Reality and Humor – A Learning Curve

It started early, my tendency to get myself in trouble by trying to be funny (even before I started teaching). Sometimes what passes for my sense of humor collides head on with reality, occasionally embarrassingly so. Culture shock came into play a lot early, and it took me a while to become culturally sensitive enough to avoid faux pas (already plural, for those of who were wondering; I looked it up).

I am a tease; it’s a way I try to make connections. Unless you were the target of a mean-spirited jibe (and I admit to being capable of those {but usually aimed at administrators and politicians, not students}, although I grew more circumspect as I aged and became less certain of being right), I only teased if I liked you well enough to bother. Or it was random, as described below...

A student asked me for a “pin.” At least that’s what I heard. I kind of rooted around in my desk, but, not finding one, finally said, “Why do you need a pin?” “To write with [dummy]” was the [implied] response. It doesn’t take much to inspire a riff from me, so I launched into an explanation, something like, “Oh, you mean a pen,” I said exaggeratedly. “A pin is something you stick into an object, a fastener. But a pen is the writing utensil, or a pig pen, like where (random student selection, yes, I remember, no, I’m not going to tell you) lives.” Ha, Ha.

Not so much. Apparently the randomly selected student was kind of embarrassed about his abode’s condition. I was called into Rich Eichhorst’s office the next day. I was horrified and, of course, apologized profusely to the student, telling him it was nothing personal because I had no clue where he lived. It was just that I couldn’t  imagine being embarrassed about your house. It was not a mistake I repeated (besides, there were so many new ones just waiting to be made), in part because I quickly came to understand that he wasn’t alone in his feelings. 

Back in the day, it was perfectly okay to give students rides home after a rehearsal or activity. Today it would not only be a policy violation, but, well, dumb. Sad but true. (Even then it probably wasn’t particularly bright of me to loan my car out for a fast-food run when we were working late on the yearbook, but I was driving a Pinto – they couldn’t hurt that rust bucket.) In any case, more than a couple students had me drop them off at a corner because they didn’t want me to see their actual houses.

    Seeing their houses wouldn’t have mattered to me, of course, because these were kids I had come to know and respect, with whom I was working on a play or something. But that respect had to include respecting their feelings and sensitivity to their circumstances, so I never pushed it. What you learn as a first-year teacher is much more (and much more important) than the material you teach.