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Copyright © 1997, Louis Schmier and Atwood Publishing.
Date: Wed, 20 Aug 1997 09:07:51 -0400 (EDT)
Subject: Random Thought: Too Much?
As I trod the
dark streets of Valdosta this morning it was hard to
meditate. Those howling dogs of August sound as large as
the hounds of the Baskervilles. They're baying so loud I
wonder how anyone can sleep. Down here, as the editor of
the local newspaper said, we know these dogs intimately
by their first names: "heat" and
"humidity." It was a vain attempt to keep them
from nipping at my dripping heels. But, I did manage to
think of a message in which a howling professor from a
mid-western univeristy was trying to take nips at me.
"Louis,"
she wrote, "you're an idealist and a dangerous
promoter of humanist education." I think she was
cussin' at me. Personally, I take the barb as a
compliment. Anyway, she went on to write, "You
believe too much in each student. You care too much. You
can't reach them all. Your expectations are too
high?" I am sure she meant all of those activities
to be sins.
Too much?
Too high? Nonsense! Let me tell you a quick story about a
student I'll call Helen who was in my class a few
quarters ago. Bright, alive, cheery, this young woman in
her late teens is racked by the ravages of chemotherapy
that is keeping her cancer in remission. She is doing
everything she can to live a normal life and enjoy each
day that is given to her. Her thoughts for tomorrow
center not letting her afflication stop her dream of
becoming a vetinarian come true. She activly participated
in class discussions and was a viable member of her
triad. On the day, a Wednesday, the class triads were
presenting their scavenger hunt project Helen wasn't in
class. No one in her triad knew where she was. Some of
the items for which she was responsible she was not
present to discuss. About half-way into the class period,
Helen meanders into class with an unusual non-chalant
canter and a "who cares" snicker on her face.
But, I thought I felt a hidden sense of near-defeat.
Anyway, when it come to her turn to present, she's
obviously was not prepared. The second time she tried to
wing it, I called her down on it since I had cancelled
class for three days so all the triads could work on the
project. Her snicker became a frown. She ploped down on
the chair with a huff, loudly tore a piece of paper from
her notebook, wrote something on it, folded it,
interrupted the class by walking up to me, handed me the
folded paper, and walked out of class. I put the paper in
my pocket and the class went on. After class, at home, I
took the note Helen had written me out from my pocket. In
it I read a heart-rendering message about discovering she
was pregnant, the unsupportive father who didn't care,
and an irate mother who was threatening to disown her
"after she kills me." She ended the note saying
something to the effect that she didn't have the strength
to argue with me and that she frankly didn't give a flip
(not her word) about the project, about school, or about
anything else because her life has so suddenly and
drastically changed. But, she offered an opening by
giving me her telephone number if I felt I needed to
contract her.
I picked up
the phone.
"Helen," I asked softly, "this is Louis
Schmier. You okay?"
"I
was hoping you would call, but I wasn't she you really
cared like you told us."
We talked.
Actually, she talked and listened. I remember one comment
as if I had a photograpic memory and will remember it to
the day I die. "You know," she cried, "it
took me a while after I learned I had Hodgekin's that I
learned to feel felt each day was a gift. I guess I
opened that gift one night too many. Momma says God is
going to punish me with more cancer. Will he really? She
says I need to get an abortion and get rid of that sin
before God does something. But, that's a life in me and
it ain't it's fault it's there. I don't know who I can
talk to but you. The days just don't seem wrapped in
pretty paper any more."
I told her
that she had to talk with people in support groups on
campus or in town if she wanted to tie beautiful ribbons
around her spirit. She balked at that saying she was
strong enough that she didn't have to talk with anyone.
"You're talking with me," I quietly argued. I
went on to say something to the effect, "Getting
help is no a sign of weakness. It shows you how straong
you are. You went to a doctor to treat your cancer.
What's the difference in doing that from getting help
from someone to treat your spirit."
"Didn't think about it that way. None, I
guess."
Then, I
asked if she had talked to her oncologist about how the
chemicals in her body would effect the fetus. She hadn't
thought of that and would call him the next morning. We
went on and finally I said, "Why don't you let me
make a phone call tomorrow morning and get you an
appointment just to talk about things. Think about it and
let me know tomorrow morning."
She called
and asked if I would go with her for introductions. I
agreed, made a phone call, set up an appointment, met
Helen who told me what her oncologist had recommended,
and left her with a councilor.
The next
class day, she was her old self. She came up to me after
class and said, "Thanks for being you and giving me
back my gifts. I think I have to do a project, the whole
project, even the other triad members' share, to make it
up to them for leaving them in a lurch."
I agreed.
She did the project and tore up the class for the
remainder of the quarter. I never asked her about her
decision. She never volunteered to tell me either in
conversation or in her journal. But, for her closure
item, she brought in a piece of gift wrapping and--to the
tears of all of us--talked about her cancer and how so
many people are taking their time on earth for granted
and are wasting their precious days on earth by
"going through the motions, just gettin' by and only
doing what you have to."
At the end
of class, she handed me a gift-wrapped an orange Tootsie
Pop. Inside was a note. It said, "Don't let nothing
or no one stop you from unwrapping today's gift." I
took a deep breath. It now has a place among my sacred
objects of teaching.
I haven't
seen her since that quarter. But, somehow I know whatever
her decision was, she is at peace and she is opening her
gifts once again.
Too much,
too high? Tell Helen that. I would rather intensely
believe in, support, care about, be involved with,
challenge, and encourage each student and have my
expectations sky-high, and get only to 80% or to 75% or
to 50% or to a third or even to just one student such as
Helen rather than get all of beliefs in and expectations
of students that are rock-bottom.
Passion in
education for the student, THE WHOLE STUDENT, the
inseparable connection between a person's life in the
classroom and a person's life outside the classroom, is
not a transgression; it's the right stuff.
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