appalachian Literature, and Creative Writing.
Aside from equipping them with the needed knowledge base, my goal is to turn them on.
“Turn students on to English? No way!”
“When pigs fly,” someone else squealed.
I understand. I have understood since I started teaching. From the first day that I enter a classroom at the start of a brand-new semester, mine is an uphill battle. But that’s perfectly all right. I love challenges. I have every confidence in the world that by the end of the semester my students will see that language and literature can help them discover their own worlds and the worlds around them. I have every confidence in the world that by the end of the semester my students will see that language and literature matter. “He can inspire a rock to write,” wrote one student in my early teaching career at Laurel Ridge Community College.
Nonetheless, I am aware that I may not have one student who is majoring in English. So, while I am passionate about language and literature and while I know that I can turn my students on to those subjects, I feel an equal responsibility to be passionate about education. I want my students to believe that education–their education–matters.
Sometimes getting them to believe that is an even greater challenge than turning them on to English.
I have to meet that challenge, too, right from the start, because I know that the community college graduation rate nationwide is about 62%.
I celebrate the students who make up that percentage. And I celebrate the 30% of community college students nationwide who transfer to four-year colleges and universities.
Yet, while celebrating all those students, I want to do my best to reach out to the others who might not be part of the 62% graduation rate or the 30% transfer rate unless I convince them that an education–their education–matters.
Why an education matters is abundantly clear to those of us who are educated. Career options. Job security. Expanded earnings. Networking. Professional connections. Increased happiness. Friendships. Better health. Even longevity.
I could include statistics to support those claims. I won’t. Candidly, they don’t do much for me.
And, candidly, when I talk about the practical benefits of an education–and I do–eyes glaze over and my students search for imaginary exits, especially when I start bringing in statistics to support my claims.
On the other hand, when I switch my focus to the softer side of why an education matters–the side that allows me to be personal and passionate–vision returns to glazed eyes and students return to the classroom that they just fancifully exited.
Sometimes–actually almost always–I’ll start the soft-side conversation by asking my students how many of them are the first in their family to go to college.
Usually about one third of their hands go up–a response that’s consistent with national data for community college students.
They seem to take notice when I tell them that I am a first-generation college student, too. They really take notice when I share some personal information about me. Son of a West Virginia coal miner and his wife, a Pilgrim Holiness minister. Grew up with three books in my home—the King James Bible, Webster’s Dictionary, and Sears Roebuck Catalog. Made it to the halls of the Library of Congress, which for 25 years became my home, with more than 20 million books. Then to the halls of Laurel Ridge Community College which for the last 23 years has been my home, where I’ve taught more than 7,000 students. Without being boastful, I want them to hear and see firsthand how an education transformed my life. I want to convince them that an education will transform their lives, too.
They get turned on more when I tell them that with an education they can go anywhere because they will be experts in their field. These days, I seem to have more and more students in health sciences, so I make a point of emphasizing that they can go wherever their credentials are recognized. Their eyes light up when I talk about the option of being a traveling nurse or a traveling surgical technologist. Their eyes really light up when I talk about the bonuses and salary increases that go hand in hand with adventuresome, free travel.
I remind them as well that an education empowers them to become their own knowledge navigators. I share with them what Robert Frost once wrote: “We go to college to be given one more chance to learn to read in case we haven’t learned in High School. Once we have learned to read the rest can be trusted to add itself unto us” (“Poetry and School,” The Atlantic Monthly, June 1951). Frost, of course, is talking about developing critical reading skills and critical thinking skills, both at the heart of all education.
Some days I emphasize that an education matters because it emboldens you to follow your passion. I share with them my own undergraduate struggles as English, Pre-Law, and Pre-Med messed around with my head. One day, after switching majors several times, I allowed my passion to take hold of my heart. From that point forward, English prevailed.
Or what about the notion that an education enables us to be anchored and hopeful amidst the storms of life that are certain to come our way? I’m thinking again about Robert Frost and his poem “One Step Backward Taken.” The speaker in the poem is shaken by a universal crisis, “But with one step backward taken / I saved myself from going. / A world torn loose went by me. / Then the rain stopped and the blowing, / And the sun came out to dry me.”
And how about this one that I like to use when students wonder whether an education is worth the cost, especially as their student loans grow larger and larger. I remind them that an education is one of their best investments. No one can take it away, ever. Perhaps even better is the way that the investment keeps on growing through lifelong learning.
Those are just a few of the “soft” reasons why an education matters to me. They are the ones that are on my mind this week as I anticipate next week’s new beginnings.
There’s one more, though, that’s always on my mind. It’s the University of South Carolina’s motto surrounding the seal on my doctoral class ring. It’s a quote from Ovid, “Emollit Mores Nec Sinit Esse Feros,” which translates to “Learning humanizes character and does not permit it to be cruel.”
The Wired Researcher 