Compassionate ferocity

I love when I can compassionately acknowledge students' struggles, the difficulties, the frustrations, when I can offer support and encouragement--and still insist that they do it right, whatever "it" might be. When I can do both, be kind and hold firm, without even a glimmer of anger in my soul, it feels absolutely right. I can't always do it: sometimes my own frustrations and angers get into the mix, and there are times when allowing the darker side to show is a calculated decision, made for the shock value (as last semester when I said "I'm going to fucking force you to read this book"). But I like it better when I can (metaphorically) bury the axe in their skulls with sympathy and kindness. Today felt like one of those days. Nice.

The students from Nature in Lit signed up for appointment times without a complaint--and as I suspected might be the case, a couple opted for two meetings. (As I also might have predicted, that was not the case for the student who is most in need of multiple meetings.) Only one student in Native American Lit took me up on the offer, but I did meet briefly after class with the Shining Star. She's being driven crazy by the B's and B+'s she's getting: she wants those A's, dammit, but she also is way over-extended, so a part of her (with which I empathize profoundly) also would rather take the easy route, go for the obvious, superficial thesis. However, as I remind her, doing so would also earn her a B, so she might as well keep the A-quality ideas and work on expressing them in A-quality writing. She truly appreciates being driven to excel, even as she hates it. Who can't relate.

Another student in that class is more problematic. She's been coming to me with one sad story after another, about how awful her life is this semester--and how she's always been such a good writer, gotten A's, so she's deeply frustrated that she can't seem to grasp what I want. I empathize with the latter frustration (see my comments about Shining Star above), but the sad stories are getting tedious. It all may be true, but you know what? Shit happens. Either suck it up and do your best in terrible circumstances or get out, but stop whining. Of course, as I write that, I am aware that a lot of what I write in this blog could be considered whining--but I hope it's more an expression of frustration analogous to what's going on with Shining Star than an attempt to get a pity pass, which is what I feel is going on with Ms. Whine. (Of course, if getting a "pity pass" were my intention, the only one I could hope for would come from the cosmos, the great Professor in the sky.)

I wish the weaker (or more whiny) students understood that the reason the stellar students are stellar is that they want the challenge; they want to be goaded and to have the bar set high (to mix a metaphor). Wonder Student told me today that his journal-log on the essay for today was six pages long, didn't cover the entire essay, and--here's the kicker--that he wants to continue with the log for the rest of the essay, even though I've already collected the homework. He wants the feedback. Shining Star wants to get nailed to the specific requirements of proof that are the hallmark of good academic writing, even though it's new, uncomfortable, and frustrating. They both could whine to me about their struggles. They don't. I know about what they're going through, but they offer the information just as information--almost cheerfully, with a sort of "crazy, isn't it?" demeanor. And that I have no problem with. I'll bend rules and flex deadlines for them as much as I can, because they're worth it. Ms. Whine might be worth it too, but I'm not persuaded she has the work ethic, or not yet, or not this semester. I'm becoming increasingly aware of the essential truth: intelligence alone won't cut it. Hard work alone won't cut it. Excellence requires both.

I only graded one more 102 paper today, still have 11 or 12 to go (I counted and have conveniently forgotten)--but I'm refusing to take any of them home with me over the weekend. I may surprise myself, but I don't intend to do any school work of any kind for the next three days. Instead, I'm going to be social: phone calls and meals with friends, dance class, that sort of thing--and if I do anything else, it will be life-maintenance. The freedom to make this decision and know it won't mean a brutal grind next week is why this semester is such a gift. I am incredibly, enormously, deeply grateful that I'm having a semester that allows me my weekends, at least most of the time. Thanks and praise, thanks and praise.