i might have bent the rules a little

I have been a nice tutor, a good tutor, a follow-the-rules tutor. I read the first six chapters of the tutoring handbook before class even started for the semester. I applied what I knew to do in my first tutoring session, according to the book. I was a faithful tutorpal who only changed my tutoring for the "better" when I learned I was doing something "wrong", (like with ESL students). I was a faithful soldier in the Writing Center Tutorcats Army. I supported the instructors, the complainers, the nicees, the downtrodden. I was a beacon of hope to those who were bogged down and up to their nostrils in overwhelming writing assignments. I was a tutor freak, (you know, like a super freak) and I was balancing my artistic world with my psychotic world. I was in the "Flow".

Until about mid to late semester. I got involved in more of my own boggyness and tried to remember bootcamp, where I had been learning tactics and methods for the front lines of tutoring, but to no avail. I felt even more doomed when a great 8-10 page (which turned out to be more like 14) bomb dropped overhead right on the home front. That is when I lost my balance, and with my rippling tutorpal muscles, I bent the rules.

I was sitting at a table with a fine young man who needed some support with an assignment. He had been getting terrible grades on his papers for English 1010 (D's to be exact) and he came in for some peer review support. He was not in the mood to write nor did he like writing. Every suggestion I made he said something like, "UHH, OHh HuH", or "Hmmph". He nodded his head, expressed his writing inability with shruggery and stretched a lot. I knew I was dealing with one of the worst kinds of writing casualties. He had never even been in combat. I knew what the answer was before I asked him, "Did you read very much growing up?" Finally he admitted that he was defeated before he even got started. He hated reading and avoided it as much as possible. He knew he couldn't write, now we knew the cause and I began to work on the cure. As I shared some simple writing techniques and rules with him, he began to see some things he needed to change in his paper. I prodded him along, trying to get some new words, some rephrases, but he racked every last bit of his brain with no results. His brain was starving and had no words to share. I did what any good Tutorcat soldier would do in this situation; I gave the words to him. As I told him what to say (and wrote it for him) and explained why he needed to do it, his brain began to regain some word strength and soon he was able to see what kinds of changes would improve his paper. I sent him on his way with a few bandages and a scribbled up draft paper. I think he'll be fine. I told him to read and he replied, "I'll add that to my New Year's resolution list". We both knew he had no intention of opening a book on his own accord.

But I feel that I did a good thing. My judgement may have cost my rank but I don't care. It was do or die and I did. He was preserved for another time and maybe he will read some day because I fed his mind long enough to get him to a book.