“From Cornfields to Classrooms: A Storyteller’s Journey”

By Kirt Shineman, Glendale Community College 

Recipient of NCA’s 2024 Michael and Suzanne Osborn Community College Outstanding Educator Award 

(Editor’s Note: NCA asked Prof. Shineman if we could share his remarks from the 2024 NCA convention’s “Teachers on Teaching” session at which he received the Osborn Award. They are below. Future Spectra issues will include others’ talks.)  

First off, let me say this: public speaking is terrifying. Let’s not sugarcoat it. It’s karaoke for your life, with no backing track, no do-overs, no autotune. But here I am, ready to belt out a ballad about a teacher on good teaching. And today, understanding teaching is more critical than ever. According to the Teachers of Tomorrow program, educators are the pillars of knowledge, shaping the future of our kids and serving as mentors, guides, and inspirations for the next generation. Teachers don’t just teach—they prepare students to navigate an increasingly complex world. The Charles Butt Foundation’s 2023 Texas Teacher Poll emphasizes that hearing the experiences of fellow educators can offer practical insights and strategies for navigating the challenges we all face. Sharing stories isn’t just cathartic—it’s how we learn from each other and improve our craft. So, I’ve been asked to speak, a teacher on teaching, and I believe good teaching is like good storytelling; they thrive on connection, vulnerability, and humor. My unexpected journey in education has taught me that our challenges, when met with openness and creativity, can transform into opportunities for growth and lasting relationships. Teaching is learning new perceptions; a making and doing of lessons, where performance meets practice in five acts. 

Act I: Born in Nebraska—Land of Nothingness and Everything

Home of Kool-Aid,
The Reuben sandwich,
And awkward silences that fill the air when someone asks,
“So…what else is Nebraska known for?” 

Cows, tornadoes, cornfields.
Cornfields, cows, tornadoes.
And my mom yelling,
“You failed nap time?
Who fails nap time?”
Cue horror movie chase scene,
Except the killer is holding a wooden spoon. 

Act II: The Accidental Educator 

Let me take you back to my early career. I was fresh out of Colorado State University when someone handed me a syllabus and said, “Congratulations, you’re a professor!” I thought, “Wait, did someone lose a bet?” My first class? Debate. At 7:35 in the morning. The students asked, “What’s the topic?” I said, “How about ‘How did I end up here?’” 

Turns out, teaching is like stand-up comedy,
With fewer hecklers,
More plagiarism,
And TikTok-addicted audiences
Who call it multitasking. 

But here’s the kicker:
Teaching is emotional.
It’s part performance, part therapy.
Jennifer Nias said emotions are central—
to teaching. 

Feelings are not side effects, but stakes in the ground. 

The work isn’t just about sharing knowledge; it’s about embedding lessons in meaningful interactions with students and colleagues. These emotional investments bring both fulfillment and vulnerability—successes feel like our own, and struggles sometimes keep us awake at night. Teaching, I quickly realized, wasn’t just a profession; it was personal. We’ve all faced moments where teaching felt deeply personal. Think of a time you really connected with a student. What did that moment teach you about yourself? 

I also discovered how vital professional competencies are in this work. Communication and digital skills are essential, as are immediacy, planning, innovation, transparency, and leadership.  

Teaching also taught me patience. How else do you explain Oral Interpretation of Poetry to a freshman? And there is always another fresh mind ready to learn about how a poem works.  You learn the power of a pause. You learn to wait. Reflect. You learn to toss them the ball and let them catch it. Or not. If they miss the toss, and they don’t catch it, you learn to give them time to retrieve the ball you tossed, and to try again. And again. And you learn that when you ask, “What are your career goals?” and a student confidently replies, “Professional napper.” But you don’t discourage them. There’s a place for each person’s dreams, from politician to attorney to marriage counselor and even professional nappers. Humor became my secret weapon—breaking the ice, building trust, and reminding me that even in the absurdity of it all, there’s always something meaningful happening. 

Act III: The Playwright Who Forgot to Duck 

Somewhere along the way, I found Forensics, Speech & Debate, where I realized I had stories to tell and perform. Big stories, small stories, and one really weird story involving a mime, a ferret, and an Ikea bookshelf. But I digress. Maybe some of that came from my mother, a professional clown. Allie Oop. And I take the clown laws into my classroom.  

      #1. Humanize Yourself to Build Connection 

Teachers, like clowns, are most effective when we connect with our audience. By embracing and owning our quirks or perceived weaknesses, we show our students we are human, relatable, and approachable. 

      #2. Turn Weaknesses into Teaching Tools 

What you dislike most about yourself can often become a powerful teaching moment. Highlight it, exaggerate it, and show how you overcome it, turning it into a strength: Struggle with technology? Exaggerate your cluelessness, then demonstrate problem-solving: “It took me 15 minutes to figure out where the Zoom mute button was—but guess what? Now I’m basically a tech wizard.” 

      #3. Foster a Culture of Strength Through Vulnerability 

When we own our perceived flaws as strengths, it reshapes the classroom culture. Students learn to view their own challenges with a growth mindset: 

• I frame mistakes as opportunities: “I’m not great at spelling, so when I mess up, I get creative. I might have accidentally invented a new word today!” 

Stories are teacher’s tools. They are my way of turning life’s absurdities into art. Writing is like therapy, except cheaper, and instead of a therapist, you have a very judgmental audience. 

Act IV: My Philosophy on Teaching 

All these 30 years teaching at Glendale Community College I’ve discovered that teaching is like being a magician—except the rabbit is your lesson plan, and half the time, it refuses to come out of the hat. But behind the jokes and the laughter lies something deeper: the understanding that teaching and learning are built on meaningful social interactions. These moments—unfolding in the ‘here-and-now’ of the classroom—are the building blocks of not just knowledge, but long-term relationships. Between teacher and student, between peers, and even among colleagues, the connections we foster in those shared spaces create an enduring impact. 

Emotions are understood as experiences that result from ability to embed the lessons into the course and our interactions with our students and colleagues. When we embed the emotions into their experiences, students make sense of the information and see where they fit into the concepts. Teaching isn’t just a job; it’s personal. Our classrooms become extensions of ourselves, places where we invest our identities and values. This is why teaching brings both fulfillment and vulnerability. The success of our students feels like our own, and their struggles can keep us awake at night. It’s a deeply emotional endeavor because so much of ourselves is poured into the work. 

This emotional investment is why the approach we take matters so much. Biggs, & Tang, in their 2011 book, Teaching for quality learning at university, argued that a student-centered approach is not only better at enhancing students’ ability to learn but also fosters a willingness in them to take responsibility for their studies. Conversely, teacher-centered approaches often result in surface learning and cue-seeking behaviors, while student-centered teaching encourages deeper engagement and minimizes these tendencies. In 2004, Gibbs and Coffey contended in Active Learning in Higher Education that we should emphasize pedagogical training for college educators and we should focus on developing student-centered practices, as these empower students and deepen the learning experience. 

For me, this all boils down to creating a classroom environment where these meaningful, emotional, and student-driven connections can thrive. It’s a space where students feel safe to fail, to succeed, and to try again. Humor is my secret weapon—it disarms, builds trust, and reminds us that life, like learning, is full of absurdities. By investing emotionally, building professional competencies, and fostering a student-centered dynamic, we, as teachers, help our students take charge of their learning while creating a meaningful shared journey. 

Act V: Laughing Through Life 

Life, my friends, is absurd. If you don’t believe me, try explaining Small Group Communication to a group that refuses to communicate. Or try teaching Comedy in Film to students who think Adam Sandler’s Jack and Jill is a cinematic masterpiece. 

Teaching isn’t just about imparting knowledge; it’s about embedding lessons in meaningful interactions. Sometimes, that process asks us to pause and reflect. 

“Stop. Go back.
Re-read. Re-hear. Re-hearse.
Here, you forgot these eyes. Re-view. See anew.
With fresh eyes. Take your them 

They have plopped down here.
Put them in the right way,
or else watch the inside of your mind.” 

In teaching, as in life, we sometimes need to revisit our approaches, re-see our students, and re-engage with the moments we’ve overlooked. It’s not just about moving forward—it’s about truly seeing the journey and those we guide along the way. 

Curtain Call: The Legacy 

After decades of teaching, writing, and the occasional existential crisis, I’ve learned one thing: the impact of a great teacher isn’t measured in awards or accolades. It’s in the students who come back years later and say, Years later,
A student comes back,
“Remember that speech on milking cows?
I got hired by an automated milking company.”
Or,
“I bombed that debate,
But now I teach public speaking at ASU.” 

Both of those are true.  

As I reflect on this journey, I’m reminded of a truth that applies to all of us: 

at the end of each class 
We Leave the safe fire and set out into the woods again.
There’s the simple way and the complex way,
the easy way and the hard way,
the good way and the bad way.
The ways are all parallel;
they’ve all been charted, 
and the maps wait at the end. 

Teaching, like life, is a journey with countless paths. Each decision we make, each interaction we have, shapes the story we tell and the legacy we leave. 

Thank you, and remember: life is a comedy, so don’t forget to laugh. Especially when you bomb your first public speech. Trust me, I’ve been there. I threw up all over the lectern. And still people continue to ask me back to speak.  I’ve learned not to drink a whole bottle of Pepto before my speeches or my classes. I save the bottle for afterwards, when I’m done.