Corn Planters

Someone emailed me a series of shoes that are all the rage in Japan and I couldn't help but share them here. It seems that these shoes would be somewhat useful for short people, such as many Japanese are. However the women who wear these will tower over the men.

Do you suppose men would wear anything like this?

Uh...I don't think so. They are used to being visually seduced, but do not themselves often fall for the impracticality of such fashions. Women, whose value is too often judged by what they have on, the way they wear their hair, the cut of their blouse, their manicure--these are the ones who succumb to things like this that not only look ridiculous but also impair their health. Can you imagine the pulled hamstrings and toe injuries that result from wearing these? Not to mention the kind of sprained ankle that someone would get from falling sideways off their shoes.

These shoes would also promote a mincing kind of inefficient walking style. A person couldn't run a city block in these or grab for a recalcitrant child without fear of breaking a long bone. I think I'll stick with my middle-age, appropriately sensible shoes: Birkenstocks, Rockports, Easy Spirit, and Born.


But awkward shoes that wreck your toes and arches have been around forever. Even back in the 60s and 70s when I was a kid.

I well remember one Easter when Mother and Daddy were invited to sing for Amateur Hour at the school where Daddy worked. They chose a Jeannette McDonald and Nelson Eddy number: Easter Parade. It was a cute song from a record they played on the stereo all the time. Nelson Eddy singing through his nose,

Rosemarie my darling, Rosemarie my dear;

Since one night when stars danced above

I'm oh, so, so much in love...

We thought that was pretty romantic. But then there was The Indian Love Song that started off with a prolonged "ooooooh" by Jeannette McDonald, answered by Nelson Eddy: "ooooooh." Sometimes at night, my sister or I would start out with the eerie "Oooooooh" in the dark of our bedroom and wait to see if one of my brothers would sing the other part back (they never would, which would make us even more obnoxious with other musical challenges.

But back to Mother and Daddy. Easter Parade itself isn't such a bad song. But what my parents wore was awful, we thought. Daddy combed his hair down over his forehead which made him look like Captain Kangaroo. Mother wore a pale pink taffeta suit with a straight skirt and three quarter sleeves. The crowning touches were a hat with pink netting that came down over her eyes, and pink high heels. Very high heels. They were almost four inches high. We'd never seen Mother wear anything like that before, and I have no idea where she got them because we certainly didn't have money for her to buy spikes.

The Amateur Hour evening came and they belted out Easter Parade, full tilt. We groaned in mortification as Daddy came out dramatically, leading Mother who was mincing along in her spikes. They always sang incredibly loud (we always knew they had beat us to church when we walked in and could hear their operatic voices above everyone else's). This evening, they did the whole song in front of a microphone, gesticulating and making over Mother's miserable netted hat. It was loud, operatic, and silly. You know how kids are: we could have died seeing our parents up there. But everyone else loved it and Mother gave us a knowing but superior glance as she came off the stage. How she got down in those heels was beyond me.

The evening had been a smash and Mother had even gotten a new outfit from it. She decided to wear it to church the following weekend. So Sabbath morning dawned and she was up and dressed, tripping around the kitchen making us breakfast in her stilty shoes. Mother visually dared us to say anything about her outfit, probably because we kids had given the lowdown about her ridiculous shoes once too often. We ate breakfast quietly and got ready to load into the car.

Bear in mind, we lived in the country, back East. We had a driveway, but no path to where the car had parked. We walked out to find a foggy morning. It had rained during the night and the ground was soaked and muddy. We kids climbed into the running car while Daddy held the front door open for Mother. Out she came in those pink heels. As she stepped off the last stair onto the lawn, her right heel sank into the ground to the hub. Surprised, Mother took a step and put her other foot forward, where the left heel sank four inches into the ground. Yanking out her right foot, she then took a large step forward where her heel disappeared into the muddy lawn. Hurrying while trying not to ruin her shoes, Mother had a most arresting gait as she yanked her feet up and sank in with each step. She seemed to be focusing on keeping her pink hat with the netting atop her head, for she walked very erectly to the car. I wish you could have seen it--we were in hysterics by the time she climbed into the front seat, moaning that her shoes were muddy. Daddy ran into the house to get a rag for her to wipe off her shoes while we teased Mother about her "cornplanters."

Since moving into our farm house, we had discovered an antique corn planting device that made narrow indentations in the soil and deposited one kernal of corn in each hole. We complimented her on the utilitarian nature of her shoes as she glanced balefully at us. (We were awful!)

So when I see these shoes, I think of Mother's cornplanters and wonder if little Japanese children are having a heyday with their mother's ridiculous fashion statements, too.

Senior Saints

Tonight I gave a vespers talk over at the Villa where Mother lives. I love going over there. The warm welcome I receive makes me feel like I have 30 sets of concerned parents, all who make over me, ask how I am and give me advice. It is lovely.
For example, there is a very elderly man there who uses a walker. He was probably 6' 6" in his younger years, and he has a gangly appearance as he hovers over his walker. He is a retired doctor who has spent many years in the mission field. This fine man is rather quiet, but always seeks me out after I speak and with sincerity always thanks me for my comments. There is something peaceful, kind, and gracious about him that I can't quite put my finger on. One evening after I spoke, a group of seniors met in the parlor to sing hymns. As I played the piano for them, I noticed the good doctor come in, settle in a chair in the corner, and sit back in his chair. He closed his eyes and mouthed all the words of the hymns. He knew them all by memory. I was touched by this. He strikes me as someone who has walked a very long time with God at his side.

Then there is Alice. She is 96, I think. She can outwalk a mule and has a youthful bounce in her step. Alice is the widow of a pastor we knew in New York years and years ago. She always talks to me whenever she sees me and thanks me for speaking. Her energy fairly sparks out of her. Alice's white hair hasn't seen a perm in months, and she combs it straight out from her head, giving her a halo type effect. But she's a going concern.

Pastor Johnson has become rather teary in his later years. He's told me that he has many questions about his years as a minister in a large area congregation. "There were so many times that I didn't know what to say!" and the tears trickle down his cheeks. "There are too many things in the ministry that we aren't trained to do." So he took a counseling degree and the church administrators wouldn't give him leave time to get licensed--a terrible disappointment that continues to trouble him. He is an avid listener and loves to "talk shop."

Of course, Evelyn, Mother's best friend there, always comes up and kisses me after I speak. She is a real dear--always holding Mother's hand, hugging her often, and trying to keep up with her. She is 89 and her ankles and lower legs are very edematous--so much so, that she looks like she has no ankles. Apparently, she has congestive heart disease. "Those water pills make me pee like a race horse," she explains, as she scurries off.

Martin lead the singing tonight and he has a lovely voice. I'm sure he must be in his 80s, and his voice is polished and well modulated. He hasn't lost his evangelistic touch. "Third stanza!" he interjects at the end of the first chorus, as he directs with his right hand. "Altogether now," he prompts as we start in on the third verse. He drops in a fermata before the last phrase, holding the high note for several moments, just for effect. I love singing with him, and he glances appreciatively at me.

At the piano sits Marilyn. She was a pianist for a tent revivalist for many years. I love how she plays--full hand chords, perfect sounding progressions, octaves in the right hand on the last verse, and um-pahs on the off-beat. Marilyn is a very quiet little woman who wears a magenta Pakistani outfit: silk tunic over a matching silk trouser type garment. She must have been in the mission field at some point.

And speaking of garments, Joy asked me if I would go up to her apartment after vespers. So Mother and I went on up to see her. Joy has a cochlear implant and reads lips most of the time. She has a voice that could strip wallpaper, poor dear, since she can't hear how loudly she speaks. "I found this nice little jacket and it is so fun, but it is too large for me. And do you know how much I spent for it?" I couldn't guess. "One dollar!" She produces a silk, chartreuse jacket with fuschia and pink beaded ribbon medalions over the front of it. I'm speachless. I look jaundiced in chartreuse, but looking at Joy's expectant face, I can't refuse the jacket. I thank her and hug her, and off we go. But not before she shares pictures with us of her four children, three of whom I used to know in college.

Mother walked me out to the car. She looked marvelous tonight--her hair recently permed and set, a linen sleeveless shirt over khaki shorts and sandals. I don't remember her ever looking so good. She hugs and kisses me and tells me how proud she is. She's had a wonderful day with us in our new house, even if every one of us fell asleep in the living room for most of the afternoon. Her eyes are shining, and she is basking in the joy of being a proud mother. It is worth every bit of effort it took to come up with a talk for the evening.

As I drove away tonight, I thanked God that Mother can be close by and that I have been blessed with all the senior saints who grace my life. They continue to serve God through their love, warmth, and faith in me. What a priceless gift!

A dream come true

Well, today I was told by my Chair and Associate Chair that they want me to "act more like a prima dona." Choose what I want to do and then tell them that I won't do anything else. Apparently, I've outdone myself by taking on so many jobs and trying to give 1000% to everything. It hasn't gone unnoticed, but I'm so burned out that I can hardly think academically any more.

When they asked me what I wanted to do, I told them that I'm really an ivory tower dwelling curmudgeon at heart. "I want to go up to my tower and be left alone so I can read and write to my heart's content. I want to do my research and teach. That's what I went into this field to do."

"Then that's what we want you to do. We need you to be doing that in our department and we're going to be sure that's what happens as far as it lies with us."

The upshot is that I don't have to be director of clinical training in the fall (YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) and I don't have to set up a medical family therapy certificate next year (YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

I get to teach, write, direct dissertations, and conduct my research. And for now, I get to play for four weeks. My vacation started today at 1:30. I celebrated by going to Lowe's and buying a gas dryer and storage racks to mount inside my pantry door. Oh yes, and ceiling fans with 60-inch blades on them. We are going to have a veritable whirlwind when we turn on these puppies.

Looking around this house there is so much to do that it leaves me almost breathless. The girls are coming for the weekend and we are in boxes and with a dirty carpet. Not to mention, the dishwasher isn't installed yet and neither is the microwave oven. But we are happy and I'm going to be a prima dona somehow, after all.

Wow.

"Still at Last," found here

At the end of my conversation with Mother last night, she revealed that she had had a nightmare the night before. Apparently she woke up around 2:20 a.m. hearing herself saying something like, "Oh, I'm so happy to be able to sleep with my husband tonight!" and she was reaching for the pillow on the other side of the bed. Then, whether she went back to sleep or never quite woke up--I don't know--she found herself lying across the width of the bed instead of up and down like our friend, above. What woke her up the second time though, was that she slid right off the bed and landed on the crown of her head. She says her body slid right off the bed behind her head--picture that--and she woke up hitting her head on the floor. Very shocked and scared. So she said she laid there for a couple minutes and when she realized she was okay, climbed back into bed and went back to sleep.
"I thought I should probably tell you because I wouldn't want anyone else around here to be the ones to tell you--just in case."
She's fine, with only a little soreness in her upper back. No headache, dizziness, or visual changes. She won't go to the doctor to be checked out, so we go along as though nothing happened.

Except it is frightening for me to hear that Mother has had this happen. Not since she was a child has she talked in her sleep or fallen out of bed. I don't know if it was just a humdinger of a dream, or if she was thrashing around in bed and ended up laying across the bed instead of being in it with her head near the headboard.

Three weeks ago Mother fell as she was standing on one foot, fresh out of the shower, drying the other foot. Down she went, catching herself on the corner of the vanity. She had a horrible bruise that went the length of her upper arm and was as sore as anything. Fortunately, she put ice on it right away and it didn't get as bad as it could have.

I'm not sure what all of this means or what my role is in all of this. I keep checking on her and she hides bruises, facts, fears. It must be a part of being a mother who is more concerned with her child's happiness than her own. I hope Mother isn't having TIAs. But time will tell. I just talk to her as often as possible, see her as often as I can, and give her something to be proud of--me and my speaking, singing, and work.

We all muddle along in life, uncertain about how to proceed in so many areas. And in the larger scheme of things, all these little things that are happening aren't worth comparing with the glory that we will one day have in heaven. For now we live in bodies that disappear like the grass, and look ahead to the time when we will all be made immortal receptacles of God's glory.

Well, here we are...

This is exactly what Sam and I feel like today. In fact, we would not have gotten out of bed except that we were so hungry we thought we'd die. Since we have nothing in the house, we went over to Denny's and had a good breakfast, then came back and crashed again. We are currently waiting for a friend to bring us lunch and we are as grateful as we are hungry.

It seems that we are too old to be moving ourselves, ever again. Honestly, it is the worst thing I can think of. The two men who were going to move us called off the day of the move so I hustled about and got a student and his friends to help us. But that meant that Sam and I were out there lifting and moving possibly as much as they were. Now we are so sore and tired that we can hardly stand it. I have a splitting headache.

But we are in our new home and thrilled to be here. We keep commenting to one another how much we like it here, as we find some new feature that is nice. One not-so-nice feature is that every surface in the house is covered with a fine layer of dust or fine dirt. A place can't sit empty for 8 months and be clean. I didn't realize how bad it was until I got up this morning and found little Otis footprints all over the bathroom vanity where he had tried to drink out of the faucett (silly cat). Oh, the cleaning we have to do! And the carpet got even more dirty during the move. We really should have cleaned the house first, then moved in. But the timing didn't work out that way. So I'll be cleaning as I go.

Last week while we were waiting for the eternal escrow to close, our realtor suggested that we move all our things into the garage here. Even the agent of Deutsch Bank (the owner) said that no one would know if we did. We thought it was a silly thing to do, because we'd have to move everything into the house and it would feel like more work. So we sat tight and waited. Thursday night when we arrived and opened the garage, we saw that someone had been inside it and had removed the garage door opener (it is lying outside at the side of the house), and had forced the garage door up. It is now off track and will need to be replaced, which is unfortunate. But what is marvelous is that all these people found was an empty garage, not our things. The neighbor said he thought he saw the vehicle of the person who was here and it was a former owner. Apparently, it was the previous owner that also removed the jacuzzi and patio cover (some time ago), which we really would have liked to have. The man across the street said that three different people have lived here in the six years he has been here. So that makes one wonder. We love the house, more than we did when we saw it and we haven't seen anything wrong with it at this point.

We haven't lit the pilot light (or whatever it is that you're supposed to do) to the hot water heater. So we have been having bracing, cold showers in the morning. Actually, they are wonderful because it's so hot here that it's really not freezing--it does take your breath away though. We've been able to sleep with all the windows open because since we're up on a hill there is a delightful breeze every night that is quite a nice, mild temperature. We are looking forward to putting a curtain or blind over the balcony window by our bed--the sun shines right in on our faces in the morning, which we can live without.

Otis is adjusting pretty well. He spent the first day under the bed in the downstairs guestroom. Then he discovered the stairs and has been tearing up and down them. He hasn't slept with us yet but he did wake me up this morning because he was hungry.

So this is my update. I'm very pleased and boy, do I have a lot of work to do! Glad I have a vacation coming up--from the 25th - 19 August.

That's the news! I'm going to lie down and gather my strength again. If it weren't for the joy of having a new home, I'd say I'm just too old for this.

Still Here

Well...I'm sure stranger things have happened, but not to me.
Sam went off to work this morning as I dashed about cleaning cupboards and scrubbing out the showers, etc. He came rushing home from work at noon and after a bite to eat, we went out and brought the moving truck back with us.
I carefully coached Sam to back the 26 foot monster into the driveway and then came inside. The phone rang. It was our realtor telling us that our escrow has been extended till Thursday. Someone failed to check a little box and there we are: $2000 poorer and all our clothes and personal items packed up. Not to mention our dishes, bedding--everything except the TV packed up.
After raging about this, we signed the requisite papers and returned the truck. Thank goodness there was no charge for it. We got the phone, internet, electricity and Direct TV all extended to the end of the week. Furniture and appliance deliveries on hold. Called Sam's brothers and told them we aren't going to move tonight.
Well, here we are.

I guess I will have to get those articles written now. There is no excuse: I have two outfits that aren't packed up and nothing else but my computer and the couch.

On a more serious note, it dawned on me that God wants us to be able to roll with the punches. What we have here--furniture, timetables, details, take-out food or home-cooked--these do not really mean anything in the larger picture. It's how well we obey and follow our Lord, whether what has happened is coincidental or by a larger plan.
So as we go to bed in our curtainless house tonight, we will thank God for all that has happened and trust that whatever is going on is no surprise to Him.
I'll sleep like a baby tonight!

Moving

Just a quick note--we are moving today! Sam has gone to work and I'm here pulling the last things together before we go. I'm finding that there are lots of little cupboards and crannies that haven't been emptied yet. Also have to take down curtains and pack up the birdfeeders, etc. I'll be packing up the car and pulling everything together so when Sam gets here, we'll be ready to load the truck. Thank goodness for in-laws! My brother-in-law and our nephew will be helping us get moved. So it will be a long day.

On another note, Sam's father went into the hospital last night with what looks to have been a TIA (transient ischemic attack), a mini-stroke. His right side was paralyzed. Fortunately, his speech and orientation were not affected. Today he has a scheduled bone scan because his PSA (prostate cancer indicator) is very high. His doctor must be concerned that he has metastases. So please say a prayer for him and for my mother-in-law. Poor thing, as she was leaving the hospital last night she locked her keys in the car. AAA said they would be there within 75 minutes. As I told her, I'm glad she wasn't hanging by her thumbs for that time!

When it rains, it pours. But for now, we are both grateful to have the opportunity--after all these years of saving and being frugal--of buying a home we really like.
I'll be back after we get settled. Have a good week.

Domestic Wreckhood

We are in the midst of boxes and chaos in our home. With luck, we will be closing escrow on Friday. If not, it will be on the 14th. We can hardly wait.
So I need to say goodbye for a couple weeks whilst I put all efforts into getting packed and catching up on the writing that is due no matter what my domestic situation.
I will be back soon--toward the end of July. Have a blessed two weeks.

Renewed Day by Day

Found here

This week I'm teaching an intensive master's level course on group therapy. One of my colleagues teaches the class for three hours in the morning. After lunch the class breaks into three groups of students. Two hour-long groups are facilitated by teams of students in the room, followed by my discussion about what happened. We then process the feelings and answer questions that came up during the previous group experience. My job is to be the go-to person when the leaders get stuck or lead the group off, away from the work.

You would think that students would hate having to be vulnerable with one another and be group members, lead by their peers. They are told that they don't have to share anything personal. They can discuss their disgust over their lunch (D-list), their difficulty getting through their graduate program (C-list), the way they believe their family culture has impacted the way they interact with others (B-list), or things like their sexual orientation concerns or suicidal feelings they may have once had (A-list). On the basis of what I've seen and heard, the students went almost immediately to the B-list and a few are struggling with A-list issues (not listed here). The last couple year's students have told "horror stories" about how hard the class is and how the students should not plan to do therapy with their own clients during the class. I think they're right. The students leave at the end of the day feeling droopier and worn out more than the day before. And yet they come back the next day feeling rested, adjusted to the fact that they have divulged information to one another and given voice to some of their worst fears--and off they go again.

It reminds me of the Morning Glories growing over the fence at the side of the house. They are gorgeous in the morning: pristine, dew-covered (more like still wet from the sprinklers), open and full. In the heat of the sun they close and look dead. Right now they are these ugly little off-white shrivelettes dangling forlornly over the fence. But in the morning, they will be beautiful again: full periwinkle, luminescent blooms in a burst of color against the black wrought iron and trailing down from the cypress tree.

Every day this week, as I've sat on a couch off to the side of the group of students who are sitting in a circle, I've thought about resilience and near-death experiences. Yes, death. There are some things that if said aloud, make a person feel that they can't survive. There have been many, many tears in our group. Some people have said things that scared them, that they've never given utterance to before. Encouraged and supported by the other group members, they push ahead, making slow inroads into their own unexplored regions. I am convinced anew that the explored self represents some of the most difficult work in the world. And as students come back the next day, there is a new sense of peace and ease that they have about themselves. They are becoming therapists who are safe to work with troubled souls because they now have respect for the pain that comes from that internal stretch that it takes to grow. What an honor to share this with these wonderfully sensitive and gifted people.

Therefore, we do not lose heart.

Though outwardly we are wasting away

yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.

2 Corinthians 4:16

How do I do that?

This week the director of a large network of mental health clinics called me to say that one of my students who had signed on with them for a start date next week, had resigned. By email. Oh my goodness. "I was truly disheartened and very surprised by this, Barbara." (Her hesitant tone of voice with a decided irritated edge said "That student's behavior is unbelieveably unprofessional and I hope it doesn't happen with any more of your students!.")

This director just happens to head the same group of clinics that we have tried unsuccessfully for years to get our students into for their practica--with a stipend for their work. This paperless resignation was not good. I've enjoyed a very good relationship with the director since she came here, so I wasn't bothered about what she'd think of me. But I did have some responsibility to let the student know that this is not acceptable behavior.

Because I know Jane--let's call her that--I can say that she does not have one malicious or irresponsible bone in her body. She is conscientious, thoughtful about her work, and networks very well. She has considerable skill in seeing an organization and all its pieces, how it works, what it needs. But in the one-to-one realm she is sometimes short-sighted and naive. She probably didn't understand the system that we were trying to break into because it is unlike any other mental health system that I know. But I had encouraged her to work there because she needs the exact kind of experience she can get in their clinics, and she has considerable natural talent that I have hoped she would develop her skills nicely there. I asked her if she felt she could manage their scheduling requirements. Oh yes, she could multi-task. I discussed how important it was to keep forward motion on her thesis and that it is a challenge to do so. Now that she had resigned--oh, and did I add--one week before orientation was to begin, I needed explain that to her and tell her that it is never acceptable to resign via email, and that she should immediately write a letter of apology and resignation, using the words "unprofessional conduct" so the director would see that she recognized her mistake.

So I shot off a quick email to Jane:

I learned yesterday that you resigned at the county, and that you did this via email.
I can certainly understand that you need more time for your thesis, but to resign from a position one week before the internship starts, and to do it by email, is really unacceptable. You could have done this without realizing the gravity of the situation, but it puts [our school] in a very bad light. We have struggled for some time to build a solid relationship with mental health agencies in our area, so the importance of positive, professional interactions with their personnel cannot be overstated. When an agency offers a state grant-funded position and it isn't filled, there is the possibility that they may lose that funding for the position. This particular system is also such that contracts are ironclad and the power hierarchy is revered: ie., the job begins July 1 on the beginning of the fiscal year, not in August, and not by an area supervisor's consent--only by the director of behavioral health. Many clinicians and educators do not understand [this system] and all the hierarchy, rules, and expectations, as it is a culture all its own. However, we must work within it and respect it in order to maintain a collaborative relationship.
I want to urge you strongly to immediately write a (paper) letter to [the director] and apologize for your unprofessional behavior and offer your written resignation.
I trust that you didn't understand the consequences of your actions, but I hope that this will be an important learning experience for you.
Thanks,
Barbara



This email unleashed World War III. I am now a hyper-critical, mean-spirited, intolerant, quick to denounce, unprofessional and unprotective individual who lashes out in anger when my reputation is theatened. I have the horrid emails to prove it. How could you scold me with such anger? Huh? I didn't have angry bone in my body about what she did. I was concerned, surprised, and curious about what had happened, and in a rush. And I knew she was naive and unclear, and that she often calls me to ask for advice about what to do. I was sure that when I saw her I would share with her what had been said, commiserate with her about how hard it is to write a thesis, and that would be the end of it. But now, after three other outraged emails from her which have not diminished in intensity, I am having to recuse myself from her thesis committee because I doubt she will be ever able to hear any feedback I give without feeling attacked or thinking I am out to get her.



Two weeks ago I received shocking, accusatory emails from a different student whom I asked for documentation from her doctor after she had been 30-40 minutes late to every class that quarter. The excuse she gave me covered from 9 - 12, for one month. She is apparently having some extensive dental work done. Problem is, my class took place at 4:30 p.m. and there was no excuse for this. Since I routinely drop students half a letter grade if they miss more than one class without an excuse, I called her doctor to ask if it was possible that there were other visits beside what was indicated on the slip. He asked for the students name and then said she had only one appointment that extended into the afternoon. So her excuse slip was virtually meaningless as it pertained to our class.

Now I understand HIPAA regulations (patient privacy laws) and that he violated them by giving me information that I did not ask for. But I did not set out to violate her privacy and it was not incumbent on me to maintain the doctor's practices of confidentiality. But you would not have believed the hostile, inflammatory emails that I received from this student: "I am angered--no, I am inflamed--that you would conspire to break a federal law and destroy the job of the helpless secretary who handed you off to the doctor..." blah, blah, blah.



Each time I receive these emails, I am shocked. My immediate internal response is, "How could I have been so horrible? How could I have been so offensive, so insensitve, so ignorant?"

After caving in to one student's unreasonable demands, and then stating the facts with the second student, I thought maybe I'd swing back to the middle and find wisdom about how to deal with furious, accusatory students who suddenly become adversarial when they get straight feedback. And yes, my feedback is direct and clear. Most students would reply with something like this:

Dear Dr. H,

I'm sorry I didn't consult with you first before I resigned, and I didn't realize how unprofessional it was to resign via email. Especially since all my communication with the director was by email. I'll get the letter written right away. Thank you for drawing this to my attention. Jane.

PS--are you angry at me?"



Most students are respectful in word and deed. They go out of their way to demonstrate appreciation for the extras I do: seeking them out after class, inquiring about their wellbeing, sending them resources for papers or articles that are in line with their research interests. A good number come to me when they are upset about something in our department or are having a spiritual or emotional struggle. I've prayed with many students, discussed their concerns about people, faculty, issues. And none of this has happened before.



It could be that word has spread from a couple disgruntled students whose feet I have held to the fire and students are on edge. Or it could be that my feedback is too direct. But then, I received extremely direct (blunt) feedback from my professors at the University of Minnesota and I was happy for it. I challenged one of them one time, and it was in a most tactful and one-down position you can imagine. I was assertive but did not attack or accuse. These emails from my students have a hit-and-run quality to them.

Our faculty had a long discussion at our last meeting about how students come after us nowadays. It has been shocking to all of us and we are setting about to create a strong, unified stance as a group about what professional interactions are. As we tell them when they start, "Your professional reputation starts here and now. You would do well to think about how you interact with each other and your professors."



This is an issue that is very, very important to me to resolve. I am very direct by nature: New Yorker, Italian heritage, family norms. You say what you mean and mean what you say. But it is always said with a twinkle in the eye or a warm expression. (Unfortunately, that can't be conveyed via email). Many youth today are not used to being held accountable by parents, teachers, employers, etc. It is as though we are afraid of being harsh or hurting kids--so we don't say anything to warn or educate them--which hurts them more in the long run. As I tell my students, "I will always listen and try to understand things from your point of view. But you need to understand this about me: You can always count on me to be respectful but not necessarily polite. I will tell you things you don't like to hear because it may not be polite to say what I will say to you--but this is more respectful in the long run." This to me, is part and parcel of being a professor, a parent, a pastor, an administrator.



Then there's the whole Christian part of this: if I know my words have hurt someone, do I need to apologize again, beyond the initial shocked apology I sent her? If I have already given these caveats and explained my modus operandi, and this has been a matter of open conversation, then to be blindsided by vicious, adversarial (not to mention disrespectful and immature) responses, is this something to apologize for? For example, if I were to speak to Stepdaughter about her sloppiness and tell her that it is not what I expect from her and that wet towels left over wooden furniture damages it and that it needs to stop and that she can do better than that--do I apologize for this? Is it wrong of me to say this as long as I don't add editorial comments and qualifiers ("You always leave a mess" or "Will you ever learn?" etc.)? If I don't point these things out, don't offer those learning moments, can I say I am a parent at all? Do I somehow become a denatured, attenuated, bystander only, who is limited by rules of politeness? Now if Stepdaughter were to come after me and call me names or make accusations because I give this kind of feedback/mandate, do I let that pass because she is "hurt" or a child of divorce, or is hormonal? Isn't it incumbent on me to point out that I am willing to be disagreed with, even vociferously, but that I am still her stepmother and expect a certain level of respectfulness in her disagreement?



I could take the attitude that my friend, Olga, took when I told her about these students. "Are these people going to be working with other people's minds some day? And they act like this? Would you send a paraplegic to the front lines in the war? No! You can't send the wounded to fight to protect you and neither can these crazy people of yours work with people's souls."
But I am not able to say that in such a cavalier way. Because we are all wounded, we are all growing. We all have things that we need to learn and every one of us have rough edges. I include myself in that.

The Chair of my department read my email and when I asked if there was anything wrong with my direct email she said, "No. Any other student could take that but not Jane. She will always over-react. But to her credit, she will take what you say to heart and will learn from it and own her behavior." But do we want to let someone go through our department who leaves the university with our name stamped on her, and who will act this way with other authority figures in her future? I think not.
I have already dealt with this student when months ago, after she asked me a personal question and when I didn't answer it, said tersely, "We are finished with this conversation! There is no use in continuing to try to talk because you are not going to understand what I'm saying." She was livid. I was more so because we were standing in my office and she was excusing me from it! The director of the clinic and I had a frank discussion with her about her strengths, skills, and the feedback from us and from the other staff (and they thought she was irritating and arrogant). She resigned the next day even though we said we knew this was hard to hear but that we planned to support her and help her to stay at the job and learn from this experience. She later apologized but I don't think she really understood what had happened or held the director and I blameless.

Last month I finished donating over $2000 worth of free supervision to this student for work she did at a site where there was no supervisor. I gave her an excellent supervision evaluation and we reviewed what a pleasure it had been to work together and how much she had grown. One email and we're into the thralls of war.

If I hadn't been in such a rush the day I heard she had resigned, I could have called Jane on her cell phone and asked what had happened. The chance that she would have heard me as denouncing, accusatory and angry would have been between 2-5%. I could have taken more time to write a more coherent and articulate email. It never dawned on me that what I wrote would be viewed as an accusation and complete obliteration of her entire value because that was the farthest thing from my mind. My explanation of that has only seemed to fuel her wrath.

On a more personal note, I'm angry at Jane and the two other students for being so vindictive when I have merely done my job. These emails have hurt me more than I care to admit. I second-guess myself on nearly every interaction with students now. I want to hold my outrage to me and defend myself and my right to say what's what. But she is a young Christian who comes from a terrible, horrible family situation that I would not have survived, had I been her as a child. It is a miracle that she is where she is today. I wouldn't call her a "paraplegic" like Olga would, but she working against definite handicaps. (She's in therapy at my prior insistence). So in her case, do I have the right to insist on the fact that I am correct, even though my words hurt Jane? Or is the right thing to do, to apologize for the hurt and to reassure and challenge her to continue in her personal growth? I think so.
I have referred Jane on to the Chair, hoping that she will help clarify what was said and that this is within my role as Director of Clinical Training. And that I'm not a monster. That teachers give feedback, even if students don't like it. It is our job.

So I am crafting a letter of apology to this student: that she misunderstood and that I was in a hurry. That I still want the very best for her and that I will remove myself from her thesis committee. And that I believe she will graduate and do good work somewhere, someday. In the midst of this, I hope I am also growing past some of my own handicaps.