Teaching: Grandfather's Tools

I often find that distilling abstract theories down to tangible activities and relatable experiences helps me to share acting concepts better with my students and understand them deeper myself. Tatsumi Hijikata, one of the co-founders of the movement form, Butoh, derived much of its physical vocabulary from his rural rice farming upbringing. I do the same as a kid who grew up running around barefoot in the backwoods of a small country town miles away from what most would consider civilization. I heavily utilize the metaphors of physical tools and practical knowledge in my teaching because the concepts deeply resonate with my rustic childhood. I often compare the three modes of guidance in the acting classroom - teaching, coaching, and directing - to fishing. Teaching is like catching fish. Coaching is like cleaning fish. And directing is like getting all the fish to swim in the same pond. Without a doubt, my approach as a teacher stems directly from one of the most influential teachers in my life, my pragmatic grandfather, Dorsey Wright. 

Dorsey was a strapping man with lean muscles from years of moving brick, building houses, fixing trucks, and working the land. He knew how to fix things and was as gentle as he was strong. He was also one of the best teachers I ever had. With six children, eleven grandchildren at the time, a career as a truck driver, an involved community member, and pastor of a small church, he always made time for us. To do so, he would often say, “Come on” in his booming voice, and bring us along to whatever job he was doing for the day. We were happy to do so because spending time with our grandpa was like spending time with black Santa. He had a huge laugh, worked tirelessly for the betterment of others, and always had some sort of cheeky fun up his sleeve. He was full of life, and we wanted to live everyday by his side.

He taught us from a very early age that tools could be instruments of positive change or devices of severe destruction. You had to know how to use tools correctly if you wanted a constructive outcome. When fixing a truck, we would sit by him while he worked multiple tools with his oil-stained hands. Before doing anything, he would explain what needed to be fixed and the options of how he could go about fixing it. He would hand us a tool, explain what it was, and say, “Ok, now you do it.”. We would try to make the same movements with our little hands and realize his super human strength that made this work look so easy. He would have a sly grin on his face and giggle knowing that what he asked us to do was probably not possible at our age. But he would take the tool back and continue to explain what he was doing, why he was doing it, and what would happen once he was done. He explained the reasons. He answered our questions patiently. He shared when he did not know the answer but tried to impart as much knowledge as he could about the subject so if or when the time came, we would have some real understanding of how to do it ourselves. He often shared that even if you knew how to fix something, it could still take some trial and error to see what worked in each specific instance. He was a phenomenal teacher, and I was always amazed at how I understood something so much better, even if I could not execute it yet, after spending time with him. Little did I know that the teacher in him helped to birth the educator in me who carefully shares, implements, and cautions against certain tools in the acting classroom for the betterment of my students and their personal artistic journeys. 

I spent countless hours “working” alongside my grandfather this way for much of my younger years and gathered many practical and metaphorical tools for life and learning during that time. I acquired the tools of work ethic, savvy, patience, and skill while observing him plant fields of corn by hand and then pick them all, personally gathering  eggs from the chicken coop (I was happy and terrified to do it!), and helping him build the foundation for my very own house brick by brick. However, the most miraculous thing I watched him do over a 15 year period was create our family pond. From nothing, he began digging a pond which grew to an enormous size (multiple acres at least) with massive amounts of fresh water and fish. We would fish in it often and make our dinners from that pond. We would swim in it during the summer months and skate on it during winter’s frozen spells. The pond fed our minds, souls, and bodies for my entire childhood, and the tools in his hands along with the knowledge how to use them made that possible.

For me, those years with my grandfather and subsequent years training at studios like the Barrow Group taught me that teaching is simply giving someone the tools to construct their desired creation. Tools can and should be simple and practical. Acting teachers tend to overstep by attempting to fix a monologue or scene for the student, but this has a stifling effect on student growth in the acting classroom.  Really, it should be the teacher's role to support the actor in working the monologue or scene themselves and empower them with tools and support to do that work for themselves. Even if an actor is in the process of deciding which tools to use (there are so many methods that can work, yet we cannot use them all and some are simply harmful), they are still capable of accessing their potential from wherever they are in the present moment. Teaching is about sharing pragmatic knowledge in a way that is tangible and accessible. Present tools that your students can literally see, hear, and even touch to identify how they can build something themselves and apply those tools long after they leave your classroom. Too many teachers try to engineer the outcomes for their students. They tell students that only certain tools work. I encourage each teacher to make things simple and plain. You will be amazed at how it shifts the learning and growth. All we should do is hand them the tool, let the student try it, share what we know about it, and leave it at that.  My grandfather’s literal toolbox made me the teacher I am today, and that is a lesson I will never forget.