Trenchwork

I know you don’t believe it, but I’m really alive.  :-)  See?  Here are my fingers typing.  Really.  It’s not a ‘bot.  :-)  I make no strong claims about mental coherence, and I’ll admit that I feel rather as if I could sleep for a week (Laws, I’m getting old!), but hey . . . I’m here! Er, so would those of you who were about to send Vito to check on me kindly recall that contract?  :-)

Seriously, it’s been the slightly sadistic work-place version of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, but I tend to believe that I can do almost anything as long as I don’t have to do it forever.  Two months is about my limit on “forever.”

In other words, the worst is over, and while I know there are a ton of things which I’ve forgotten and truly do need to remember, and several things I know I could have (and even should have) done better, well, that’s past. I’ll recoup those things I can, make notes of the things I cannot, and move forward.

One of the things I’ve done in the past three weeks was to spend two weeks in student conferences:  one every 20 minutes, with breaks for teaching and the occasional sandwich or run around the desk.  Conferencing with students about their writing is always tiring, but it’s generally something I enjoy.  For the most part, Norwegian students are glad to receive the feedback; they receive so little feedback on their writing that they’re happy for nearly everything, although they are often far too (and understandably) uncomfortable about little slips.  They’re not accustomed to workshopping a piece of writing, have not learned to NOT apologize for their writing but rather to talk about their writing objectively, and haven’t discovered yet that even the best of us make truly stupid mistakes in our writing sometimes just because we’re too close to it or have looked at it too much.  (Ask me about the time I left the “L” out of “public” in a professional document; the spell checker truly does NOT catch everything!)  They haven’t yet figured out that mistakes in their writing do not reflect on their worth as individuals or their professor’s perception of them as worthy individuals.

But they are, I hope, learning.

Most come to conferences feeling self-conscious, but are glad to talk things through with you.  In this round of nearly 200 students, I only had one student I found truly problematic.  The student was loud, hostile, accusatory, and not willing to listen.  I can generally defuse those particular bombs by finding a middle ground—a place where the student and I can agree about something regarding the text, the assignment, or the topic—but this young man simply changed his attack.  He announced that he understood the assignment, accused me of saying that he was stupid because I was repeating what I’d said in written comments, and simply was not willing to have any sort of productive conversation about his text.

I understand the problem.  I recognize that part of his behavior stems from his own insecurity and self-consciousness at having his work critiqued by someone else.  I recognize that he may never have been told that he had missed the mark on an assignment before; his language skills were generally excellent and they may well have earned him easy grades in other environments.  I also recognize that he may have been reacting to receiving that criticism from an American versus a Norwegian.  Even more problematic in his view, he was receiving that criticism from a female who—while middle-aged—doesn’t look like a 60-year old professor in a tweed jack with leather elbow patches.  (Although I always thought those jackets were rather cool . . .   How’s that for nerdy?)

Telling him that had he understood the assignment, he wouldn’t have gone so far astray wouldn’t have helped much.  I did, however, reach a point where I could only put my notes away and suggest it was time for us to end our discussion if he did not intend to actually discuss the work.  I cannot remember ever having felt a need to do that in a student conference.

But I have to say that this student disturbed me in a way I’ve not been disturbed in years.  While I didn’t feel physically threatened—let’s face it, after growing up with 2 brothers and spending 10 years in military service on one level or another, I’m fairly comfortable in my own ability to defend myself, escape, or cause compensating damage if it comes down to an unarmed scrap in an office—I found myself wishing for a window in the door, or a signal light of some sort. 

I recognize that times have changed, that there is a cultural difference at play, and that insecurity and a perceived challenge to an ego can create the unexpected reaction, but I also found myself wondering if, somewhere, we are not also failing to teach simple respect and courtesy for other individuals.  I would never have spoken to or—intentionally or otherwise—attempted to intimidate a teacher, professor, supervisor, or coworker in this manner.  I can, on occasion, speak before I think about the repercussions, or be a bit oblivious to surrounding events, but I know I’m not alone in making the occasional foot-in-mouth gaffe now and then.  (’Fess up; you’ve done it too!)  I also know that there are individuals who violate those perceived standards, but  . . .

Sigh.

In any event, I still have some work ahead of me, but I have some breathing space and the wheel is now back in the middle of the traffic pattern in the living room.  :-)  I did indeed make it to Lillehammer for spinning, and I’ll post about that shortly.  I’ve finished setting up the new online forum for spinners in Norway and the other Nordic countries.  And I’m about to get back to carding the fiber for DH’s sweater.

And yes—I promise to answer the remaining 20 mails sitting in my box, so if I owe you one, hang tight; there’s more coming.