i just killed a man
This morning as I was walking to class I passed a guy outside the SS building. He seemed like a normal, decent guy. He was just sitting on a bench, having a smoke before class (or after…I didn’t ask). If it weren’t for one little thing about him I wouldn’t have even looked twice at him as I walked down the sidewalk from the statue of old Mr. Monech to the door of the building; but instead, because of one little quirk in his appearance, I kept looking at him. As he sat there, facing the building, with his back to the passing crowds of hundreds of students, he was completely oblivious that his butt was hanging out of his pants. I don’t mean that it was just peeping out, either; his junk was clearing his waistline by a strong eight inches, at least. Other people were kind of laughing as they walked by, and I tried not to look any more…but you know how it is. Kind of like a train wreck. You have to look. It’s like the law or something.
I thought about telling him, and then didn’t because I thought it would have been really weird. How do you tell someone that? So I walked past him. Then I felt bad, because I could have helped this guy out, but didn’t. He probably found out too late, when some girl he liked saw him and laughed, then told him that she wasn’t going to talk to him ever again. He probably killed himself. Good one, Brett.
This made me think about writing!
A lot of the time I get students who come in and ask me to look at some little part of their paper. They might be concerned with the sentence structure, or “grammar,” or “flow,” so I look at these things with them, but in fixing up these little errors I often notice other, more glaring problems in their papers. Then, instead of looking at their semicolon use, I want to tell them, “Oh, by the way, your argument is based on total lies,” but then time runs out and they leave. Then they go and read these wretched papers (that, incidentally, have great semicolons) in front of their classes and maybe get humiliated and probably kill themselves. They came into the writing center and wanted me to help them fix their hair, or maybe tuck their shirt in or tie their shoes, but because I was hesitant to be completely candid I forgot to tell them, “Hey, your butt’s hangin’ out. A lot.”
This morning Dr. Rogers asked us, “Is it ethical to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped?” Nobody really answered. I think that it is unethical to not help someone who needs help, and who can be better off through your actions, even if they don’t ask for it. This applies to volunteer work. This applies to friendships. This applies to the writing center.
Maybe instead of forcing our suggestions on students until they get it, we can just make tactful observations that might push them in the direction of realizing that their butts are hanging out. I think we might have a real responsibility here.
It’s up to you, though.
The blood is on your hands.
I thought about telling him, and then didn’t because I thought it would have been really weird. How do you tell someone that? So I walked past him. Then I felt bad, because I could have helped this guy out, but didn’t. He probably found out too late, when some girl he liked saw him and laughed, then told him that she wasn’t going to talk to him ever again. He probably killed himself. Good one, Brett.
This made me think about writing!
A lot of the time I get students who come in and ask me to look at some little part of their paper. They might be concerned with the sentence structure, or “grammar,” or “flow,” so I look at these things with them, but in fixing up these little errors I often notice other, more glaring problems in their papers. Then, instead of looking at their semicolon use, I want to tell them, “Oh, by the way, your argument is based on total lies,” but then time runs out and they leave. Then they go and read these wretched papers (that, incidentally, have great semicolons) in front of their classes and maybe get humiliated and probably kill themselves. They came into the writing center and wanted me to help them fix their hair, or maybe tuck their shirt in or tie their shoes, but because I was hesitant to be completely candid I forgot to tell them, “Hey, your butt’s hangin’ out. A lot.”
This morning Dr. Rogers asked us, “Is it ethical to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped?” Nobody really answered. I think that it is unethical to not help someone who needs help, and who can be better off through your actions, even if they don’t ask for it. This applies to volunteer work. This applies to friendships. This applies to the writing center.
Maybe instead of forcing our suggestions on students until they get it, we can just make tactful observations that might push them in the direction of realizing that their butts are hanging out. I think we might have a real responsibility here.
It’s up to you, though.
The blood is on your hands.
posted by Anonymous at 6:37 PM
1 Comments:
I think I understand your analogy, Brett. And tell me if I got it wrong. But it's even when someone has food on their face and most people aren't brave enough to tell them it's there. Sure it may embarras them at first, but it won't be as bad as if it stays on their face. And I've noticed the same dilemma with papers as well. A student will come in with certain concerns, but there are these other nagging issues that I'd really much rather talk to them about. And whether it's due to lack of time, or I'm afraid I'll make them feel bad, or whatever, I may not tell them.
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