"Do you blame me for flunking you, boy?" he said.
Holden's history teacher at Pencey Prep asks Holden this question. Old Spencer is trying to get through to him, the way that Mr. Antolini tries later in the novel. I think Spencer is earnest in his effort to help Holden, but Holden is reluctant to accept advice from anyone over the age of about ten. He views most adults as phonies and sell-outs.
I understand Old Spencer. I just spent the last three or four days correcting my students' midterm exams. Most passed without any problems. However, out of two classes containing over 70 young minds, there are always a few people who simply fail. In fact, they don't just fail. They fail on an epic, Cecil B. Demille scale. This semester, I had three or four midterms like that. And, like Old Spencer, I'm trying to understand how it could have happened. I've spent more than a little time asking myself, "Where did I go wrong with these kids?"
I've been in the teaching profession long enough to know that I'm probably not to blame for these F's on my midterm. Each one of these students probably has legitimate reasons, like Holden, for his or her poor performance. Divorcing parents. A terminally ill grandparent. Drug or alcohol abuse. But I still find myself rereading their midterms, trying to acquit myself of any wrongdoing. I want my students to succeed, and, when they don't, I tend to point fingers at myself.
I've always felt a little bit like a fraud in the classroom anyway. I can't believe, sometimes, that I get paid to do the stuff that I do. I earn money for talking about movies and books and poetry. It's a pretty good gig. And I've been doing it for a while, which means somebody thinks I know what I'm doing. But I'm no Saint Isidore.
Isidore was a Spanish archbishop around the year 600. His feast days is April 4. The thing that makes me feel inadequate when I think of Isidore is that, aside from doing all the holy and saintly stuff, he also found time to be a "voluminous writer. He composed a work containing the whole circle of science, which shows his vast erudition. This is one of the earliest encyclopedias on record. The Saint was versed in the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew languages." Talk about a show-off.
I wonder what Isidore would have said to the student who talked to me after class yesterday. She had just received her failing midterm grade, and she looked close to tears. After the lecture hall emptied, she apologized for performing so poorly in my class. She said she'd just found out her parents were divorcing during Christmas break, and she hasn't been able to recover from the news. She feels like her life is spinning out of control.
I let her talk, and I stood there and listened. She was being raw and honest, and her whole body was shaking with the effort. After she finished, we talked about ways to help her pass the class. I talked to her about the student counseling center on campus, told her she needed someone to talk to, someone who could provide professional guidance.
By the time we left the room, she was laughing and breathing visibly easier. She's not out of trouble yet, but I think I provided her some comfort and good advice. That's what Isidore would have done, I'm sure. I think that's what Old Spencer tries to do, in his own clumsy way, as well.
Saint Marty said a prayer for his student last night.
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| I like Old Spencer's pajamas |
