Normally kind (#1153)

Topics/tags: Miscellaneous

The other day, I wished a former tutee Happy Birthday on Facebook. I’m not friends with all of my former tutees or former students, and I’m not always on Facebook, but when I am and it’s their birthday, I try to leave birthday notes [1].

In any case, in responding [2] they wrote something like,

The other day, I told a friend about how you managed to get me to the doctor and to class the next day.

I’m honest [3], so I’m pretty sure I replied,

Sorry, I don’t remember.

That type of situation occurs fairly commonly. That is, I forget a lot. So, Sorry, I don’t remember is often my response to I remember when …. More seriously, though, I regularly encounter situations in which ex-students thank me for something and I feel bad about saying (or thinking), Sorry, I don’t remember.

Thanks for supporting me when I had a death in the family.

Sorry, I don’t remember.

Thanks for giving me that special research opportunity.

Sorry, I don’t remember.

Thanks for listening when I was crying in your office.

Sorry, I don’t remember. (And I hope I wasn’t the one to make you cry.)

It’s not that I don’t care about the students. It’s that none of these seem like particularly special events. Is it not my job to support my students, to give them research opportunities, to listen to their problems (and, presumably, to steer them toward help)? I don’t always do a perfect job at it. At times, I may not even do a decent job at it. But I try. I know I’m not alone in this; I’ve seen some wonderful notes from faculty to students this term, like I know you’ve been struggling with family matters. I can empathize. Let’s talk through what we can do to help you succeed. [4]

My alum also called my action above-and-beyond kind. My response?

I hope it’s normally kind.

That is, I consider most of my kindness to be what human beings should do. In this case, they reminded me of the details. It appears that back when they were a student, they emailed me to say,

I can’t make it to class; I injured my foot.

I asked the normal question: What does the doctor say? And they replied,

I haven’t seen a doctor.

So I channeled my mother. I said,

Then it’s not an acceptable excuse.

Afterwards, I made them call a doctor to set up an appointment. I drove them to the doctor to make sure they made it [5,9]. The next day, I helped transport them to their class. Perhaps that was overkill. I’m not sure I’d do it these days. But I’d rather a student make it to the doctor and class rather than sit in pain in their dorm room.

At least I think that’s what happened. As I said, I have no memory of any of this. Well, having written it out, I have a vague memory. But it’s vague, possibly reconstructed only from assumptions and their note. Still, it’s accurate enough.

Is there a point to all this, other than the humble brag? I hope so. I’m a curmudgeon. Everyone knows that. But it doesn’t mean that I can’t be kind. It’s not hard, or at least it shouldn’t be. Think the best of others. Trust that they are telling the truth. Try to understand their perspective. Encourage them to find ways out of the situations they are in. Help out as you can. Add a little snark [10].

Normalize kindness.

Postscript: Once again, I am not sure why my muse thought this would be good to write. Maybe she had more confidence in me than is warranted. What happened with the particular student isn’t all that important; my role in any of this isn’t all that important; all I wanted to do [12] was to lead up to that last imperative.

There’s also an RS [14] that seems to live in my brain that says, Sam, That’s why you have drafts! Rethink. Revise. Rewrite. Repeat. [15] That’s good advice. Perhaps one day you’ll have the opportunity to read a radically different version of this musing. But that day isn’t today. Or this week. Or even this month [16]. My brain isn’t up to any of that.

And yes, I know that means that I should just set this aside, rather than post it. Too bad. I’d rather get this out in the world than set it aside until I get it right.

Postscript: Upon further reflection, I wonder whether my muse asked me to write this to remind me to continue to be kind, or to take that extra step, even as I try to be kinder to myself. And perhaps she wants to remind me to remember to be just as kind to my family as I am to my students. Agh! Such my muse is such a complicated creature!

Postscript: The RS voice chimes in, Do you need these postscripts? They add nothing and, therefore, make me want to ralph. But I know that’s a fake RS; the real RS has better style [17]. I’m ignoring that advice, at least for this version.

[1] If I haven’t left one for you, it’s probably because I wasn’t on Facebook that day or that week.

[2] Are you supposed to respond to birthday wishes, other than hearting them?

[3] Or clueless.

[4] Paraphrased. I hope that the person who sent it recognizes themselves.

[5] Mom probably would have made them self-advocate more and told them to rely on SHAW/SHACS/SH [6] or Campus Safety [8] for transport.

[6] Currently, SHAW (Student Health and Wellness); formerly, SHACS (Student Health and Counseling Services); formerly, Student Health. I don’t want to reveal which period it was [7].

[7] It couldn’t be that I can’t remember, could it?

[8] Formerly Campus Safety and Security, formerly Campus Security.

[9] Come to think of it, the snarky comment makes me think that I might have been channeling my father. What’s the story? Ah, here it is.

I first met Bill in the fall of 1960 on a very rainy fall afternoon when I was coming to Polaroid for an interview. And like all people you are a little bit nervous about how you will come across in an interview and having parked my car and had a sort of a long walk to the building, I was soaking wet and the crease was gone out of my suit and I was feeling very uncomfortable. The first interviewer, wouldn’t you know, was Bill Rebelsky. And Bill said to me, to open the interview, We don’t usually hire people who don’t know enough to come in out of the rain.

Laughter

Needless to say, that was one of the most comforting things a person could have done because for the next hour Bill and I had a very fine interview.

Terrifyingly enough, there’s an even snarkier comment later in that story. It appears that although he may be gone for 42 years, parts of him persist in my personality.

[10] The snark is optional. But snark is how I show care or concern [11]

[11] Pity my children.

[12] Or all she wanted me to do.

[14] SR, inverted.

[15] I suppose they might have also suggested that I throw it away and start again. Getting the bad writing out of the way lets you start over fresh.

[16] Since it’s the 24th. Arguably, at this point of the month, this week and this month are the same.

[17] Significantly better style.

Version 1.0 of 2021-05-26 .