Molding young minds and tooting my horn
Who'da thunk it, you know, that I'd find myself in this position!
A little known fact about my origins is that both my mother and my original father were teachers in a past life. Mom is brilliant, patient and can deal with teenagers. Dad - he's brilliant too, probably, but he can have a serious temper and short fuse when people frustrate him. If I am to believe family anecdotes, he used to tutor high school age kids while in college, and the kids would start to stutter under his rigorous tutelage. In fact, I vividly remember from personal experience, when I was about 5, sitting at the dinner table propped up on a volume of the encyclopedia, painstakingly learning to write in cursive, and HATING it, but afraid to voice my opinion... Eventually, I played the 5 year old ace card: I started crying, and was excused from the torturous exercise.
Well, by all indicators, I took after my father. Brilliant (sarcasm meter: 10), and very impatient. Snappish, at times rude even.
Medicine is one of the only professions left out there where the oral tradition is still the primary practical teaching tool, and Socrates be damned, his method drives the clinical years of medical education. I, personally, am of the opinion that if the student/trainee does something wrong, it is because he/she wasn't taught well.
So, I'm farther along in my training that most people get, what with 3 years residency, one year research, and now, poop doctor training, with a liver fellowship possibly ahead. Somehow, though, I feel no smarter than when I first started. For example, I still don't really know how to write in cursive. I basically feel like someday somebody will discover that I'm here by sheer luck and coincidence, and then, we'll all be in trouble.
Yes - I feel that way, until, I end up leading a team of students, residents and observers.
This is when I realize the gradient of knowledge, and experience (and mine is minimal, but still noticeable), and am suddenly aware of my situation as the teacher, responsible for carrying on the oral tradition and, well, molding these young minds, some of whom are actually quite a bit older than I. And guess what. Turns out, I've actually taken after my mom - if not in brilliance, at least in patience...
A little known fact about my origins is that both my mother and my original father were teachers in a past life. Mom is brilliant, patient and can deal with teenagers. Dad - he's brilliant too, probably, but he can have a serious temper and short fuse when people frustrate him. If I am to believe family anecdotes, he used to tutor high school age kids while in college, and the kids would start to stutter under his rigorous tutelage. In fact, I vividly remember from personal experience, when I was about 5, sitting at the dinner table propped up on a volume of the encyclopedia, painstakingly learning to write in cursive, and HATING it, but afraid to voice my opinion... Eventually, I played the 5 year old ace card: I started crying, and was excused from the torturous exercise.
Well, by all indicators, I took after my father. Brilliant (sarcasm meter: 10), and very impatient. Snappish, at times rude even.
Medicine is one of the only professions left out there where the oral tradition is still the primary practical teaching tool, and Socrates be damned, his method drives the clinical years of medical education. I, personally, am of the opinion that if the student/trainee does something wrong, it is because he/she wasn't taught well.
So, I'm farther along in my training that most people get, what with 3 years residency, one year research, and now, poop doctor training, with a liver fellowship possibly ahead. Somehow, though, I feel no smarter than when I first started. For example, I still don't really know how to write in cursive. I basically feel like someday somebody will discover that I'm here by sheer luck and coincidence, and then, we'll all be in trouble.
Yes - I feel that way, until, I end up leading a team of students, residents and observers.
This is when I realize the gradient of knowledge, and experience (and mine is minimal, but still noticeable), and am suddenly aware of my situation as the teacher, responsible for carrying on the oral tradition and, well, molding these young minds, some of whom are actually quite a bit older than I. And guess what. Turns out, I've actually taken after my mom - if not in brilliance, at least in patience...
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