Section Two
I stood like a rock in a rushing stream of preoccupied college students. It was fall registration. Organized chaos.
I’d seen it all before many times, but this time instead of racing around the gymnasium signing up for classes, I watched as students signed up for my classes. It was my first year out of graduate school, and I was just hours away from my debut on the other side of the lectern.
Taking a closer look at several of the registration tables, I noticed that I had been assigned sections one, two, and three of the course. The remaining five sections were taught by others. After walking around for twenty minutes, I left the gym and headed across campus toward my office.
A well-seasoned faculty member at the college caught up with me and said, “I just can’t believe it!”
“You can’t believe what?”
“They gave you section two, didn’t they?”
“Well, yes, I guess they did.” He shook his head in seeming unbelief. “I just can’t believe it. You’re the new faculty member—first-year rookie—and they gave you section two.” He had me perplexed.
“Why—what’s so special about section two?”
“You mean they didn’t tell you at faculty orientation? Section two has all the top high school seniors coming into the freshman class. The honors group. Cream of the crop. The most outstanding group of students in the whole college.” We stopped outside the faculty offices and he leveled his gaze at me. “Bruce, you are not going to believe the difference teaching section two.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, not knowing whether to feel exhilarated or intimidated. Growing up, I had never been in a section two, I didn’t think…
“Motivation! Like a team of wild horses straining at the reins. Those kids’ll just pull it out of you. You’re going to love every minute of it. Wow! First-year teacher. I can’t believe the luck.” He walked down the sidewalk, shaking his head. I was intrigued, to say the least.
The next day, section one filed in and we had a good hour. Nothing outstanding, just a good give-and-take session with a solid group of young men and women. After break, section two walked in. I couldn’t believe it. He was absolutely right. I could feel the electricity in the air. From the ring of the bell, class just flew by as the teacher and students learned at almost warp speed. It was like stepping on a surfboard and riding the crest of the wave the entire hour.
At times the class’s interest and desire to learn swept over me with such intensity that I had trouble staying on top of it. Everything seemed different—their questions, their eye contact, their facial expressions, even the way they sat in their chairs. It was incredible. My colleague was right: These students pulled the best right out of you.
Section three came in later that day, and I realized in only a few seconds they were just like section one. Good, but nowhere near the caliber of section two. As the semester progressed, I found myself increasingly grateful to God for leading me into the ministry of teaching. I’d never felt so challenged and fulfilled. And though I enjoyed all of my classes, section two always made my day.
As we neared midterms, I found myself walking to a faculty meeting with the academic dean, Dr. Joseph Wong. “Well, Bruce,” he said, “you’re at the halfway point of your first year. The honeymoon is over by now. How do you enjoy teaching college?”
“It’s absolutely terrific! It’s better than I ever imagined.” He smiled. “That’s great to hear. What’s your favorite part of teaching?” Without thinking I blurted out, “Section two!” He raised his eyebrows and stopped walking in order to listen more intently, I thought. “You have section two? Tell me about it.”
It was the first chance I had to express my delight and gratitude for the opportunity to teach thirty of the keenest students I had ever encountered. I must have sung their praise for a couple of minutes as I described the amazing difference between them and the rest of my classes. The dean looked thoughtful as I went on and on about this gifted group of young men and women.
When I had finished he said, “I’m glad you’re having so much success, Bruce, but I need to tell you something that may surprise you—there is no honors class this year. We canceled it.” My mouth went dry.
“Joe,” I said, “you’ve got to be kidding!”
“No, I’m not kidding. Last year we decided it would be better if we spread the top students through all of the classes. We thought it would add a little more spark to each of the sections.” Dizzy with disbelief, I said, “Joe, I’ll catch you in a few minutes. I need to go back to my office for a moment.”
I raced into my office and dialed the registrar, sure that my colleague was trying to pull something over on this “rookie.”
“Joyce,” I said, “I’ve got section two of my class, right?” “That’s right, Bruce.” I swallowed hard. “And Joyce, section two contains all the outstanding students—the top freshmen, right?”
“Well, no, Bruce. We canceled that program last year.” Groaning inwardly, I thanked her and hung up the phone. I couldn’t seem to come to grips with what was happening.
With reluctance, I reached for my grade book and opened it. I compared the grades of sections one and three with section two. The difference was staggering. I pulled a stack of ungraded papers off my bookshelf. Stacking sections one and three on top of each other, I compared that pile with the stack from section two by itself. Section two had more pages than the other two sections combined! I went through the papers, one by one, page by page, and the difference was dramatic. The Section Two students outshone their peers again and again.
That day proved to be one of the most dramatic learning experiences of my life. I’ve never quite gotten over it. For the first time, I realized that what I believed about my students made an incredible difference in what they learned in my class. You see, there was no real difference between sections one, two, and three. It was the same content, same day of the week, same pool of eighteen- and nineteen-year-old students. Not one difference.
In fact, never once did I say, “You’re Section Two and your performance should reflect it.”
