So, on this Father's Day afternoon, as I was laying in some Chocolate
Chip Ajuga in the backyard rose bed both for beautification and to combat the
weeds, my cell phone rings. I thought it was one of my sons finally wishing me
a happy Father's Day. It wasn't. It was a weedy call from an upset professor
who was obviously not a father. On a Sunday! On Father's Day! A telephone
call! "....I don't appreciate what you said about how we should care...You are
a romantic dreamer," she said, among other things, in a firm and less than
quiet, collegial tone. "As I read your message, I just wanted to scream at
you. I've tried everything. I care, but they don't. And, if they don't, I've
decided why should I. Nothing works with these lesser students. I've wanted
to scream at them. Instead, I've just thrown up my hands. It's so frustrating
and it's just not worth my time and effort. I don't have tenure, so I just
don't have the time to spend on them. I've got more important things to do
than waste my time on students who are not appreciative of what I'm trying to
do. No matter what you say, from now on I'll just focus on the good students
who want to be here and with who I can accomplish something so I have time to
do the research and publishing I need to get tenure. And don't tell me...."
I politely listened and politely told her that I am not telling anyone
what to do. After, we hung up, I went back to my Ajuga, shaking my head. This
morning, too achy for a walk, I wrote a response to that intrusive call. But,
always following the dictum, "when you're upset write the first letter and then
tear it up," So, I got it out of my system, erased it from the computer and put
it out of my head--kinda. This is now my response: "I think we have to raise
our words, not our volume. Someone said, I don't remember who, that flowers
grow because of the gentle rain, and not because of the thunder and lightning.
And, it is only because we love and care about each student
unconditionally--unconditionally--that we how how the classroom is so full of
many wondrous people. Now, it's okay not to care for what a student does or
does not do, but that has little to do with sincerely caring about her or him.
And, it is because of that sincere caring that we dig in for the long haul and
continue the fight however much a student her/himself may have surrendered her
or his self-respect, self-confidence, and enthusiasm, remembering that a deeply
rooted habit isn't easily or quickly pulled up,. When I used to blame, I found
it so easy to backdown and walk away without thinking of the denigrating "I
don't believe it," "I can't do this" or "I don't want to do this" or "It's not
worth it" messages such disengagings and retreatings sent to myself and others.
When I started taking responsibility, I saw how my uplifting " I believe," "I
am able," "I really want to," and "It's worth more than most anything else"
fired me up, strengthened my self-confidence, engaged and connected me,
deepened my commitment, buttressed my resolve, and took me to whole new level
of effectiveness and achievement. I've learned from my experience, both
personal and professional, to paraphrase the Sufi teacher, Rumi: don't look
for how to care sincerely, but seek, find, confront, and tear down all barriers
we build within ourselves against truly caring. Because of that, as was the
case of my epiphany in 1991, I had to take emotional shower after shower after
shower to wash myself off myself. So, I have three stories for you to think
about. I use them as my cleansing, take responsibility, "excuse-busters"
whenever I feel an dirtying, blaming "ugh" coming on.
The first is a Sufi story. It goes like this: The a Sufi teacher once
tested the patience and sincerity of his students. He deliberately had entered
a wildly whirling mystical state and was locked up as a madman. His shocked
disciples came to visit him. The teacher asked in apparent bewilderment, 'Who
are you?'
'We are some of those who love and follow you,' they answered in
surprise.
The teacher suddenly began throwing small stones at his students. This
is not the ingratitude they expected. Shocked, they quickly began to run away.
Crying with discouragement, frustration, and even anger, they exclaimed,
'It's true. Our teacher really has gone crazy. He has lost his way. We can no
longer learn from him. He is no longer worth following.'
Then the teacher called out to them, 'Didn't I hear you say that you
loved me? You could not even bear a stone or two before running away. What
became of that sincere love you claimed you had for me? Did your love fly away
on a couple of hurled stones? If you had really loved me, you would have
patiently endured the little bit of discomfort I caused you.'
The second story is a Zen story, and it goes like this: A man, farming
on what appeared to be arid land, wanted to dig a water well to irrigate and
nourish his crops. A dowser came to him, told showed him the the proper tools
and equipment he would need to dig the well and, using a diving rod, pointed
him to a place he guaranteed the farmer would quickly and easily hit water,
After laboriously digging down fifteen feet, the farmer found no water, got
disheartened, and gave up. As he was sitting by the dry hole in a less than
happy mode, feeling he had wasted his time and energy, along came another man
who laughed at him for being duped by the magical hocus-pocus of a "water
witch," and pointed to another place that he guaranteed would quickly and
easily yield water. The man went over to that spot and dug, and dug, for about
twenty feet. Still no water. Very tired and frustrated, in desperation, he
finally took the advice of an old neighbor, who knew "these parts" and who
assured him there was water at yet another place. He dug and dug for about
thirty feet. Another dry hole. Tired, sweaty, achy, scratched-up, dirty, and
disgusted, he threw down his tools, exclaiming. 'Why do I bother. I'm wasting
my time. These tools are useless. There is no water in this dry land my crops
need to grow.'
A traveling Zen master heard him. 'You dig a well. You find only
rocks and dirt to move out of the way. Stay in one place and go deeper and
deeper there, move more and more rocks and dirt! There is no sign of water
until you reach it. When you have removed enough rocks and dirt, the pure
water will flow.'
The third story is from Native American lore, and it goes like this:
An old Cherokee is telling his granddaughter about a fight that is always going
on inside himself. He said it is between two wolves. One is pessimistic, filled
with dark negatives, condemnation, anger, envy, suspicion, sorrow, regret,
greed, sadness, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, selfishness, resentment,
inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is optimistic,
filled with bright joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, belief, happiness,
humility, kindness, selflessness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth,
compassion, and faith. The granddaughter thought about it for a minute and then
asked her grandfather, 'Which wolf wins?'
The old Cherokee simply replied, 'The one I feed.'
I think I'll leave my response at that"
-Louis-
Louis Schmier
http://www.therandomthoughts.edublogs.org
Department of History http://www.therandomthoughts.com
Valdosta State University
Valdosta, Georgia 31698 /\ /\ /\ /\
/\
(O) 229-333-5947 /^\\/ \/ \ /\/\__ / \ /
\
(C) 229-630-0821 / \/ \_ \/ / \/ /\/ / \
/\ \
//\/\/ /\ \__/__/_/\_\/
\_/__\ \
/\'If you want to climb
mountains,\ /\
_ / \ don't practice on mole
hills' - / \_
---
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