Saturday, September 23, 2006
DAY EIGHTEEN: Travel from Milwaukee to Ann Arbor, MI
I so needed the sleep I had, and had no desire to drive for the next 12 hours. I said my goodbyes to Sonja, Cain, and Cristina after a particularly good decaf americano. Milwaukee is a resource for numerous city coffee roasters.
Driving was frustrating. Every road into Chicago had some enormous back-up, and it rained all day. I thought I'd visit my cousin, Abby, in Ann Arbor, then speed on to Pittsburgh, but it was all I could do to get to Ann Arbor without falling asleep.
Abby is 19 and in her sophomore year at U of Michigan. She lives in a single in an enourmous dorm. The Wolverines won against Wisconsin today and everyone is celebrating. We talk in her dorm for a bit, then get something to eat.
Abby was mostly raised in New York City and went to Hunter College High School, a scholarship school and one of the best high schools in the city. She's a good student and is intimidatingly well-read. My aunt and uncle are actors, which I mention to explain her emotional intensity.
While I asked after her classes and what has been drawing her interest, the meat of the conversation circled around various relationships with boys. She's struggling with her rational brain, her untapped field of experience, and the foreign creatures that men can be. I found myself in a similar position I was in yesterday with Sonja's students: under the pressure to give sage advice while I'm struggling to figure out what I think about it, if anything.
What ended up happening is I told her what I thought of the various situations she presented to me, but not without a long hour of hemming and hawing. My instinct was to save her ego and support her role in these situations, even if I thought differently. By holding back my opinions, I became philosophical and explored the grey area of relationships. She was clearly confused and hurt and looking for some sort of direction. I wanted to show her that there isn't necessarily a right answer and that she had to make her own mistakes in order to find out what is right for her. She mentioned advice she had gotten from my mom (her aunt) and her mom (my aunt), and suddenly everything seemed clear. She needs direction. That is my role as an advice giver. She can make mistakes, but she's searching for sign posts as she tries to learn from them. I wasn't giving her anything she could walk away with.
So I told her I thought this guy was a coward and she needs to forget him for the time being. I didn't want to sound like the people who would have given me the same advice in the past, but she needs to hear this, I guess. It's so simple. Now is not the time for metaphysical ponderings on the nature of men and women. She can prove me wrong in a year. So I'll be wrong and she'll have her own signposts.
This applies to my fears about teaching in this way: students are looking for authority. As much as I don't want to be that authoritative figure, that's what the role entails. I'm not their friend nor their parent. So when I'm offering advice to a student, they want my opinion. And I don't think I gave it yesterday. It was a detached stance that fell short of engagement.
I explained all this to Abby as I was experiencing it, which probably didn't help her, but it helped me.
I can't remember the last time I was in a dorm. The bathroom requires a card key and the last 4 digits of Abby's social security number. Lordy.
I so needed the sleep I had, and had no desire to drive for the next 12 hours. I said my goodbyes to Sonja, Cain, and Cristina after a particularly good decaf americano. Milwaukee is a resource for numerous city coffee roasters.
Driving was frustrating. Every road into Chicago had some enormous back-up, and it rained all day. I thought I'd visit my cousin, Abby, in Ann Arbor, then speed on to Pittsburgh, but it was all I could do to get to Ann Arbor without falling asleep.
Abby is 19 and in her sophomore year at U of Michigan. She lives in a single in an enourmous dorm. The Wolverines won against Wisconsin today and everyone is celebrating. We talk in her dorm for a bit, then get something to eat.
Abby was mostly raised in New York City and went to Hunter College High School, a scholarship school and one of the best high schools in the city. She's a good student and is intimidatingly well-read. My aunt and uncle are actors, which I mention to explain her emotional intensity.
While I asked after her classes and what has been drawing her interest, the meat of the conversation circled around various relationships with boys. She's struggling with her rational brain, her untapped field of experience, and the foreign creatures that men can be. I found myself in a similar position I was in yesterday with Sonja's students: under the pressure to give sage advice while I'm struggling to figure out what I think about it, if anything.
What ended up happening is I told her what I thought of the various situations she presented to me, but not without a long hour of hemming and hawing. My instinct was to save her ego and support her role in these situations, even if I thought differently. By holding back my opinions, I became philosophical and explored the grey area of relationships. She was clearly confused and hurt and looking for some sort of direction. I wanted to show her that there isn't necessarily a right answer and that she had to make her own mistakes in order to find out what is right for her. She mentioned advice she had gotten from my mom (her aunt) and her mom (my aunt), and suddenly everything seemed clear. She needs direction. That is my role as an advice giver. She can make mistakes, but she's searching for sign posts as she tries to learn from them. I wasn't giving her anything she could walk away with.
So I told her I thought this guy was a coward and she needs to forget him for the time being. I didn't want to sound like the people who would have given me the same advice in the past, but she needs to hear this, I guess. It's so simple. Now is not the time for metaphysical ponderings on the nature of men and women. She can prove me wrong in a year. So I'll be wrong and she'll have her own signposts.
This applies to my fears about teaching in this way: students are looking for authority. As much as I don't want to be that authoritative figure, that's what the role entails. I'm not their friend nor their parent. So when I'm offering advice to a student, they want my opinion. And I don't think I gave it yesterday. It was a detached stance that fell short of engagement.
I explained all this to Abby as I was experiencing it, which probably didn't help her, but it helped me.
I can't remember the last time I was in a dorm. The bathroom requires a card key and the last 4 digits of Abby's social security number. Lordy.
