ABSTRACT
No, I was not Bill Pinar’s student. If I had a dollar for every time I said that to someone, I’d be rich, really rich. Hardly a second lapses before surprise and sometimes confusion registers on the face of the receiver of such news. And that is then followed by two or three rounds of, “Oh I thought you were Pinar’s student, hunh.” Another few seconds after this ritual, I then go on to explain: “Although I was not technically Bill’s student,” I say, “I was certainly a student of Bill’s.” He planted many seeds that have grown up like trees in my life, rooted, slowly evolving, and flowering. But even now when I think about our teaching/learning relationship, I am not sure planted is exactly the right word, because it implies the kind of serious and committed intentionality reserved for a protégé, maybe. So that’s not exactly right.
