September 11

It’s that day. My heart knew it before I did. I woke up this morning with a darkness there, and didn’t understand why until I realized the date. When I said my prayers, I put in lots of extras for the people who died, and the families, and the soldiers and the Iraqi people, and the people who have to make the decisions.
I thought about Todd Beamer and his wife, and his kids. Is it ever going to be good enough to have a daddy who died a hero? From a child’s point of view, I’d have to say no. It would be better to have a daddy. But, oh! What a sacrifice. What an amazing amount of love that took.
So I left for work sad, and what I saw on the way made me even sadder. It’s about 11 miles from home to here. I saw 14 flags, including the two above my college and the one flying over the Fire Department. Why wasn’t there a flag on every single house? How quickly apathy has returned!
Do we understand what it means when the American flag is flying over our Capitol? It means AMERICA IS IN CHARGE. That is why in our National Anthem, Frances Scott Key was so concerned with whether our flag was still there—as long as he could see that it was, he knew the American soldiers had not been defeated.
Why do we have such a hard time comprehending that as Americans we are not immune? Why have the majority of our people not figured out that if Americans had not become so lazy, prideful, and apathetic, people from other countries maybe wouldn’t feel a need to hurt us? We were all so appalled that anyone would dare to trespass on our sacred soil; we were angered more by that than we were by the destruction they brought with them. I’m sorry; I know it’s un-American to say so, but I understand how people can hate us. We say:Give me your tired, your poor,Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
So countries take us at our word and do that, and we treat them worse here than they were getting in their homelands! We imported Africans and taught our children to hate them. Did we ‘open our arms’ to the world just so we’d have someone to blame? I was a kid when the ‘boat people’ from Vietnam ran to America for refuge; I remember we took in as many as we felt like (enough to make us look good, apparently), and then started turning them away! Where did we expect them to go? Where did they go? What other country in the world has obesity as a health problem worthy of national concern? We relax and eat our doughnuts, and children over the globe die of starvation by the thousands. We write letters to the Editor defending our right to water our lawns, while more thousands die of thirst. We’re more concerned about having our preferred brand of shampoo than we are about people who aren’t even having their survival needs met.
We’re the richest country in the world. Why? Because we’re selfish! And it only gets worse. Look around. We don’t care for our own, let alone anyone else’s. And the thing about that is, we’re still telling the world that once their people come to America, they are our own. The Constitution was written to protect the rights of everyone, citizen and non-citizen, living in The United States. But we don’t live up to it. We announce what we stand for and then don’t stand for it.
Today the Iraqi are the current favorite hate objects. We’ve already gone through the Germans, the Mexicans, the Puerto Ricans, the Vietnamese, the Japanese, how many others? Who will it be tomorrow? What would our forefathers think? I don’t really think this is quite what they had in mind.
And why is it so important to look good to the rest of the world? If we’re the greatest country in the world, do we prove that by telling people or by showing them?
I’ve been watching these trials of the soldiers who were charged with abuse of Iraqi prisoners, and listening to the excuses. The excuses being made by the soldiers themselves, their commanding officers, the spokesmen for their branches of the military, and our country’s leaders, who are apparently trying to gloss it over and find anything to make it look like America was right. Except for America wasn’t right, and I can’t help but wonder what would happen if we just admitted to the rest of the world what they already know anyway: We messed up. It got out of hand. It was wrong and we’re terribly sorry, and we are going to do our very best to make sure nothing like this ever happens again. I don’t care what kind of stress the guards were working under; I don’t care who is the ‘good guy’ and who is the ‘bad guy.’ Those guards are Americans, and the way they conduct themselves is stating loud and clear what Americans are like. So much for making a good impression.
What do you think of when you hear the word, ‘American?’ I know what I think of. I think of what it must have really been like to brave the oceans 200 years ago to find a place where people could have a better life. I think of the determination it took to stay and not give up. I think of how hard the early colonists had to fight for the right to live their lives in freedom. I think of how miserable in must have been at Valley Forge. Oh, we tell the stories of the starving soldiers with rags wrapped around their feet. I try to imagine myself in that place, and know I do not have the fortitude. And George Washington was right there with them! I think about what those people wanted us to be, of what they wanted to leave to their children. And we should feel a duty to try to be what they were, to try to make our decisions based on what they would have done, to look at the values on which our country was founded before we open our mouths to pour hatred upon our neighbors and before we decide we have the right to judge anyone else.
Thank you, God, that I live in a place where I have been given freedom of speech, that it is my perfect right to send what I think out over the cyber-waves. America may not be the greatest country in the world, but it’s better than all the rest of them. I am proud and grateful to live here, and proud and grateful for the people who have given their lives and their own freedom that I may continue to live here. America is a young country compared to most of the rest of the world. I’m not saying we should never make mistakes. We will, just as any growing child will. I’m saying, it’s bigger to admit them and try to do better. The same sort of loving courtesy that works on a person-to-person basis will work on a country-to-country basis. I believe that with all my heart. And I cry for the people who died on this day three years ago, and for the people who thought killing them was the only way to accomplish whatever they were trying to accomplish. I cry for the people left behind, who have had to find a way to go on, and I cry most of all for the ones who have forgotten so soon.

Readings for Monday

Just a quick note since I forgot to tell you all today. The readings for Monday will be available as soon as I can get them scanned (most likely this evening). They'll be both in the handouts section and linked from the syllabus. Let me know if you have any problems with dealing with the PDFs.

Me, anxious?

If it’s Thursday, I must be blogging. I don’t know why I get such a kick out of this word. I want to use it in sentences: I think, therefore I blog. If I blog in the forest, but no one reads it, did I really blog? Which makes me think of, if a man is talking in the forest and there’s no woman to hear him, is he still wrong? My only regret is that I have but one blog to give for my country…okay, I’ll quit. For now.
I’ve been trying to figure out a way to combine my blogging journal with my Educational Psychology journal, but I can’t get my “reflections” to cross over, so I guess I’ll just get plenty of writing practice. Uh-oh, one-sentence paragraph. Better add another sentence to avoid that. I don’t see the problem with one-sentence paragraphs. Sometimes they’re good. Sometimes there’s only one sentence to put there, and sometimes it’s a good emphasis trick. Sentence fragments can be useful, too, and some really good famous writers use them. Then, I consider writing about writing to be a huge waste of time, and some really good famous writers do that, too.
So far most of my Writing Center time has been spent doing homework. It’s a great and wonderful, quiet place for that. I wish I’d discovered it sooner. But of course I’m such a fabulous writer that I never needed it. I got all my notes from Ed 3100 and 3140 typed up, and did all my assignments from my Integrating Technology and Curriculum class. Oh, and I started reading The DaVinci Code. Since it’s been laying there since spring, chances are its owner won’t want it back before I finish it
I didn’t feel any anxiety at all about tutoring till after I did it. After all, as I believe I've mentioned, I'm fabulous. Today, which is my third day of work, I got to tutor a young lady, and I thought I did a good job. There wasn’t really much to fix. Her idea was catchy, her thesis statement was practically neon, and I found myself wishing for more problems. We settled on rearranging paragraphs just a little, to make it flow better, and cutting a few extra words. The paper is due Tuesday, and I told her to feel welcome to come back. Then later I got to thinking about it, and I thought, what if her grade is actually worse than it would have been without me? What if she needs help again, and I ask her if I can help her, and she looks down her nose at me and tells me she’ll wait? What if I’m the worst tutor ever?

Lori's Anxiety

I feel that my anxiety is so generalized it is hard to sit down and type out a specific reason that I am anxious. I suppose that it all comes down to this being a new experience. Anything new is going to be a little scarey. I'm sure that once I actually get going that is when my anxiety will start to get more specific and I will begin to resolve my own fears. At this point I don't know enough to know what I am scared of. Despite my nervousness I do believe I will be okay.

Belated Anxieties (Blogger hates me!)

I am what some people call an incessant worrier*, so it's no surprise that I have a bundle of concerns about this new job at the Writing Center. My primary fear can be traced back to my mother, who has taken every possible opportunity to tell me not to talk to strangers. The candy they offer might be delicious. It might also be poison. It follows that I'm a bit jumpy around new folks and their possibly toxic writing. Worse yet, what if they offer a paper so fabulous that I have nothing constructive to offer? There are a whole lot of people out there smarter than I am, and it's going to be much harder to ignore them when they are able to prove themselves in writing.

My other big worry is that I won't be able to communicate effectively with tutees until I really get a feel for what I'm doing. The tutors I've observed so far are very well spoken, and I don't know if I'll be able to be as helpful as they are. Try as I might to be outgoing, I'm usually pretty shy, especially in unfamiliar situations. Students who come to the Writing Center deserve the best assistance possible, and I hope I am able to get over my hang-ups and give it to them. Whew. That's what's on my mind.

Good luck, everyone.


*For example, I will probably read this entry for typos a dozen times before it meets your watchful eyes. And it will still contain typos.

Mark's Anxiety

About four years ago I was in flight to Argentina to spend the next 22 months of my life doing something I had never done before in a language I didn't know. On the plane with me were about fifteen other young men who were on their way to do the same thing I was going to do. Many expressed their concerns and anxieties, others talked about what they thought they could expect upon arrival, while others were so nervous they spent their time walking back and forth from the bathrooms. I, on the other hand, was not nervous at all. In fact I slept eleven hours of the thirteen hour flight. When I woke up the guy next to me couldn't understand how I could sleep when I was about to experience the biggest change in my life. After my 22 months abroad I realize that maybe I should have been worried. I was not prepared for the changes that were about to occur. In looking back, I can see that I had no idea what I was getting in to.
I am sharing this example to show that I think I might have a problem. I have kind of a roll-with-the-punches attitude. I don't tend to worry about things and events until I am involved in them. After the first week of classes I could see that there were a lot of things I wasn't very good at and that to be an effective tutor I am going to have to learn and practice a lot. Even though I know this, I am still not suffering from many anxieties, but that is what worries me most of all.
I don't want anyone to think that I am cocky or that I don't need to worry about my new job at the Writing Center because I know everything. I realize that when it comes to tutoring writers I am far from being the best for the job. I wouldn't be surprised if I was the last person hired for the job.
I am so excited to start tutoring next week and I'm excited to see how much I will learn and how much I can help. However, I am not that excited to see how I could have helped had I been a little more concerned and anxious about the things I would be facing.

Excited

I am really looking forward to being a tutor. I am a little nervous about instructing students who are probably more knowledgeable with grammar than I am. I agree with Ammon. I just want to jump in. That is usually when I learn the most or perform the best. As I have talked with other tutors it is clear that I will be privileged to be working with some of the best at WeberState. That is a little overpowering but also a great resource to have on hand. All in all I am very excited to start tutoring!

"Listen, I’ve already gone over my paper and found all of the errors," a semi-deep voice informed me, interrupting my train of thought as I struggled over a math problem. Scrolling my eyes upward, I found a dark-haired student standing in front of me, shoving an open folder complete with neat side pockets and three brads to hold the work in place.
"Okay," I replied, a wide smile slowly but surely spreading across my face; I was still a bit startled because I hadn’t noticed that anyone had entered the Writing Center.
I opened my mouth to talk, but I was interrupted by the student’s impatient voice, "I’ve had several friends look over my work, and they say its fabulous - sure to get an ‘A’...so, I’m just here to fill the requirement for my English 1010 course."
Racing to fit a sentence in, I nearly interrupted him with, "Well, have a seat here at the table next to me, and we’ll go over your assignment together."
The student carefully checked his watch, "Actually," he sighed, "I’m supposed to meet some people at the other end of campus in five minutes, so could we make this quick?"
I slowly took a breath and calmly said, "It generally takes at least twenty minutes to successfully go over a paper, so it may take a little longer than you’ve assumed."
"The only thing I was really concerned with was the effectiveness of my thesis statement...do you think you could take a look at that?" he asked, as he placed the piece of writing in front of me on the table. Leaning over me, he read the first paragraph to himself, following along with his finger. "Here it is!" he announced as his finger came to rest in the middle of his opening paragraph.
I looked down and slowly read, "And this idea is what I plan to support with the evidence contained in the following paragraphs of my essay." I sorted through the millions of thoughts that immediately wanted to come pouring out of my mouth, and fought the incredibly tempting desire to take over and correct. I was about to suggest he come in at a different time to work out a strategy for clarity with his thesis statement when a gentle digital melody began to resonate from the back pocket of his jeans. Grabbing his cell phone, he quickly collected his paper, and started to walk toward the door. "You know, I can tell you’re new...you weren’t much help...you should work on your tutoring technique, but thanks anyway!" he yelled as he stumbled out the door, and began to talk to the person who was beckoning him on his cellular device.
Just as I began to feel disheartened, the bitter taste of my pencil awoke me from the daydream to which I had drifted away. This subtle, subconscious vacation reminds me that in addition to my worries about lack of English intelligence, I am also afraid of the attitudes of others, and my ability to help them. The fact that I have not taken an English class in over a year is largely responsible for this, I believe. However, I have found great joy in helping others in different areas of my life, so I hope I can also find joy in helping others with something I enjoy to do so much.

It's good to see I'm certainly not alone in believing I've forgot close to everything worth remembering in regards to writing. Of course, in the coming weeks, I will think such a thought absurd, instead believing in the equally ridiculous conviction that I know nearly everything. Perhaps, with even more time, the two extremes will gravitate to a more natural balance; the new conviction thus resulting in the most moderate of beliefs: I don't know a damn thing, and what I've come to remember from past years was all wrong in the first place.

I anticipate running through this cycle at least once a month for good measure. Equal doses of humbleness, ignorance and egocentrism are bound to yield new ideas and techniques, which I will use or ignore freely as the current mood dictates.

And so it seems my real concern, far from having anxiety about any specific one thing, comes from an unwillingness to give up the opportunity of being both the bewildered student and the sure handed teacher. In my position as a tutor I hope to emulate my 11th grade chemistry teacher in this regard: learn as much as you teach.

No doubt the first couple of weeks will be more to my benefit than anyone else's. But, hopefully, after the first set of tutee's have taught me some of the basics of tutoring, I'll be able to help them with the basics of writing.