Well, you see, the problem is the canogulator.

At my small independent school, we take pride in our use of technology. Every student has a laptop; virtually every classroom has an overhead projector, and the entire building is covered with wireless access points. Having used Mac laptops for the past 13 years, we recently received the Apple Distinguished School award. There is some mighty transformational learning going on here, especially in our Middle School.

So between the technology, the transformation, and the digital leadership, I’m often amazed when a teacher comes to me for help and admits, “You know, I am quite computer-illiterate.”

I hear this plaint more often than you might expect. Faced with a glitch, these worried teachers enter my office clinging to the hope that we will utter some magic techno-gibberish to retrieve their data, make their LCD light up, or unfreeze their OS. When we gently prod to see if they’ve tried any one solution or other, they generally say they’re afraid to “touch” anything. Fear grips them like an ice storm in January.

Why are these teachers so afraid? To be honest, I think part of the blame lies with us technology folk. I’ll be blunt: I’ve met way too many tech support people who actually do speak techno-gibberish. Bring your recalcitrant laptop to these guys, and you’re likely to hear something like, “Well, the canogulator jammed in the capacitor spring — see, right here — we’ll have to prog the farley and degrout the cosar.” That technician might as well have said, “Hand over your laptop; it’s not your responsibility; come back tomorrow.” It’s not that he or she doesn’t mean well, of course. But by failing to consider their audience, the techs have unwittingly discouraged teachers from taking ownership of their own learning.

Compounding the problem, our current culture of “call the professional to fix the broken widget” has made us unable to do for ourselves the things that we used to do so well: fix the broken toilet handle; stop the squeaky floorboard; silence the dripping faucet. Nowadays, we’re primed to pick up the phone and call a plumber, a carpenter, or the Geek Squad instead of investigating the trouble on our own.

So how can we expect our students to take risks and push outside their comfort zones when so many teachers fail to model that very behavior when it comes to their own computers?

One solution may lie in Burlington High School’s student-led Help Desk. Here, tech learning is a two-way street: Students help other students, as well as teachers, better understand technology, which in turn strengthens students’ problem-solving, communication, and customer-service skills. By doing so, students naturally learn empathy and audience-awareness. And what better way for teachers to forge authentic learning partnerships than to admit, “I don’t know how to do this — can you show me?” By demonstrating vulnerability, teachers can capitalize on their students’ natural love to show off what they know, especially when what they know is integral to their own culture and world.

By having empathy for our audience, we will all be better able to communicate, to solve problems, and de-escalate tension. When that happens, we encourage “computer illiterate” teachers to venture a little farther outside their comfort zones and take control of their technology. Pretty soon, I expect “I don’t know computers” to be a phrase from the past.