Teeter Totter

I met with a whole host of students today, advising them, pushing them, and when necessary, redirecting them. Two of my classes have a project due tomorrow, and many of them have been caught by the manipulative drug of procrastination. Their only homework last week was to work on this assignment, and despite the checkpoints along the way, many put off the hard thinking until the night before.

As I sat with my last student of the day--a very bright, motivated young man--I found him seeking approval for his very haphazard plan. He had accomplished a little--but not much--more than when we conferenced last week. As he spread out his papers and walked me through his thinking, he did so hurriedly. Merely wanting my blessing, he stumbled over my questioning. As we walked through, piece by piece, I saw an average plan plotting out. When I looked into his mind, I saw so much more. Realizing he is running out of time, I debated whether or not to let him work to create his pieces as best as he can, or to push him to make them just a little more.

"That will work------but, I think if you do that, you will be taking the easy way," I blurted, realizing I made my choice.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, gazing up at me with concerned eyes.

"It is the obvious way to go about it, and I suppose it would be an okay way to get across your message. If you think a little bit deeper about it though, I think you can come up with a more evocative way to make your point. In essence, you can think of a better means to deliver your information--one that will make your point nearly as much as what you are actually saying in your argument."

His brain began to swell. He was not average. He was not trying to produce obvious work. Regardless of how far behind he was, he would not accept "okay." I watched his mind churn a bit as he squirmed in his seat. He reached for his pen a few times, scribbling and crossing out several ideas before looking back up in defeat.

"Think about other ways you can show inverse relationships," I offered. "Think math and science maybe...this doesn't have to be a traditional piece of 'English-y' writing."

He tilted his head.

"How might you show the balance of relationships? You can display your argument in a totally unconventional way--in fact, the display you pick could very well make your point clearer--like the right graph or grid or map can showcase data clearer. Think beyond the literal...show me what you mean. We have to get you outside the literal box. Look at this as a problem you are trying to solve."

My student continued to brainstorm. Jotting a few notes to himself, I watched his brain seize control of his eyes. I watched him disconnect to a different place, an uncomfortable place, the place between reality and magic, the place where miracles help us grow.

When he left tonight, I found myself thinking about his predicament. He was good at following the rules; they've served him quite well. Nevertheless, he also wants to escape them. He wants control over the direction of his work. He wants to devise solutions to healthcare mysteries. He wants independence. Yet, when he gets it, he finds himself nearly paralyzed. He is so indoctrinated by the rules, he has to make a conscious effort to break free from them. He squirms with gray space. He wants me to tell him what to do, what to write, how to position his argument. When I question him, and push him, he retreats--until he pushes forward. Until he opens his mind. Until he commits to the cause. Until he knocks down the walls and looks beyond them.

This particular conference struck me because rules have been on my mind lately. My last two posts have been, in some ways, contradictory. In one post I express my appreciation for chains, for rules. I talk about how they guide us--protect us--until we are ready for what comes next. In last night's post, I talk about the freedom of a child. I talk about play, innocence, wild fancy.

Which do I really believe?

I suppose I believe in both. Anyone who knows me knows I am a rule follower. I hate being late. I follow directions--literally. I stop at stop signs on vacant streets, and I drive the right way in parking lots even if that means I have to drive around the block. I watch every single slide in redundant, poorly constructed training presentations; I don't skip to the quiz at end like most everyone else.

Deep down though, I have a rebel knocking on the inner walls of my body. She is bold and brave. She doesn't want me to take the easy road, or the average road; she wants me to find my own way, making up my own rules as I go. She wants me to put down my work and let my mind play on the keys like my feet used to play on the playground--forcefully, wildly, imaginatively, assertively. When I ignore her, she stirs. She taunts. She tells me that she deserves to be loved too.

Just like my student needs to figure out how to show the inverse relationship of the protagonist's parental support in the text we're reading, I need to figure out how to balance my own inner relationships. And I suppose he does too. I suppose we both need to eradicate the inverse nature of the two in our lives. We both need to shift the rebel and the rule-follower a little closer to center, so our totter planks never hit the ground.