Do you have a minute? Or seven?

In my eleventh grade English class, we began each session with a seven minute writing assignment.  I’m sure this was intended to allow us time to think deeply about a topic for at least two minutes, and then to write furiously for the remaining five minutes so as to not be outdone by our peers who were composing the great American novel, or at least working out the plot mechanics, with a serenity and calmness that I did not possess.  Alternatively, maybe the purpose of this time was just to provide a seven minute break for the teacher.  Though after many years, I still remember this teacher, so she was, in all likelihood, an effective instructor despite the seven minute break.  In fact, she may have only had these seven minutes to sit quietly and reflect.  At the time, I didn’t think about what the teacher was doing or why she was doing it.  I was focused on the amount of ink on my paper and whether or not my ideas would be original or even interesting when compared with others.  I gazed at my content classmates, who looked as though they thought the teacher had just told them to take a nap for seven minutes, who likely weren’t experiencing inner turmoil, as I thought I was.  I spent the initial two minutes in every class in a panic, or my version of a panic, as I went through figurative drawers and tossed ideas about as though I was making a final selection of my outfit for the first day of school, knowing full well that my mother was going to memorialize my portrait for years to come and that I had always regretted those balloon pants I had worn one year (obviously, a truly minor concern in retrospect).  Eventually, I would come up with an idea, and I’d share it with the class.  Looking back on the experience, I learned a lot from my classmates, and after seven minutes, the teacher was back in action, moderating our conversation.  I still remember some of the discussions we had about ideas that students had come up with, in just seven minutes.  The teacher had given the assignment, frightened most of us enough so that we tried our best, but was supportive enough to allow a free exchange of ideas in the classroom, and that’s what is resonating with me even years later.  It was an environment that panicked some, inspired others, and did very little for a few, who were simply there to fulfill a required class.  As librarians, we might have the opportunity to teach a class, but there is also a built in instructional component to our work even if we’re not in the front of a classroom.  So, my question for the blogosphere is this, what makes a good teacher?  You’ll have seven minutes to provide a response; ready, set, go.