Thursday, September 17, 2020

Mac Luckey, or Teaching Gifted Kids

Mac Luckey was a philosophy professor at Morehead State University, a state college in Kentucky, my undergraduate alma mater.

I didn't study philosophy, but luckily for me, Mac was also the director of the Honors Program, a program designed to enrich the college experience for students who in high school would have been identified as Gifted and Talented (what we call AIG in my school, two states over and 20+ years later: Academically and Intellectually Gifted). 

The program, when I was a part of it, consisted of a variety of seminars and four core classes called the "Age of" classes focused on eras of human history. Age of Classicism, Faith, Enlightenment, and . . . Discovery? Apparently I don't remember the fourth class as well. After all, this was more than twenty years ago. 

Age of Classicism came first, and Mac taught it. I'd just completed high school, finishing second in my class. I was a good student by most standards, but--I mean no offense to my well-intentioned public high school--I had yet to be challenged by the academic adventures offered to me in the classroom. 

That may sound arrogant, but we're talking about eighteen-year-old Samantha and arrogance was certainly a part of who she was, as it is for a lot of AIG kids. When you're accustomed to feeling like "the smartest person in the room" it's easy to get a little full of yourself. Humility comes with experience. 

Mac could have flattened my arrogance and broken me, or at least tried. Plenty of other teachers in my life took that approach, and inspired my stubborn distrust. But instead, Mac gave me the most important gift he had in his possession: his interest. 

When I tossed out some tired observation he had probably heard thousands of times in his career, he didn't roll his eyes and shut me down with sarcasm. Instead, he pushed me to take my thinking further. He asked me questions that went deeper, questions I couldn't just toss off something flip and clever about. He made me consider WHY and HOW and make connections and associations, just by asking questions. 

I'd only had a handful of other teachers who "got me" this way. Mac talked to me like I was an interesting person he had met, rather than a responsibility he'd been saddled with. When you're an eighteen-year-old girl, very few people take you seriously. 

But Mac did. He talked to me like he might talk to any woman he met anywhere, interested to find out who she is and what she knows. He never acted as if he was talking to a child, but just to a fellow human being. 

He didn't try to "catch" me at something mundane like not having read all the 50 pages that had been assigned the night before, but instead engaged me (and all of his students) in challenging conversation, inspiring me to read not only the assigned pages but an extra book of criticism so that I might bring more to the table at the next discussion. 

I'd scribble down titles of works he mentioned casually in class and look them up on my own time, not because I was worried about making a grade or winning an award, but because he'd made them sound interesting. He'd piqued my curiosity. 

I only took the one course with Mac. I was an English and Education major with minors in Spanish, Creative Writing, and Honors, and he taught philosophy. Technically, he was only my teacher for the one semester. But he remained an influence in my education across my four years at Morehead, through the Honors program. He gave me travel and presentation opportunities, a listening ear, job references, and sometimes, when I was ready to listen, advice. 

He passed away a couple of days ago, having made it to 85 years old and changed the lives of hundreds, maybe even thousands of young people along the way. I hadn't spoken to him in person but maybe once or twice since I left Morehead, for all the usual reasons: busy life, etc. But, nevertheless, he is present in my life and the lives of my students every day in what he taught me about teaching. A lesson he probably didn't even know he was offering. 

RIP Mac Luckey. I was the lucky one: I got to be your student. 

3 comments:

  1. I'm sorry for your loss and I completely understand why you so valued his teaching.

    I'm sure you noticed that my own AP (and ADHD) student suffers from that "AIG" student arrogance. I'm actually a little worried about how he's going to handle real academic challenges in medical school.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It can be really startling for kids who've not had academic struggles earlier in their educational careers. I know French I was like that for me. It was the first time I could remember having to do something besides just show up to class and listen to absorb the material. I had to learn to study. He'll learn, too--it might just be a hard bump the first time it happens.

      Delete