Being 'Mr Ambrose': The Road to Authenticity
As a musician as well as a teacher, I have always thought of teaching as a kind of performance. Each day, I get into costume, take to the stage and greet my audience.
But if I am the performer, then who is the character on stage? Where did he come from, and at what point does the performance begin and end?
In many ways, I have been creating ‘Mr Ambrose’ perpetually since I first took the decision to become a teacher. He began as the person I thought he should be, designed to fit a role I could not yet comprehend. Initially, he spoke, moved and thought in a way completely alien to my own. He did what a teacher ‘should’ do at a time when I did not see myself as one. Gradually, crude, mechanical parts were replaced with increasingly convincing replicas of those belonging colleagues I admired and the blueprints from CPD sessions, books and the feedback I received from my observers. Mr Ambrose was becoming a less wooden, more convincing character. Over time, I became more confident to go '"off-script", improvise a few lines (later entire scenes) or introduce an unexpected twist to his character arc. Sometimes it worked and another facet of his character was retained. At other times, the attempt would feel forced and the alteration discarded. Was Mr Ambrose becoming more authentic: more me? Or was this something else?
The clues took some time to appear. Anyone who has ever mentored an early career teacher will know the feeling of watching yourself reflected in an observation. Here was the first suggestion that I had come to identify with my character. "That's funny, I do that." (or, at times, "Oh dear God, do I do that?") And in mentoring others, another revelation; those who were able to respond most constructively to feedback were best able to stand apart from their teacher persona and discuss what they were doing in a classroom rather than who they are as a teacher. We respond to our audiences and shape our performances to connect more effectively with them: revise the script, don't blame the actor.
I recognised that the teaching persona has many advantages. It protects the fragile self from the bruising of criticism, the unjust actions of pupils, the disappointment of rejection. But over time I also realised a sorry limitation; that standing entirely apart keeps us from making genuine connections with our pupils. Deep down, everybody desires to be seen, acknowledged and accepted. And for our pupils, a genuine sense that their teacher might be sharing something of themselves is compelling, reassuring and rewarding. This selective sharing may make us feel vulnerable but, for me, this integration of my authentic self with the carefully crafted character on stage has been the most liberating moment in my career.
Have I become Mr Ambrose? Has he become me? I think a little of both. The more exciting question for me is this: where will this performance take us next?
