Navigating a Whackadoodle World: Episode 43, or Someday we must all leave the nest if we want to fly.
A Whackadoodle discussion concerning leaving the nest, understanding context, and why we sometime need to fall before we can fly.
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“Have I mentioned that I will be in dorm housing next semester?” she asked me quietly.
“That sounds exciting,” I told her. “Does this mean I am losing a student, or will we go back to my tutoring you online like we did during the pandemic?”
“Maybe half and half,” she shrugged. “We could do some stuff online, but I think that I would like to keep driving out here at least some of the time.”
“That’s right,” I clapped my hands. “Your Dad has lent you his old car full-time forever.”
“I’ll even get my own room,” she continued, ignoring my car comment. “It’s not like a regular dorm. It’s like these little apartments that you share with four other students, but everyone gets their own room and use of the common areas.”
“That sounds really fun,” I said to a face that did not look excited. “So why don’t you seem happy?”
She considered my question and eventually answered, “I suppose I’m worried about what comes next. Will I like them? Will they like me?”
“I’ve always found you pretty likable.”
“But what if I don’t like them?”
“You can always move back home,” I laughed.
She sent me a dirty look. “Be serious for once,” she told me.
“I’m always serious, you just don’t always notice.” She made no comment, so I asked, “Have I mentioned that I tutor other students? Not just you?”
“You haven’t mentioned it, but it’s something I’ve suspected,” she said drily.
“I’m tutoring this one girl who’s in her first semester of the eight grade. I’ve been her tutor since she was in the second grade. She’s very sheltered. She hates any book with a villain, and closes her mind to anything she doesn’t like. Any scene with kissing, we call ‘a special moment.’ I’ve helped her write a whole lot of essays over the years. Often, I don’t agree with her thesis. In fact sometimes, everything in my mind screams at me, ‘That thesis is dead wrong.’ But I never tell her that. Instead, I always say, ‘Interesting thesis, now provide your evidence.”
“What does this have to do with anything?”
I ignored her interruption, and continued. “Her new English teacher has her,” I paused because it still upset me, “listening to an audiobook of George Orwell’s 1984.”
“So?”
“I get having kids watch Shakespeare’s plays. Shakespeare was not written to be read. His plays were written to be watched, but listening to Orwell’s 1984 on audio for your eighth grade class. I just don’t know. It’s not like it’s hard to get the text. I downloaded a PDF for free last night from an online library, so I could read it with her today.” To prove my point, I showed the download to her.
“I mean,” I continued. “I’m all for learning how to listen, but what about learning how to read? And Orwell’s 1984! You can’t listen to that book one time, let alone read it one time, and fully understand it. You need to be able to underline things. You need to take notes in the margin. You need to be able to flip back a few pages to reread something you missed. Think about all the words 1984 has added to the English lexicon: Big Brother, Thought Police, Room 101, Newspeak, memory hole, doublethink, thoughtcrime, hate week. WAR IS PEACE. FREEDOM IS SLAVERY. IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH. I just don’t know. Her teacher didn’t even put the book into it’s context. Or if her teacher did, my student wasn’t listening.”
“What do you mean?”
“The girl didn’t even know who Orwell was. She didn’t know that his given name was Eric Arthur Blair, or that he has served in two wars. She hadn’t considered how those wars had influenced his worldview. She didn’t know that he called the book 1984 because he was writing it 1948 about a worldview around him. A worldview that he was worried would take over. A world in which people would come to love Big Brother and the Thought Police because they would no longer would have to think for themselves. A world that could tell them where to focus their anger and hate. How can anyone understand that book without understanding it’s context?”
“Maybe the teacher doesn’t know the context.”
“She knows enough to assign the book,” I countered.
“Or at least enough to assign the audio,” she countered back.
We stared at each other until I eventually muttered, “It really is a great book. I hope someday she reads it because she wants to, and doesn’t just listen to it because it was assigned. I hope some day she understands it.”
“How would you teach it?”
“First, I would spend a semester instead of a month. I would read each chapter with them each day, and then discuss it. I would answer any questions they have, and suggest that they read the chapter again that night. I certainly would not ask them to listen to chapters one through eight, and be ready for a test on Friday.”
“Your student going to hate how the book ends,” she warned me.
“I know,” I replied. “And I think she will miss the point of the book as well.”
“Which is?”
“I’ve tutored you for the past few years. You tell me.”
Her brain began ticking, “I suppose it’s meant as a warning, so we know what to look for and can keep it from happening.”
“Remember, he was writing about something he already saw happening.”
“Hum,” she grunted. “I’m still not sure what this has to do with anything.”
“Maybe I’m just worried about her,” I sighed. “English is her second language at home. Last year, her English teacher had them pick one book a month to read. One month, they could pick an autobiography, one month a fantasy, one month a realistic fiction, one month a mystery. At the end of each month, the students would present their books to each other. You get the idea?”
“Yeah.”
“My student always picked books based on how easy they were to read. Anything thought provoking or confusing, she abhorred.”
“And now she is reading, or rather listening to 1984.” she summarized.
“The girl has trouble understanding her own government, let alone her own history. How will she ever understand the dystopian world of 1984? How will she ever appreciate the book’s significance? I can’t read the whole book with her because she listens to several chapters each night when I’m not there to answer any questions. Couple that with the actual terror she feels whenever she gets a test question wrong, and she’s being set up to hate that book and doubt herself.”
“You do what you can,” she shrugged. “You can’t do more, and worrying doesn’t help.”
“Exactly,” I nodded, then asked, “So what were you saying about your new roommates?”
Her eyes looked at me sideways, “That I’m worried about living with three people I don’t know.”
“What worries you about it?”
“That I won’t like it,” she nearly exploded.
I took a deep breath and began, “I am reminded of a story I used to tell at graduations.” I grinned at her over-the-top sigh, and continued. “The story is about three eggs sitting in a nest. One day, the largest of the eggs cracked, and a young bird peaked out. As soon he was able, he began to flex his wings. He flexed his wings several hours each day, while the other two eggs cracked, and his siblings spent their days squabbling and scuffling over food. Imagine his surprise when his middle sibling suddenly took flight before he could. Imagine his chagrin when the next day, his youngest sibling also took flight before he could. He flexed his wings harder but still could not fly because he never let go of the nest.”
“You made that story up,” she accused.
“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I heard a version of it somewhere and bring it up because I like it.”
“So you want me to fly away?”
“Yes I do, just as I want my other students to fly free, hoping that my influence has been enough to help you fly well, even if I know you will fall from time to time. Learning how to live with people that you don’t always like is part of learning how to fly. But, I don’t want you missing an important point. Unlike with most birds, after you fly off, your nest will still be there for you to fly back to should you ever need to reflect.”
“And you are my nest?”
“Me, your parents, your family, your education, your reasoning, your habits, your manners, your humor, the people who love you.” I replied. “You will need everything you have learned to love in your life to fly free. We are all part of that nest.”