A Dash of  Patience, a Pinch of Failure, and a Whole Lot of Enchiladas

When I think of the happiest places or times in my life, they almost always involve a kitchen.

When I was a kid, my mom let me help mix the batter for chocolate chip cookies. Most of that batter eventually became cookies, thanks to my liberal “some for the cookies, some for me” approach. My sister and I eventually graduated to playing restaurant. We'd spend entire days drawing menus and making dinner, which was almost always enchiladas because, well, they're delicious. My parents would arrive at our imaginary restaurant, my sister would greet them at the door, and we'd proudly serve our creations. We were pretty pleased with ourselves.

When I turned 13, I was old enough to work in my mom's restaurant. I started in the dish pit and worked my way up to “lunch chef” by the time I graduated high school. I continued cooking in restaurants throughout college, took some classes, and made what I considered culinary masterpieces for my roommates. Now that I'm a teacher, the kitchen is still my safe space. Cooking is cathartic for me, and I think I can make a pretty mean dish most nights. You'd have to ask Bayley if that's true, though.

Over the years, cooking has taught me patience, the value of failure, and the importance of trying new things. It turns out those lessons have a lot to do with teaching, too.

Good food takes patience. You can't rush a sauce that needs to simmer just because you're hungry. Students are a lot like that. They don't all learn at the same pace, and sometimes an idea takes a few conversations before it clicks. My job isn't to rush the process; it's to help students keep moving forward.

Cooking has also taught me that failure is part of the process. Not every experiment works, and sometimes a dish turns out to be less than spectacular. You figure out what went wrong and try again.

I want my classroom to work the same way. I want students to feel safe enough to ask questions, challenge ideas, and get something wrong without worrying about being embarrassed. Learning requires taking risks, and it's hard to take those risks if you're afraid of looking foolish. I also want students to be curious enough to investigate, ask why, and follow a question somewhere unexpected. The best learning often happens when students are comfortable enough to speak up, even when it means questioning the teacher.

I know this because I've been on the receiving end of that myself.

I once taught economics and US government back-to-back four times in a row. By fifth period, I was in a groove. I was absolutely crushing a lesson on the Three Gorges Dam, discussing the political and economic implications of this massive project. We were taking notes, having discussions, and exploring the topic. Forty-five minutes into a 55-minute class, a student raised their hand.

“Mr. Killpack, do you know what class this is?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Government.”

“Yeah, no. It's econ.”

So that happened.

I'd managed to teach the wrong class for nearly an entire period, and the student had been taking notes and participating the whole time before finally deciding to say something. It's one of my favorite reminders that teaching is a two-way street. I'm there to help students learn, but I'm also a person who makes mistakes. I want my students to feel comfortable enough to speak up when something doesn't seem right. Their questions and observations matter, even when they reveal that their teacher has completely lost track of the schedule.

That said, teaching doesn't always follow the recipe. You can spend hours planning a lesson only to discover that the conversation takes a completely different direction. Sometimes you have to adjust the heat, change the ingredients, or throw out the recipe altogether. Being a good teacher, much like being a good cook, means knowing when to stick with the plan and when to improvise.

Looking back, the kitchen has been a constant throughout my life. It's where I spent time with my mom, where my sister and I entertained our parents, where I learned a trade, and where I still go to unwind at the end of a long day. I never set out to learn lessons about education while cooking, but that’s the funny thing about life: sometimes the things that shape us most aren't the things we set out to learn.

I hope I bring that same spirit into my classroom: a little patience, a willingness to make mistakes, and a healthy dose of curiosity. Most of all, I want students to feel safe enough to take a chance and curious enough to keep asking questions.

And if all else fails, there's always enchiladas.

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