Did you know that laparoscopy isn’t Latin for “quick” and “easy.” I thought it did. It doesn’t. Then, again, Latin and I weren’t bosom lovers in high school. Talking about being made painfully aware how simple-minded I was, I also thought think laparoscopy may have been Greek for “painless” and “simple. Never having had invasive surgery, never having taken pain meds, never having taken novocain when the dentist drilled and ground, having a himalayan high threshold of pain, I didn’t have a clue. I was cavalier to think that this surprise hernia surgery would be a quick-in-quick-back-to-normal operation. After all, when it popped up I wasn’t in pain or discomfort or anything. It was just an innocuous bulge. After all, I wasn’t going to be sliced open. After all, the surgeon was only going to make three very small poke holes. After all, I was going to be in and out of the hospital and back home in literally five hours. I was convinced I’d be working out and power walking and building and gardening as if nothing had happened within a week! I refused to listen to my Susan who has a tic-tac-toe board of surgical scars decorating her beautiful stomach. After all, why should I listen to her. Her pain threshold is so low that a splinter puts her into ICU while mine is so high that I’ve had a 16 penny nail go through my foot leaving me with little more than a mild residual ache.

But, you know “in-and-out” is a far cry from “up-and-at-’em.” My abs quickly clued me in. “Hey, macho man, you can’t move a muscle without us,” they smirked. “You mess with us; we’ll mess back with you.” Doggone, mess with me they did. Being careless enough to think this operation was a “piece of cake,” I was quickly eating crow.

Luckily, I have my guardian and healing angel. Heeding the doctor, my angelic Susan put chevrons on her sleeves, and became something between a steely eyed, stern voiced, commanding drill sergeant and a smiling, loving mother hen. I think I’m at the receiving end of what is called tough love.

My Susan understands with her low threshold of pain. She understands pain. She knew better than I what I was about to go through. So, she could be understanding of my pain when I first couldn’t. She wasn’t surprised when I was at first stunned. Of course, this didn’t stop her from lovingly rubbing a little “get even” salt of “I told you so” into my three laparoscopic wounds. This has been a humble lesson for me. I won’t forget how I, during those first few days, needed an engineering degree to get in and out of bed without feeling I was being drawn and being pulled apart on a torture rack. The second day, I surprised myself. I felt the pain after the surgical anesthetic wore off. I knew if I felt the pain, it must be some kind of pain! I didn’t run away from it or deny it. In fact, I screamed out, “Screw this macho shit. Give me those meds.” And, to my surprise, I didn’t feel the lesser for it. I actually felt smarter, more relieved, and more relaxed. I didn’t have to play the grimacing he-man role and put on airs. In fact, I called my expectant daughter-in-law to proclaim, “The hell with natural childbirth. Take the epidural!”

After two weeks, no workouts; no quick movements; no lifting more than ten pounds. I haven’t power walked since the Wednesday before Memorial Day weekend. I am forbidden to bend over, to sit at the computer for extended times, to tend my garden, to haul building materials, to build what I wanted to build, to climb slowly more than a flight of stairs. The best I can do is stroll for about a mile each day at what is for me a tired slug’s pace. Anyway, after two weeks, to my surprise I have been a disgustingly obedient and patient patient. No biting at the bit; no sneaky disobedience; no objections. Just a series of submissive “yes, ma’am” to my caring Susan.

I had another surprise. Two days ago, a close friend of mine had laparoscopic gall bladder surgery. I found how I could identity better with her distress and pain; I wasn’t judgemental as I might have been; I moved towards her pain rather than be cavalier about it and dismiss it as a weakness. In fact, I took on her husband, who sounded like I would have two weeks ago. He told her to get up and moving because it “was nothing, but a few holes. I get bigger holes when I step on nails at the job site.” And I came to her defense. I, who, had always chided my Susan threse nearly forty years about her low threshold of pain.

So, here I am, with three slowly closing, very itchy, annoying, highly sensitive, distracting, restricting holes lined up in a row across my stomach (I hope the one below my belly button heals so I have a “smilely”), stranded to meditate on the pre-dawn newly screened-in patio, on the front door stoop, or by the fishpond. And, my thoughts this morning are stunning me.

I am now like a baby who is encountering a sound for the first time. I listen more and better to pain. I am less pained by pain. I have pained and I have gained. I have expanded my empathy and compassion. It is no longer sabotaged by an arrogant and self-righteousness feeling of some kind of superiority because I am able to suffer through and endure pain, and that there’s an inherent inferiority about being otherwise. It has increased my capacity to care. It has given me a greater appreciation. It has strengthened my connections. It has made me more intently aware. It has sharpened my ability to listen. It has made me more present and devoted. I am more moved by distress. I am less in my way.

This operation may have poked holes through my abs, but it has also opened my heart; it may have temporarily weakened my stomach muscles, but to my surprise it has permanently strengthened my heart muscle.

It’s a good lesson for the classroom for honoring the reality of the physical, intellectual, social, and personal pains of students; for noticing students who are in need.

It’s a good lesson for life.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–
——–

Yesterday, I was walking the mall “messing around” with my angelic Susan like the “experienced teenager” that I am when a student I hadn’t seen in a year or so approached me. She was with a friend. “Hi, Dr. Schmier.” Before I could give her a return “hi,” she came up to me, put her arms around me, and gave me a big hug accompanied by an equally huge “thanks.” She turned to his friend and said, “This is Dr. Schmier. He was my teacher. He’s made all the difference. If you haven’t had history yet, you should. You learn so much more than history. You really learn about yourself. He’s why I don’t do stuff any more.” Then, after a few sentences, with a wave and a smile–and a departing hug–they disappeared into the crowd.

Then, this morning there was an e-mail waiting for me from another student who was in class a while back.

At these two moments, I felt I had just rolled a string of sevens that would have broken the bank at any Las Vegas casino. You know, everyone honors the number seven. It’s a cultural inheritance from the Mesopotamians that has been passed on to us by the Hebrews, Greeks, Romans, Egyptians. It is a mystical number, a magical number, and religious number, a mythical number, a winning number. It’s a wondrous number. That’s why there are seven days in a week, seven deadly sins, seven blessings, and seven wonders of the world.

I want to talk about one of what I think are the real seven wonders of the world. No, I’m not thinking about pyramids or hanging gardens or collossian statues or lighthouses. The seven wonders are those of my teaching world. They have such often underestimated and lasting power: a soft smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an encouraging gesture, a small act of caring, a gentle touch, and above all, lots of love. If we want to have a truly meaningful life of teaching, as Leo Buscaglia would always say, we need to teach with these wonders as often as possible for something greater than and beyond ourselves

At one time or another, I’ve talked and written about each one of these great magic and miraculous wonders with one exception: touch. Why? I guess cowardice is the better part of discretion. Touch is as touchy a word as you can find nowadays.

That’s too bad. Scientific research has long since proven what each of us knows in our hearts: touching, and being touched by others is necessary for health and happiness. We need each other. We are meant to be in connection physically, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. We’re social entities. We’re hardwired to connect. It’s been found that even a brief touch, as in a financial transaction where just fingers meet, the actual touching is comforting and lifts the mood. Remember, the skin is our largest and most sensitive organ. There is a consoling power in touch; there is a healing power in touch; there is a detoxifying power in touch; there is an assuring power in touch; there is an “I notice you” power in touch; there is a connecting power in touch; there is a loving power in touch; there is a strengthening power in touch. Touch is a form of hospitality, and hospitality is a lively, courageous, and convivial way of association that challenges our compulsion either to turn away or to turn inward and disconnect ourselves from others. A touch expands the “I” into a “we.”

Nearly from the beginning of time, the human touch has been acknowledged by most cultures throughout time for its power. A touch provides warming comfort in a freezing night. It makes us feel secure because it unites us with another affectionate, loving, and feeling human being. The warmth it brings is better than the warmth a fireplace can provide. A touch shields us from the worries of today because of the confidence it brings. Like the internet, it allows high-speed access to another soul.

I have been wanting to use this word, “touch,” in my Dictionary of Good Teaching for Kenny for a long time. I just didn’t have the guts to do it. There seems to be an unspoken, but universally known social taboo against closeness and touching of others. The less you know someone, the further away you must be. The irony of this social behavior is that it is contradictory to one of our most fundamental needs: the need for closeness and contact with others!

Nevertheless, in today’s litigation-gone-mad society “touch” is a dangerous word, a suspect word. I can see the words, “grab,” “taking advantage,” “fondle” and “grope” pop up in some politically correct mind. I can see derisive “touchy feely” appear in some A-Type mind. Nevertheless, for me “touch” is a partner with loving. I’ll say it again: we all need each other. Without open arms, we only hug ourselves. As my friend, Anne Pemberton, once said, “….now and then, at just the right time, a gentle caring touch is priceless to a student.” I couldn’t agree more. So, looking at the lines of the poem “Anyway” I think it’s time I sucked it in and touched upon touch, anyway. Here goes.

I feel my fingers tightening up and resisting. My palms are beginning exude a cold dampness. I can just hear the nay sayers inhaling air for their exhaling screams. So, let’s get this out of the way. I realize that I am about to get into real trouble with some of you. I realize that some of you will only see the word, “touch,” and go off the deep end. With issues of clerics being pedofiles, teachers engaging in sexual relations with students, I am going to talk about “touch?” I must be nuts or a masochist! I’m not neither. I’m not because I’m not talking about exploitation or abusiveness or oppressiveness. I am talking about connection, relationship, and respect. I have found that there is extraordinary power in a sincere, genuine, believe in, welcoming, hope for, faith in, trust in touch. We do it everyday. We call it a handshake, a back slap, a shoulder clasp. Let me repeat that. SINCERE, GENUINE, BELIEVE IN, HOPE FOR, FAITH IN, TRUST IN. I think we’ve too often gone to the extremes of isolation and disconnection to banish touch in the misguided, but understood, effort to abolish patterns of abuse, suppression, and oppression. The fact that I feel I have to repeat myself in upper case lettering shows how up tight we’ve become about touching. We’ve hung a cloud over our heads. We’ve become hostage to a fear of acting with reasonable judgment. We’ve become paralyzed by that legal fear. We walk around off balance. We walk on proverbial eggshells. We have lost the art of drawing the line. We’ve lost the good sense of being sensible.

Fear of touch is a big-time thief. It steals our peace of mind. It hijacks relationships. It robs us of our balance and puts us on edge. It turns us inward. It throws us into a dark corner by ourselves. It makes us uncomfortable. It turns us into nervous lurkers. It prevents us from being ourselves. It doesn’t allow us to show our emotion. It disconnects us from others. It closes our heart with suspicion. It shuts doors and doesn’t let us entertain in an open house. It puts up no trespassing signs. It sets the alarms. It whispers of possible calamities looming on the horizon. It doesn’t let us be present for others. It erects barriers to keep others away. It makes us paranoid when all those strangers on campus approach. It keeps us hermetically sealed up in a self-centered plastic world with a fragile and false sense of security. It isolates, isolates, and isolates.

And yet, the human touch is something that people need on a regular basis, and so many of us are so skin deprived. I always talk about reaching out and touching a life. Sometimes, that is literal. Everyone has the ability and opportunity to transform someone’s life by giving and it can be done by something as simple as a loving tap on the head. It closes distances, de-toxifies relationship, it bonds together. Touch says, in the words of Ghandi, “I offer you peace. I offer you love. I offer you friendship. I see your beauty. I hear your need. I feel your feelings.”

Touch is a formidable teaching tool. Do you know what the greatest “disease” a student suffers in most classrooms? Being lonely, being alone, feeling unnoticed, feeling unloved, having no one, especially feeling unwanted. We live in a very small world. Everything we do effect someone for better or worse. I prefer the better stuff. When we care less about our feelings, our rights, our happiness, our needs, our security, our fears, and begin to be concerned with the feelings, rights, needs, happiness, and security of others, we will have found the true power. Like the flowers in my garden, few people can truly grow in the shade, and growth is the real result of learning. I think that people need to feel good about themselves and I see my role as offering caring support to them. Caring always creates because it always promises. It has the magic of helping students discover their own magic, of starting to transform their capacity and potential into ability. So, listening to Ghandi and Buscaglia, beginning on the first day of class, I offer. I offer one curing treatment for students’ isolation and aloneness. I offer my warmth and humanity. I am touching. No, I’m not Leo Buscaglia, always hugging. I’m not there, yet. However, I am standing at the door, greeting each student with a smile, an extended hand, and “Hi, I’m Louis. Who are you… Welcome…Glad to have you in the class. Do you know….” I grab someone else’s hand, have them shake hands. We’re all three or four touching. “Why don’t you sit together and talk…” I shake their hands. Touching. I’m smiling and laughing. Maybe, holding an elbow. Touching and laughing. Draping a hand over my shoulder as I drag a student to meet another. Touching and smiling and laughing. Grabbing hands of two students and putting them together. Touching. Gently pushing students together. Touching. Asking them to shake hands. Touching.

I am convinced that touch is a very integral part of wholeness, for to touch is to risk living and teaching fully. There’s an incredible feeling that comes with respectful touch. There’s an incredible feeling of community that comes with respectful touch. We human beings were not meant to go around in disaasociation and isolation. We were not meant to be disconnected in a classroom while we’re meant to be connected outside the classroom. Maybe that’s why the classroom feels so unnatural, so uncomfortable. In there, we’re out of touch.

Understand that in the classroom or anywhere for that matter, there are two underlaying “A’s” of touch: appropriate and acceptable. I think I should repeat that. APPROPRIATE AND ACCEPTABLE. Again. APPROPRIATE AND ACCEPTABLE. Still again, APPROPRIATE AND ACCEPTABLE. When we touch with the proper intent–WITH PROPER INTENT–its intention is acceptable and accepted. Yes, touch does require intention. If you’re going to go beyond a handshake and you want to hug someone, you should ask permission. There are a lot of people who are real huggy and they just reach out and touch people. There are some who are not huggy and recoil from such attempts. Its really important to ask permission. I’ll say it again: it’s really important to ask permission. Touch breaks through the barriers that can be hidden in other ways. I have never seen a touch that is intended respectfully to bond result in anything other than a smile.

With that understood, there are the three other “A’s” of touch: attention, acknowledgement, and affirmation. I think its something that we have lost in our educational culture. When we touch someone, however so slightly, we give him or her attention. Sometimes not even a spoken word, but just to put a hand gently on someones shoulder, head, or back, they know you’re paying attention to them. When we touch someone, we acknowledge him or her. Sometimes an acknowledgement of someone is a pat on the back, its a shake of the hand, its a slight grip on the shoulder, its a hug, and it’s a tap on the head. There are many ways to acknowledge people, and touching is one of the ways. When we touch someone, we say “yes” to him or her. It’s a great thing to affirm people by saying “You did a great job today.” “Good comment.” When we touch, we should hope, believe, faith, love. That’s important. Within the boundaries of appropriate touch it is good to have that kind of affection between people. I think its something that we have lost in our educational systems.

I once read a poem. I don’t know who the author is. I printed it out and it’s taped on the wall. I’d like to share with you:

The power of touch is profound.
The power of touch is healing.
Touch brings comfort, concern, and care,
touch conveys nurturing,
touch is instinctive,
touch is love.
The power of touch cannot be overstated or
underestimated.
To be permitted to touch another being
with respect and concern is a great privilege
the softness of a baby, the worn hands of the aged,
the comforting arm around a shoulder,
the embrace of our loved ones.
Touch is crucial to growth and expression
and is as natural as breathing.
Touch is the medium through which we express
our humanity
our attachment to all life around us.
Touch is life.

Maybe one of the reasons for so much lifelessness in the classroom is there’s so little lifefulness touch.

Am I in trouble? My fingers think I am. They’re are fighting my command to hit the “send” key.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

One Friday, I handed back the students’ weekly journals. One student came up to me asking, “What does this ‘AAO’ in the margin mean?”

“‘All At Once.’ It means you made all your entries at the same time.”

“No, I didn’t”

“Didn’t you?”

“No”

“You didn’t?”

“Well, there’s an entry for each day,” she defended herself

“What was the one rule for writing journals?”

“Make an entry each day.”

“Did you?”

“Well, I didn’t have time and I remembered what I had done.”

“But, you found the time at the last minute to date each entry for the whole week as if you had. You remember the ‘Words For The Day’ I once put on the Board? ‘Those that live by the last minute, die by the last minute.’ You lied. Twice. You died.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“What do you call it when you say you did something and didn’t–twice?”

Ignoring my question, she asked “Do I get an ‘F’ for this assignment?”

“Not if you learn from you mistake and don’t do it again. But, there are always consequences,” I softly say with a caring smile. “It will cost you. Donuts for everyone. Monday.”

“I don’t have the money.”

“Donuts…Monday….Fresh yummy ones from Dixie Cream.”

“Where’s Dixie Cream?”

“Find it.”

“I don’t have the time.”

“Find it….Monday….Donuts.”

“I thought you were nice.”

“I am. I’m what you call ‘tough nice.’ Donuts….Monday….Dixie Creams.”

She brought them in to the delight of everyone in the class. And the lesson was learned.

Goodness knows that there have been tomes written on the subject of corner-cutting, cheating, and plagarism. The internet is abuzz with this subject lately as if it was a new-found issue. It is an issue that grinds teeth, snarls lip, grimaces cheeks, clenches hands, stomps feet, throws up arms, and shakes heads. Today academics moan about the high-tech internet as a source of plagarism. When I was a student in the late 1950s professors moaned about low-tech “fraternity files.” Today, academics moan about e-mailing, surfing, and googling to buy a research paper. When I was a student professors moaned how easily it was to ask around and find a ghost writer on campus. The more things change, the less they change. It’s obvious that threats of failure, probation, expulsion for those caught cheating or plagarizing have never been deterents much less preventatives.

Let’s face it, the way we put so much weight on grades and honors and awards and recognition and competition, each day in class–and I am not exaggerating–is a fearful, crisis-ridden time “that tries student’s souls.”

When I catch someone cutting a corner-cutting, lying, cheating, or plagarizing, I don’t metamorpose into a snarling Queen of Hearts and scream, “Off with your head.” From the incidence of cheating that persists, the threat of such decapitation, or even a public beheading or two doesn’t do much good. And, if such a sentence offers any lesson, it is usually a mere “don’t get caught next time.” It doesn’t get to the root moral and ethical core of things. So, I’m not sure that such punishment is the more fitting solution than is seizing the opportunity of a golden “teaching moment” to thoughtfully, systematically, and comprehensively engage a student in order to get that student to break his or her habits that undermine his or her avowed values. So, when I am confronted with what I’ll charitably call “corner cutting,” I ask myself, “What great lesson lies in this situation? What is the hidden value in this situation? Should I care less or stop caring about this person because he or she is less than perfect and did something wrong?”

This is my toughest test: not to take such things personally, to be a man of unending second chances, to be tough and loving, to help that student see his or her strengths rather than play to his or her weaknesses, to help that student transform his or her energy, to help him or her come back into balance. Students needed my understanding! I have to see their point of view from their vantage point. They have to see mine. I also have to see the hope that is there so that in these difficult times I can seize the opportunity. Contrary to a colleague who disagrees with me, I have “to be bothered.” I have to reach out. After all, I have to diligently teach, enforce, advocate, demonstrate, and model personal integrity. It is I, not the students, who has the greatest responsibility to create an ethical culture that nurtures the virtues of integrity, honesty, and fairness.

Now, I agree that there must be consequences, but I’m not sure flunking or expelling will turn straw of anger and blame into gold of apology and responsibility. I firmly believe such a student can be rescued and is worth the try. I’ve never met a student who isn’t a good person and who has convinced him/herself that he or she is doing a bad thing. Self-interest has too often a powerful tendency to incapacitate our ability to live up to our moral principles. The greater the sense of survival the harder we shut the door as if the louder the slam the more valid our positions. We’re all ethical in our own eyes whether it is the pursuit of a promotion, a grade, tenure, a grant, a GPA, a whatever. If we understand that, if we understand that we’ve done that, we can be caringly understanding. With time and effort, with caring, he or she just may see the error of his or her way and be rehabilitated. Casting a student aside or out is the easy way out. It doesn’t confront in the flesh the common belief that it’s right and proper to do whatever you have to do to get whatever you want, that ethics is irrelevant and integrity is a weakness. It’s harder, and more meaningful, to help a student face him/herself, to look in the mirror and see that he or she isn’t’ as upright he or she pronounces him or herself to be, to confront the fact that he or she is morally and ethically infirmed.

When I confront a student, he or she invariable will say “What about the others?” or “Everyone is doing it” or “It’s no big deal” or “I didn’t know” or “It didn’t hurt anyone.”

To the first question, I answer firmly, “We’re talking about you, no one else;” to the second rationalization, I say more firmly, “Who cares;” to the third excuse, I say even more firmly, “It sure is;” to the fourth statement, I say still more firmly, “Sure you did. Stop lying. See how it has become a habit;” and to the last explanation, I hit with both barrels, “Sure you are. You’re hurting yourself. You’re disrespecting yourself which means you’ll be disrespectful to anyone. If you’re willing to lie to yourself, you’re willing to lie to anyone. I know you’re better than that. Do you?”

I tell him or her, with a caring concern on my face and a firmness in my voice, that he or she is not responsible for what anyone else does. He or she is only responsible for what he or she does. I tell him or her that there are two kinds of students: ones who lie, cheat, and plagarize; and ones who don’t. Whether each student cheats or doesn’t cheat depends on the kind of person he or she is. The cheaters find excuses not to be honest; they trivialize character; they are changed by others; they succumb to temptation; they’re indifferent or ignorant of the moral implications of what they’re doing; at best they know what they’re doing is wrong, but do it anyway; they suffer from “moral flabbiness; they’re on the path to ethical suicide; they sacrifice their self-respect;” they put convenience above principle. The non-cheaters put principle above convenience; they clinch tightly to their dignity and self-respect; they’re enrolled in a “moral fitness” program that tones up their ethics and values;” they find the courage to do what is right because it is the right thing to do; they refuse to be changed by others; they have the strength to resist temptation; they won’t let their conscience be suborned by pressure.

“Tell me, do you get any sense of accomplishment or fulfillment by cheating?” I ask.

“I get a better grade,” I sometimes hear.

“Yeah, but at a hell of a price. Where’s your self-respect? You won’t get better and you won’t live better a life. I guarantee that it will catch up with you in some way at some time and bite you in your ass.”

Then, I hit them square between his or her eyes and ask him or her, “So, tell me, I want you to hear it, I want to hear it, right now, no bs, to my face: which kind of person are you? Are you a good person or a bad person?” I stand in his or her face until the student faces him/herself and I get an answer.

Invariably, I hear, “I’m a good person.”

Invariably, I lovingly snap back, “Then, act like a good person!

Make it a good day.

–Louis–