In the classroom

The sky is as gray as my sink faucet. It's 10am and it doesn't seem like Austria is willing to wake up this Saturday morning. Plans were to go to Salzburg but I think my Italian neighbor is sick; she hasn't emerged from her room yet. No worries, I can easily amuse myself in Ried as ride the train the two hours to Salzburg. There's always next Thursday or Saturday for that trip.

The weekends where I stay are a test of my mettle and personal resolve. Mainly because the hot water isn't hot until noon (somehow I always forget to shower on Friday when it's still warm).

This week has been up and down in the classroom. I witnessed twice as two of my favorite teachers chewed out students. Both students were girls. In the one case, the student had spent 20minutes out of class when she had only been allowed 10. The girl then sobbed through 15 minutes of class. I can't stand that kind of outright suffering. Something in me wants to rush over and give comfort, assurance, or encouragement. Her racking sobs were ignored by the teacher and other students and I gradually realized that this sort of thing happens frequently - with this student and possibly others. It was hard for me to ignore the girl's sadness.

The other situation was when a teacher singled out a student who did particularly bad on a recent exam. He addressed her very directly in front of class and told her that she's repetitively making silly mistakes with word usage. The girl silently hung her head and wiped away tears; the suffering was just as loud in my mind.

Harsh, maybe. But this is necessary. This kind of teaching makes you stronger. Sadness and the battle to overcome that sadness makes you so strong. I have trouble recalling anything similar in my own class experience. Oh. Yeah. Damn, except I did. *winces* It was terrible. And I did break down and cry. But if you can't survive a teacher's criticism, how can you survive life? Delicate little flower that I was - I couldn't handle the weight of a water droplet. Except I'm a little stronger now and I know how to handle criticism. I think criticism should be taught. It's not a weapon, it's a tool. Like when you whittle. You cut away everything that doesn't look like a sea lion. Criticism: cut away everything that doesn't look like perfect English.

Anyway, I wish I had the courage and self confidence to criticize so assiduously.

This morning I did some thinking. And wrote a little cold, analytical nonsense that has nothing to do with Austria. If you want something to read, feel free and do comment. But the Austrian segment ends here.




To love is a verb and so is to hate. I think that most people forget this. “I love you,” people say. Or, “I hate your guts.” But for me, these verbs only have substance when they are backed by action. For example, someone makes you breakfast, brings it to you in bed on a tray with a little red flower, kisses you on the forehead, and says, “I love you.” There’s meaning in that.

Conversely, your brother throws your wallet in the toilet after you wouldn’t change the TV channel. So you rip up his baseball card collection and say (or shout), “I hate you.” But he’s your brother so maybe you don’t really hate him at all. You hate your wallet being in the toilet.

That makes me wonder. If someone brings you breakfast in the morning, do you love the act or the person or both? If Fidel Castro brought you breakfast in the morning and said, “I love you,” you’d probably jump out the bedroom window, right? If it’s your boyfriend or husband, he gets more credit at the love bank.

If Adolph Hitler threw your wallet in the toilet, you might shout, “I hate you” or you might just add the act to an already endless list of evil deeds. It’s quite possible that Hitler would throw your wallet in the toilet. And yet the idea of Castro carrying a tray of French toast and orange juice seems far fetched. In conclusion: love can’t exist without a personal foundation, either created as fantasy in our minds or in reality. I can say: “I love this band. They connect with my soul.” But I have trouble saying: “I loath and despise Hitler.” I hate the actions but I have trouble hating the man. We’ve never met (although I certainly don’t like him).

The depth and complexity of the issue is boundless. Take, for example, unconditional love. Does it really exist? Can love really exist without the verb, the action: to love? Can hate exist without the verb, the action: to hate? Can you unconditionally hate someone?

I wonder if unconditional love is something unobservant people tell themselves. I love the way you kiss me goodbye in the morning, the way you do the dishes without being asked, or the way you laugh after a bad joke. Little things equate to unconditional love. But unconditional love is different from parental love, motherly love. It’s true that some mothers don’t love their babies but, on the whole, they do. Even when you don’t see that person or child everyday, you still love them because of the love-credit you’ve built up with them over the years.

Does love-credit exist? Humans have very intricate memories. Because of memory, we unconsciously build up a credit list in our minds of ‘love’ and ‘hate’ – sort of like Santa Clause and his “naughty or nice” list. Therefore, that list can one day expire or be used up. The love-credit can be drained completely and thus the love for another person. When you overdraw on your love-credit account – by having an affair, for example – a deficit is formed with the visage of hate. Breaking trust burns love-credit, tickets to your favorite band in concert create love-credit.

Memory. That’s why goldfish make very good, calming pets. Seven seconds of memory? That leaves no time to hate – no time to love – only time to swim. No love-credit. Only very quick flings with the plastic plants.