Borderland

This is an insight into my personality that was sparked by some recent noise that’s come up. It’s about a character flaw of mine that gets an occasional workout.

People say that blogging puts them in touch with others and connects them to information about God knows what, all over the planet…. Well, OK. But for me, keeping a weblog also shows me sides of myself that I’m not particularly proud of. Lately I’m inclined to agree with Donald Brook’s statement that Weblogs are Fucking Stupid. Read it, esp. Chapter 2.

About 20 years ago, when I was getting divorced, I decided that the thing to do was to go to grad school and get a counseling degree. That’s laughable to anyone who knows me. Nobody laughed then, in front of me anyway. I heard things like…”Mmmm, that’s interesting.” Or, “What will you do with that?” They were the sorts of things people say to someone with a bad haircut.

But I was pissed off and grumpy at the world, and I didn’t care. I didn’t want to be a counselor. But I knew I didn’t want to be an administrator, either, and Guidance and Counseling was the only other graduate program offered at the university.

On one notable evening early in the semester, at my Group Counseling course, we were given an exercise to work on called Spare Change. The professor told everyone to empty their purses and pockets of any change they had. He explained that some of us would be the custodians of this money, and that we would be charged with the task of deciding how it should be redistributed. We could even keep it if we wanted to. He didn’t tell us why we were doing this.

Some folks were unhappy right away. They needed the money for bus fare, they said. There were various issues that came up. He ignored them, and told them that it would be OK. As luck would have it, I got put into the group that got to have the money. We were sent into another room.

While we were in the other room, the professor told us to come up with a scheme for distributing the money, and then he went back to the rest of the class. None of us knew each other yet, because the class had only met one other time. We had 15 minutes to work out a solution to the problem.

Nobody said anything. Being the task-oriented type, I decided to spark some kind of process. “Well, what should we do?” I asked. Still, everyone sat waiting, not saying anything. We at least needed to get talking. I pressed on, and nudged and prodded to get the discussion going.

Eventually, we worked out a distribution plan that was based on a hierarchy of need. We were mindful of the fact that several of the people wanted their money back, and we wanted to be fair. We tried to think of all the angles.

It was my continuing bad luck that everyone backed away from being our spokesperson. So, by default, the job fell to me. We walked back into the classroom and the desks, those little single seats with the writing surface that comes up from the right arm, were arranged in a circle. The rest of the class was seated there, chatting quietly.

I put the money on my little desk top and began to explain what we’d decided. Right away, one of the guys – someone in an Admin program who was taking the course for an elective requirement, I think – started challenging our decision-making. He wasn’t nice. I tried to patiently explain how we’d tried to be equitable in our process, and how it would work.

I can’t remember the substance of the discussion, it’s been so long. What I do recall is that nothing I said was satisfactory to this guy. He started badgering me. His comments became personal. Looking back, I think it’s likely that I was set up, and that he was a ringer, playing the critic role.

It didn’t take long before I got completely pissed. Reason failed me. I picked the handful of money off the desktop – a couple of bucks – and threw it on the floor at the guy’s feet. To make a complete ass of myself, I said “F@%* you! Do it yourself.” And I walked out of the classroom, and went home.

It was only an exercise. Just a game. No big deal. Right?

Needless to say, it was awkward going to class the next week. A few people smiled when they saw me, and said things like “How’s it goin’, man?.” That sort of thing.

Strange, but I don’t recall us talking about this blow-up in class. We must have, but I don’t recall the discussion. I dropped out of the program the next semester, realizing that it wasn’t my calling. Not in this lifetime.

You might imagine that a person with a story like this has other examples that he could share, and I do. It amazes me how easily pissed off I can get when my good intentions are challenged. It isn’t breaking news that I can be an asshole. My reaction to anyone who says so is, “Yeah? And your point is?”

My abrasive charm in meatspace might not translate very well into cyberspace, and I want to remember that. Now I’m writing on this web site, and I see I haven’t learned very much about dealing with harassment. I’m not equipped to argue in public with strangers. I’ve learned that online belligerence is not a new problem for people. You might recognize some of these caricatures.

I’ve been thinking about how it is with teachers, when a parent comes in and questions us in a confrontational way. How does it feel? Have you ever been criticized for something you said, or didn’t say, or had your decision-making misrepresented?

One of my colleagues from way back told me that she tells parents that she’s willing to believe only half of what she hears about them if they’ll do the same for her.

Teachers are easy targets. Especially elementary teachers, I think. We spend all day and half the evening caring, on overtime, and when someone who has a gripe wants to unload on us, we bend over and say thanks for your input.

I can’t spend the rest of my life defending everything I say or do. I’m not going to try. If that’s intellectually dishonest, then anyone who disagrees with me is free to ignore me. I’ll do my best to return the favor. That’s what I’m learning now.

To clarify this new learning, I’m considering Donald Brook’s Disclaimer:

I realize that nothing I say matters to anyone else on the entire planet. My opinions are useless and unfocused. I am an expert in nothing. I know nothing. I am confused about almost everything. I cannot, as an individual, ever possibly know everything, or even enough to make editorial commentary on the vast majority of things that exist in my world. This is a stupid document; it is meaningless drivel that I do not expect any of the several billion people on my planet to actually read…..

updated: removed the last part. I’m chillin. Back soon.