Now Hear This.

I've been pondering a week with no pay.  I don't mean a week OFF with no pay, simply a week with no pay. Students would still come with their blankets and winter coats to talk by the potbelly stove in the yard and I'd still stay 10-feet away in my beret and montone to listen. The only difference is that if they weren't paying me, maybe I'd feel a little less guilty talking.

My job description includes nothing more than carrying on a conversation and correcting mistakes. (I occasionally get into 8th grade grammar rules, help with resumes, learn about people like Virginia Woolf and edit documents like the masonry quality of seismic performance in historic buildings.) But the truth is, we usually just talk about LIFE. Rather, we usually just talk about THEIR lives.

My students feel like friends. We exchange Christmas gifts and send silly messages. I help them quit their jobs, break up with their boyfriends and girlfriends and pick colors for their new kitchens. I love them and I love my job, but something is missing. I don't feel like they know much about me.    

When a one-hour lesson (which is seldom less than 75 minutes because I'm having fun) is over, I cap my pen (so they know it's over) and throw in a comment about my own life. I continue with the closure signs to make sure they know I'm not talking on their dime and I speak with a little less guilt.

Last week I got a message from one of my favorites, 73-year old Mr. Bean. (He has authorized the publication.)

Hi Ten.
I'd like to write some notes.
Actually I consider you not only as a teacher but as a sort of valley surrounded by high mountains. Many many times I've walked in the mountains and I used to shout to listen an echo, to feel nature answering me. In this case the nature is you. In other words, having no blog, no Facebook, I consider you, how could I say: my follower, my friend, my audience, or....simply an unpaid strict teacher or a psychologist whom I ask only to listen.

Although Mr. Bean's English is very good (better than usual in this note) there was a mistake with his use of 'unpaid' because in fact, he pays me. Perhaps he meant underpaid? Clarification confirmed  that he wanted to say that he recognizes correcting his midnight messages (when I'm unpaid) isn't part of my job, so he asks that I only listen (read them). Bravo, Mr. Bean. His English teacher must be good if he can write so eloquently. But his psychologist is a little dim to have misinterpreted "whom I ask only to listen" as "just be quiet."

Unfortunately, my job has a negative effect on my non-student friends. When I'm not working and finally feel free to talk, I can't shut up. During lessons with students I tell myself, "You can't talk. You have to listen." And on walks through fields with friends I tell myself, "You can talk 'til you get to the next tree and then you absolutely must stop."

To the friends who've had to walk in silence and to the students who've heard a story or two before the pen was capped, I apologize and leave you with my favorite quote from Anne of Green Gables. "I won't say another word--not one. I know I talk too much but I am really trying to overcome it, and although I say far too much, if you only knew how many things I want to say and don't, you'd give me some credit for it."

If I've mentioned that quote in the past, I apologize. I thought it was just one of the things I wanted to say and didn't.

As always, thanks for listening.