A Journey Back to the Classroom

By Binaca Hanson, Assistant Headmaster for Academics and Student Life

 

Somewhere between my office in Colby Hall and my destination in Streeter Hall, I considered turning back. I wasn’t ready to weld even though I had carefully chosen what I believed were my least flammable clothes.

 

But then I thought about the path that had brought me here. It was February, and this journey had begun in September. In those months, I had turned a bowl in Introduction to Woodworking, learned to wire in Introduction to Electricity, frosted and decorated a cake alongside Chef B, and carved a linocut in Printmaking. After a decades-long career in education, I had made a quiet but meaningful shift: I had become a student again.

 

Maybe I was ready to weld.

 

The spark for this journey came during my first year at the Academy, when Mr. Stark invited me to visit his woodworking class. One morning, I took him up on the offer and I was astonished. Under his steady guidance, a dozen students moved from machine to machine, each immersed in a different stage of their work. Mr. Stark seemed to be everywhere at once, explaining, encouraging, and troubleshooting.

 

Every visit going forward with Mr. Stark ended the same way, his invitation to try turning a bowl. Each time, I laughed it off. It felt safer to admire than to attempt. Thankfully, he never stopped asking.

 

Fast forward to this fall. After struggling to follow student-written instructions for changing a bike tire in Mr. Dussault’s Tech Comm class, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in a long time, the discomfort of not knowing. I didn’t have the vocabulary. I couldn’t fill in the gaps. It was frustrating and energizing at the same time.

 

That moment rekindled a kind of curiosity I hadn’t realized I’d lost. I knew I needed more of it. So, the next time I saw Mr. Stark, I said yes.

 

I had always valued learning. But this journey taught me to value something deeper. It gave me the courage to be a beginner.

 

That first day at the lathe felt almost like magic. Within minutes, wood shavings were flying. Within an hour, a rough block had become a small bowl. I carried it back across campus, stopping to show anyone who would look. What surprised me most wasn’t my own pride, but how quickly others shared in my excitement when I walked up to them and said, “Want to see what I made?”

 

Earned joy, it turns out, is contagious.

 

That moment became a catalyst. With a little encouragement from Mr. Legge to keep going, I built my list: Electrical, Baking, Printmaking… Welding?

 

The question mark said everything. Welding intimidated me, so I placed it last, giving myself permission, at least temporarily, to opt out. But Semper Discens—always learning—doesn’t leave much room for retreat.

 

In Introduction to Electricity, Mr. Roberts turned my learning over to students who became my teachers. Although they were still learning themselves, they were patient and encouraging. They guided me through wiring a circuit, reassuring me when I hesitated and celebrating when the light finally turned on. That moment, small as it may seem, felt extraordinary. I couldn’t help myself and nudged the student next to me and told him I’d never seen a lightbulb glow so bright. 

 

In the kitchen, Chef B met me with equal care, even adjusting her demonstration when she noticed I was left-handed. Under her guidance, I created something I never thought I could. Yes, a cake I was proud to bring home and share even if my frosting roses looked more like peonies in full bloom.

 

In Printmaking, I watched as Ms. Darling asked thoughtful questions that pushed students’ creativity further while Ms. Beckwith provided all the reassurance necessary for one artist to stick with a color that was initially questionable when in fact it was the perfect choice. I listened and then began carving my own linocut, inspired by a phrase that had quietly taken root throughout this experience: joy is essential.

 

And then, there was welding.

 

I arrived nervous. Truly nervous. But Mr. Mitchell and the students working alongside me never let that fear take over. My first attempts were uneven. One left a hole in the plate. But slowly, with guidance and persistence, something clicked. By the end, I had managed a single, somewhat steady line. It wasn’t perfect. But it was mine and it felt like a triumph.

 

Somewhere between that first uncertain step in September and the welding torch in February, I made another decision. I enrolled in a pottery course through our adult education program. I am not good at pottery. Not yet and maybe not ever. But that isn’t the point. The point is I want to keep learning.

 

For most of my career, I have thought about learning from the perspective of an educator—how to guide it, support it, improve it for others. These past months have shifted that perspective. They have reminded me what it feels like to sit in uncertainty like many of our students when they arrive at the Academy, to say “I don’t know,” and to keep going anyway.

 

That is the heart of Semper Discens. Not mastery, but mindset. Not comfort, but courage.

 

The most powerful moments of this journey were not when I succeeded, but when I didn’t know what I was doing and chose to try anyway. In those moments, supported by generous teachers and students, I rediscovered something essential. I became a student again.