Yesterday, I received a very kind letter from a former student. Besides the incredibly large salaries and the vast and well-furnished office spaces given history professors, this is the best reward you receive for a couple of decades teaching.
My former student is now teaching high school history and says that in referring back to her old college notes, she was surprised to realize that parts of her own history lectures were repeating things she had heard in my classroom. This doesn’t surprise me at all since I long ago realized that most of the lectures that I wrote contained many of the same elements that I had heard while a student of Ray Sadler and Charles Harris, my favorite history professors. While teaching, I probably unknowingly quoted them on a daily basis.
Picture this: you’re a student in a stuffy classroom, doodling in your notebook, when your professor drops a line so catchy it sticks like gum on your shoe. Fast-forward a couple of decades, and now you’re the professor, standing at the front of the room, and—bam!—out pops that same phrase. It’s like your brain hit the rewind button. So, how does this happen?
For starters, we humans are natural mimicry machines. From the moment we’re born, we copy what we see—whether it’s a parent’s smile or a teacher’s stern “Eyes on me!” Students spend years watching their teachers like hawks, soaking up not just math or history but also their teachers’ quirks, catchphrases, and classroom vibes. When those students grow up to become teachers and professors, those patterns are already hardwired. It’s like muscle memory for words. Psychologists call this “modeling,” but let’s be real—it’s just us stealing our teachers’ best lines like crows snagging shiny trinkets.
Then there’s the nostalgia factor. Remember that one teacher who made algebra feel like an adventure, or history became so real that you dreamt of it at night? Their words—say, “The only limit is your imagination!”—get etched into your brain, tied to warm fuzzies or those lightbulb moments. When you’re a teacher facing a room of blank stares, those phrases bubble up like a trusty playlist, ready to inspire (or at least fill the awkward silence). It’s not just habit—it’s a little love letter to the teachers who shaped you.
Becoming a teacher isn’t just about writing good lectures and putting together that killer PowerPoint. Instead, it’s like stepping into a cultural relay race. Teacher training programs and school staff rooms are like cozy clubs where teachers swap stories, strategies, and yes—sayings. New teachers, eager to fit in, often lean on the lingo of their own mentors or that of the veterans down the hall. If your old history teacher loved saying, “History doesn’t repeat, but it rhymes,” you might find yourself dropping that line to sound wise (and because it’s just so darn quotable).
Classrooms also have a knack for triggering déjà vu. A student’s cheeky question or a chaotic group discussion can feel eerily familiar, like a rerun of your own school days. Your brain digs into its archives and pulls out a phrase your old professor used in a similar spot because it feels right. It’s not lazy—it’s your mind saying, “Hey, this worked back then, let’s try it now!”
So, why do teachers lean on these recycled gems? First off, they trust them. If your science teacher’s “Measure twice, mix once” got you through lab experiments, you’re betting it’ll help your students nail their projects, too. These phrases are like comfort food—reliable, familiar, and crowd-pleasing. Falling back on a tried-and-true saying is like grabbing a life raft in a stormy sea of whiteboard markers. (Personally, I always preferred the old chalkboards—I’m a traditionalist.)
There’s also a deeper reason: teaching is a legacy game. Teachers and professors are part of a big, beautiful chain, passing down wisdom and insights like family heirlooms. When a teacher repeats, “A log with a student on one end and a teacher on the other,” they’re not just quoting Mark Hopkins (via a speech made by one of his students, President James Garfield, circa 1871). They’re sharing a belief that real learning happens through connection, not fancy gadgets. It’s like preferring a blackboard to a white board—old-school, but it still works.
And let’s not forget identity. For many professors, their career choice was sparked by a rock star teacher who made school magical. Repeating their words is like channeling that inspiration, a way to say, “I’m carrying your torch.” It’s less about copying and more about honoring the teachers who not only made you want to teach but made the subject important. Long after a teacher has retired, his words live on in the classroom.
This echo effect is, well…effective. Studies, like those by researchers Zeichner and Gore, back in 1990, show that new teachers often lean on their own school experiences to shape their style—phrases included. It’s not just nostalgia—it’s practical. Our brains love shortcuts (hello, cognitive fluency!), so when you’re scrambling to explain the Protestant Reformation to students who could not care less, you resort to using the same phrases that explained the subject to you.
Let’s circle back to that Mark Hopkins quote about the log, the student, and the teacher. It’s the kind of line that sticks because it’s profound yet simple, capturing the heart of teaching: connection. When a former student-turned-teacher repeats it, they’re not just parroting words. They’re passing on a philosophy that says, “It’s about us, not the stuff.” It’s why teachers keep echoing their mentors—it’s a way to keep the magic of learning alive, one catchy phrase at a time.
So, the next time you hear a teacher drop a familiar line, smile. It’s not just words—it’s a time capsule and a little piece of their own school days sneaking into the present. And who knows? Maybe one of their students will grow up, grab a whiteboard marker (or a piece of chalk), and keep the echo going. After all, teaching isn’t just a job—it’s a conversation that spans generations, one log at a time.