Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Feeling the Burn of Mentor Texts & Mea Culpas

Teachers should learn from students. This statement has become so axiomatic as to become cliche. Tired, even. And yet, it’s a home truth, one that I subscribe to because of my study of Paulo Freire and bell hooks On an intellectual, theoretical tip, I get it. Teacher-student. Student-teacher. Resolve the contradiction between those roles. 

A recent pair of episodes, however, hit me at an experiential, gut level. What happened in class taught me, in a new way, essential lessons. Students modeled how I can “practice what I preach in terms of the kind of person I want to be and the kind of writer I aspire to become. 
During a retreat for the UMOJA Community, several students’ actions impressed me for their courage. A few days prior, during class, students got into the typical kind of beef we would have in our class. We focus on race, identity, and education, so you know the topics are intense. And because we are a community, students enroll in linked courses, the vibe is intimate. So it got heated. 

At our retreat, one student, in an appropriate manner, made a “process call” - commenting that the class had unfinished business getting in our way: “I think we need to talk about what happened last week.” We were engaged in a group activity, with half the class standing in groups around the room. She noted the tension in the room, and she said we needed to clear the air. 

So, the one student who felt targeted by other students expressed her anger and pain. When she first spoke, her classmates stepped back, giving her space. But as she continued,  students leaned in toward her, physically and emotionally. We all experienced shared experience of closeness as she spoke her truth. 

A third student piped up, apologizing with genuine words for the part she played in the prior beef. She copped to what she did, without excuses, and an audible sigh of relief spread through the room. A second student made another amends. Again, heartfelt without humiliating herself. I suspect all the students who spoke up experienced healing as we witnessed the power of genuine dialogue. 

Individually, all four students grew in self-efficacy in that they know for a fact they can stand up and speak their truth, regardless of how scary. They showed themselves their capacity to do the right if difficult, thing. And the entire class gained “community-efficacy” - seeing we could work through the routine, expected bumps in the road any community experiences; we had evidence. And I can confidently say our “porch talk” left us all enriched. 

The next week, I lost my temper with a co-worker and picked a fight. I got heated; my behavior and attitude incongruent with my stated values. But I didn’t realize the contradiction until later. It wasn’t until a few hours later that my churning stomach and my mind’s incessant replaying of the scene told me I had to do something, that I was in the wrong.

I had to apologize. But even then, it took me a few days to take action. 

What finally pushed me over the edge was when I reflected on the retreat and how my students exhibited the courage and bravery I expect from myself. Their lived values trumped my stated values. 

But where to begin? How to apologize? What to say? I mean, I knew the meaning I wanted to express, that I was unhappy about my behavior, and sorry for being rude. I had the content, the message I wanted to convey. But I needed structure - a proper shape for apology. This is particularly so in this era of back-handed, passive-aggressive "faux" apologies: “I’m sorry IF you took it that way.” “I apologize if you feel that way” or some other version of “sorry, not sorry.” 

This time, I heard my own teaching voice speak back to me. For how many times have I heard students say that they know what they want to express but didn’t know where to start, how to shape their message? My stock response? Find a mentor text, a sample, or a set of writings that could show me how my writing should look.

I’d urge students to review something we’ve read or to look around for texts that we could re-purpose to fit our own ends. If we needed to figure out how to quote or paraphrase a discussion, I’d point students to a text we’ve read that featured an especially recap of a conversation, study the moves the writer made, and emulate those moves, executing the structure that best expresses our content. 

So in the spirit of living my principles, I looked for apologies (Google is my friend!). To my surprise, I found many examples and outlines that spelled out what a sincere apology should include and look like. So I picked a format and wrote the apology. 

I still found myself slipping into “not sorry” land, trying to justify or explain why I did what I did. But I kept checking my moral compass to orient myself to that best self I aspire to be. Remembering the authentic apologies my students had offered and reviewing the mentor texts kept me from veering away from my purpose. 

I drafted, revised, and revised again. And I sent the note and fortunately received a gracious reply accepting my apology. Even if the apology didn’t satisfy the person I offended, I knew in my heart that I did my best, just as I saw my students do. And in the process, I once again “felt the burn” of approaching the kind of person and writer I want to be. 


NOTE: Many thanks to my students/teachers GJ, DT, and AL for their generous help revising and editing this post.

NOTE: Revised 9/21 for typos. 

No comments:

Post a Comment