When I was a somewhat younger man, about fifteen years ago I think, I participated in a weekend retreat for educators.  It was led by an educator-cum-writer, a devotee of Parker Palmer, and the president of a small liberal arts college as I recall.  I can't remember now what specific topic focused our weekend; I only remember a question and answer session at its close.  Uncharacteristically, I risked my own self doubt in front of my peers and expressed the anxiety that kept me resisting this way of life.  I asked when  it is that a person actually knows enough to assume the audacity of teaching others.  In other words, when does one know enough to teach?  The leader did not miss the opportunity to appear wise (I'd opened the door very wide after all), and she readily suggested that when one is self-aware enough to ask such a question, one is ready to begin teaching.  I could appreciate the rhetorical timing and the inspiration of that moment, but I remained uncertain.
     I still am.  And I'm still asking the question.
     Today I led my final class session with my AP Literature students before they take a three-hour reading and writing exam.  In a sense, we work toward this moment all year long.  It matters to most of them, I think, and they will do their best.  But I think it matters more to me.  It's the measure of my success.  It's the answer to my question: Do I know enough to teach?  It's the scale that weighs how much I know.  As they walked out of the classroom, I felt the inadequacy of what I'd provided them not only today, but every day.  Did I say too much?  Did I not say enough?  Did I leave too many questions unanswered?  Did I answer some questions too easily?  Did I pretend to know more than I actually do know in order to make them confident in themselves, and in me?  Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
     Do I know enough to teach?  Yes.  And I also know enough to be filled with anxiety over how poorly I may have prepared my students for the tests I cannot take for them.