Diary, good evening.  It’s Saturday, May 19.  I’d like to continue this thing about being close with students because I think it’s very important, especially after talking with some Chinese students here at Zhengzhou.   They are so surprised how approachable and accessible we are.  They all seem to have this expansive chasm between them and their own austere professors.  Some say it’s a matter of deep and unquestioned, almost unconditional submissive, respect for authority.  Having had Chinese students in an occasional class, I know its partly a cultural thing.  Nevertheless, I think that any separating ravine has a negative impact.  Diary, I know you’ve never heard of Julius Segal.  Well, he was a prominent psychologist who said we all need what he called “a charismatic person.”  I had one at Adelphi.  He was a history professor.  His name is Birdsall Viault.

I think we teachers, like Birdsall, have to be one of them.  That is, be the person to whom students can turn in times of stress and pressure, someone from whom they can gather strength, someone who can help ease the pain, someone who can end the isolation and loneliness and aloneness, someone who can help them face life’s challenges; someone who can be a “friend.”  I’ve found that the less someone like that is around, the more students find life more troublesome; the more they find life troublesome, the more troubled they are; the more troubled they are, the more distracted and the less happy they are; and, the less happy they are, the less they perform and achieve.   Sure, you’d think that charismatic person would be a parent, but this psychologist says that because so many students feel they cannot or are afraid to talk with either parent, that there is are all sorts of chasms between them and their parents, as I remember from my days, a surprising number turn to teachers, a role all too many professors are disinclined to play.  Certainly, almost none in China as far as I have been able to see with my limited vision.

It’s too bad most professors don’t recognize, appreciate, and acknowledge all the possible and significant roles that they, like or know it or not, play outside of being scholars but are critical to being inside the classroom.  Nor do they realize or want to realize how complex and unique each student really is.  They’d much prefer to play the impersonal and dehumanizing and collective stereotype, generalizing, presumption, and preconception games.  They’d much prefer to be in the distant information transmission and skill development business  They much prefer to focus on the use of technology and on testing and grading.  They don’t see themselves in the close-up and engaged people business.  Because they don’t realize that whatever they do, their success in the the classroom is so dependent on how they connect to students, they generally cast blame on the students for any failure rather than accept some of the responsibility.

Diary, if you could see the journal entries so many students write during my regular classes back in the States:  abuse, neglect, racism, poverty, illness, learning disabilities, special needs, drug abuse, alcoholism, personal and family trauma, low self-esteem, lack of confidence, and all sorts of self-imposed and external pressures.  It’s as if in writing about these things they have both an outlet and are issuing a call for help.  Sometimes it’s “TMI,’ but so often it’s enough to make you cry.  And, the recent research on how the brain functions in the learning process shows that feeling accepted and being connected are the most powerful human drives.  Our amygdala translates aloneness and loniness as “prey.”  Little wonder so many students seek out the comfort and solace of acceptance and being part of a group in the associations and connections offered by sports teams, clubs, sororities, and fraternities; why they’ll do almost anything to go along rather than be isolated or ostracized, or even stand alone.

Sometimes, a lot of times, more times than most professors know or want to admit, that classroom, with the adult and/or learned authority figure of the professor, is the only opportune moments of safety, security, and acceptance for a student.  And, so many of us ignore or reject that role.  Dismissing such needs with a “it’s not my job” or “its not me” or “I’m not comfortable with…” or “I don’t have the time” as if it demanded unwanted extra curricular time and effort that is diverted from transmitting information or engaging in research, however further such attitudes and actions deplete and deflate a student and add to her or his misery, sense of rejection, sense of unworthiness, and general unhappiness.  Disconnection, disinterest, and exclusion can have disastrous impact on attitude and performance.

So, in the spirit of Maslow, to be pathological or therapeutic, ah, diary, that is the question.

I have never forgotten Dr. Viault.  He was my serum.  I worked harder for him because I felt he was the only one–the only one–who truly cared about me.  He believed in me.  He encouraged and supported me.  He helped me start to do at a least an academic 180.  That’s why I find ways to make sure that students know I care about them; that I am not judgmental; that I believe in them; that I am approachable and accessible; that I never give up on them.  Leo Buscaglia was right.  It’s amazing how a little caring shown in such little ways that take no time at all can have so much impact:  to smile, to laugh, to have fun, to be interested, to listen, to be there, to be open, to be non-judgmental, to say an encouraging word, to issue a warm greeting, to give a slight tap of approval or congratulations.

Often–but not always since you can’t win them all–such attentions and appreciations can go such a long way to help students believe in themselves and motivate themselves.  Knowing this, with my background, having been there, I don’t want to be distant and disengaged.  I personally can’t cast aside such reality when it hits me, if for no other reason then to help a student go see a councilor.  It’s not head-in-the-clouds and dreamy; its not “touchy feel-ly;” it’s very down-to-earth and practical.  Often such attentions and appreciations can go such a long way to help students motivate themselves.   If students are to learn, are to be truly educated, I have to touch both their hearts and minds, both their attitudes and behaviors.   So, if someone asks me what I do, I just may start answering with a “I save lives.”  It’s a much deeper answer than a bland “I teach history” or my usual “I teach students.”  After all, that is what my “Teacher’s Oath” is all about.

Being close to students for me, then, means I’m living every word in my “Teacher’s Oath.”  It’s centrality is unconditional love, connection, hope, empathy, faith, and compassion.  If a student reaches out, I’m ready to be grasped and to grasp; I’m ready to be embraced and to embrace; I’m ready to listen; I’m ready to be an advocate in tough times; I’m ready to help that student by making her or him feel that there is someone who believes in and stands by her or him, maybe even someone with whom she or he can identify (that often happens when I tell students I am a cancer survivor); I’m ready to have faith in, have hope for, and to love; I’m ready to help nurture self-worth and confidence;  I’m ready to help plant seeds of inner strength; I’m ready to touch a heart;  I’m ready to lift a spirit; I’m already to help her or him pulled her/himself up; I’m ready to help a student help her/himself become the person she or he is capable of becoming.  I’m ready to make a difference.

The Chinese faculty and students don’t understand that. A lot of faculty and students back in the States don’t understand that either.

Louis