The other day, I came in from an outside blanching in that boiling
South Georgia humid air only to find that someone wanted to roast me as
well. As I calmly entered the computer room, cup of coffee in hand, eager
to work the online Washington Post crossword puzzle, I paniced. Thick
smoke was pouring out from the computer. At first I thought it was going
to set off the fire alarm. Luckily it was only virtual billows coming from
a flaming message in response to my last Random Thought about my apology
to Melody.
Did I say flame? It was a blazing bonfire. No, it was a raging
forest wildfire. Boy, this professor's collar must have been white hot.
Melody was not a happy tune for this particular professor. Melody was
more of a dirge. In blistering, no uncertain, and less that cordial and
collegial terms, she told me she had received what she called "the last
straw" and she "couldn't hold back any longer."
"It is touchy feely people like you," she accused, "who are
undermining the professorhood. "There is no place in our intellectual
environment for the emotion you want to ram down our throats," she wrote
in something of a denouncing tone. She blamed me for "helping to destroy
what's left of the academy's sanctity with continued demonstrations of
weakness in the classroom." She bemoaned the need to "sacrifice my
valuable time for students who shouldn't be in my classroom in the first
place when I could be doing important research ." She continued, "My
class is not a charity ward. It is not my job to hold their hands or wipe
their sniveling noses. I don't get paid for that." She went on to
proclaim, "We are professors, not teachers! I am dedicated to my
discipline!" She ended her scathing message with ""my position of
authority comes from the degrees and awards hanging in my office. My
legitimacy rests on my research and publications, not from pandering to
unprepared and incapable students. Your Dean ought to take you out to the
shed and spank some sense into you"
What could I say. I don't believe in corporal punishment.
Actually, her message sounded like she was preparing to go before a
Tenure and Promotion Committee. Anyway,I couldn't disagree with her more.
This professor seems caught in a despairing obsession of literary
proportions. She denigrates and dismisses the very people she is supposed
to notice and elevate. She confuses things with people. I can just
imagine her stately office decorated with what I call a credentialing
look-at-who-I-am "wall of fame." It probably looks like a patchworked
quilt of various sized and colored framed squares of degrees, honors,
awards, and appointments. It may even be adorned with an autographed
photograph of and signed letters from the "rich and famous."
I didn't know how to answer her without seeming to be high and
mightly. This professor is committing what I think is the ultimate sin,
the sin of not being aware, of not being alert, of not noticing. Being
buried in the literature of her discipline, of being "dedicated" to her
discipline, both in mind and spirit, to profess the information of her
discipline rather than teach students, ultimately is not to value the
spirit of education and teaching. It is not to have a value center for
what goes on in the classroom.
Trouble is that those "things" on the wall don't have a high
message no matter how high they are hung on the wall. Our ultimate
destination is not on that wall. Too often those things on the wall are
bricks that we use to wall us in and wall us off. If we think who we are
and what we've done are nailed to the wall, we'll be separated from the
feeling of being alive.
I didn't even know if I should reply. Was there anything I could
say that she would hear. Would what I have to say make her want to turn
me slowly over a bonfire on a spit? Probably so. Was that important?
Remembering the words of Martin Luther King, it more important not to be
silent. But, what to day.
Then, yesterday, Melanie provided the music too which we should
dance in the classroom.
It was the day we set up the last and most challenging of the four
working themes of the course. We had already done the exercises to
establish: "It's Communication, communication, communication;" "Never
Forget the Story;" and, "Remember 'The Chair.'" These themes are the
foundation upon which all supportive and encouraging community building
and class projects rest.
Now came the final theme. Using a quote from a student in a
semester from long ago, it is called: "I sang; I can kick ass!"
I ask each student, as well as myself, to stand up and sing solo
from his or her seat. They can sing a few notes, a bar or two, or a
stanza from anything they wish. Yesterday we heard a range of melodies
from operatic aria to "Jesus Loves Me" to rap, to "ABC" to "When you Wish
Upon A Star," to "Baa, baa, black sheep" to "Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer
on the Wall" to.....
I never realized in my wildest dreams what was about to happen.
It was one of those "YESSSSSS!! Thank You!!!" days you dream about but
never dare believe it will happen.
Almost all the students had sung. Now it was Ron's (not his real
name) turn. He's a football player. This day he would much have preferred
bungie jumping or playing in a game without protective pads to singing
alone before the class. He had risen from his chair as if every muscle in
his athletic body was aching and tight. He stood there going through the
full range of fidgeting. His head stared at the floor. He and I had an
exchange. He'd momentarily lift his head, look down at me sitting on the
floor against one of the walls, whispered an excuse or reason not to do
it. I would reply with silence, a smile, and a caring twinkle. His eyes
would return to the floor. At a few second, we'd start our "discussion"
again. Each time he said an "I can't sing," "I don't know a song," "My
mind went blank," "I don't like to sing," "Do I have to do it," or "This
is embarrassing," I would reply with a caring silence.
Then, from far across the room came a soft, angelic, caring, and
audible "I'm here for you."
I slowly turned my head toward the voice. Ron looked up and turned
toward the voice. It was Melanie. I didn't say anything. I didn't have
to.
"You're not alone. You can sing." And with a quiet, support, and
encouraging voice whispered as caring, "You're safe here. We all are
doing it. Go ahead, sing."
He smiled. And, slowly he sang. At first quietly, very
hesitantly, and then he got louder, and then he got into it, and then he
started to move his body, and then we couldn't shut him up. I didn't want
to. He sat down, beaming, and threw a pointed finger of thank you at
Melanie as if she had just thrown him a touchdown pass. She did. He
caught it.
After I sang in my off-key voice, "I'm a Little Teapot" but before
I could start a "why did we do this" debriefing discussion of the reason
for the exercise, Melody jumped in. "In high school I was deathly afraid
of doing anything in front of people. It really held me back from seeing
what I was capable of doing. I once had to give a recital of a passage
from Shakespeare on stage. I was paralyzed with fear. I knew I could do
it. I was just so afraid that I couldn't do it. Then, a friend of mine
said to me, 'Melanie, I love you. I'm going to be sitting in the front
row. I am going to smile at you and support you even if you forget your
lines. Remember when you're up there, I'm down here for you. Just look
at me. You're not alone.' I looked at her smiles when I was on that stage
and did my lines. I never forgot that. Ever since then, I am there for
anyone with a smile and encouraging support."
She turned to Ron and continued, summing up the whole purpose of
the exercise: "Whenever you do anything in this class, remember you've
already sang and can't do anything that can scare you more. And remember,
you're not alone. It's safe here. You can risk it all. You'll never be
embarrassed or humiliated. You'll never do anything stupid in our eyes.
No one will laugh at you. You're free to show yourself and us what you can
do. And don't ever forget that you've always got at least three people in
your corner: Me, Dr. Schmier, and....." She stopped.
"Who's the third?" Ron asked. No answer. Silence. Then, Don
answered his own question, "And me."
I turned to Eva, saying, "And you, too."
Melanie echoed, "And, you, too, Eva. Anyone. Everyone."
Nothing like experiencing that rapture.
I once read a short Hindu tale. A woman approached her master and
said, "I do not find that I love God." The master replied with a
question: "Is there nothing you love?" The woman answered, "My nephew."
And the master smiled, "There is your love and service to God, in your
love and service to that child of God."
This is my response to that professor.
Make it a good day.
--Louis--
Louis Schmier www.therandomthoughts.com
Department of History www.halcyon.com/arborhts/louis.html
Valdosta State University
Valdosta, GA 31698 /~\ /\ /\
229-333-5947 /^\ / \ / /~\ \ /~\__/\
/ \__/ \/ / /\ /~\/ \
/\/\-/ /^\_____\____________/__/_______/^\
-_~ / "If you want to climb mountains, \ /^\
_ _ / don't practice on mole hills" - \____
