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Mosaics of Meaning and the Learning Resistant Culture.

It’s the first class of a new semester, and, as usual, I’m wandering around the hallowed halls slightly lost and searching for my classroom. I feel OK about this, though, because it reminds me of similar beginnings in past years, and because it’s the way I prefer things to be as I head for a new class—a bit ambivalent. As I turn a corner and head toward another wing of the school, I notice I’m humming an old song that’s been playing in the background of my mind since I woke up this morning. The song sets the pace for my feet and thoughts as I search for the classroom. Suddenly, a brief snatch of melody and lyrics pops into consciousness and I find myself singing under my breath, “open the door and let me in.” I remember this is a piece of music from childhood, but, for the life of me, I can’t recall the beginning or the end of it. Yet the song with its one-line lyric seems to symbolize not only the momentary situation of searching for my classroom, but also the basic educational process I’m about to begin—again. Often, throughout nearly twenty years of teaching, I’ve experienced moments of visual and auditory symbolism that sum up my observations of the educational situation I’m in at the time. Little by little, I’ve learned to pay attention to these symbols. Generally, they revolve around the classroom, and involve fantasies of students actually learning, allowing themselves to be led to something truly “new,” something that results in real change, true growth. Similarly, I envision myself learning something new through this process. I always tell the same story on the first day of class. It’s about the two etymological images, of “newness” and “leadership” that lie hidden behind the word “education.” I tell this story for several reasons. First, it gives me an THE NEA HIGHER EDUCATION JOURNAL 55