What Not to Say in Class Discussion

          I have a penchant for rejecting the ideas of others that do not align with my own.  Honestly, I am not entirely sure where this aversion to new beliefs originates from.  Although, looking back, a few incidents corroborate this affliction:  First, the word “no” became embedded in my vocabulary shortly after “mama” and “dada”.  Naturally, my parents did not appreciate this infantile negativity—the terrible twos arrived much earlier than expected.  Second, whenever I played with blocks with other children in preschool, I always assumed the role of architect.  I believed everyone else far too incompetent for the position.  Third, during those elementary “after-school” book club gatherings, I became that kid who constantly shook his head in frustration.  The other students said too many “wrong” statements.  My conclusion after this reminiscence?  I exhibited some serious childhood problems.  My diagnosis could probably manifest a psychologist’s worst nightmare.  Truly, the idiom “a tough nut to crack” does not do me enough justice.  Obviously, I needed a source of treatment—an outlet to broaden my horizons and stunt my presumptiveness.  That medicine came in the form of AP English class discussion.  For me, this provided an environment of intelligent people, where there exists a diversity of thought and conclusive argumentation.  Every individual in class discussion contributes relevant insight, and I find solace in the fact that I actually agree with other well-presented stances.  Yes!  As it turns out, I can play nice with others!  The image of my first-grade teacher beaming with effervescent pride comes to mind.  Now, what would I have said in class discussions that did not have such capable and amazing people?  I entertain this question with a top-five countdown of what NOT to say in class discussions (I may have stated some of these quotes before, though not in the domain of Ms. Serensky of course).  Five: “Well, I would agree with you, but I would have to be devoid of logic or basic reasoning skills.”  Four: “If you want to garner respect, try using common sense first.”  Three: “That’s unfortunate.”  Two:  “What book are you reading from?”  And one: “Um…no.”  Needless to say, I have some work to do before I can evolve into an amenable member of society.  But until then, I am sure that class discussions in AP English will work to augment my receptivity, and decrease my propensity for verbal shut-downs.  

The Elephant in the Room

             A man stoops over your bed, with the goal to end your life.  Do you do nothing?  Or do you take action?  Personally, I am infatuated with the second option.  Hand me the bedside candle or nearby blunt object.  I will repeatedly beat that killer with the spirit of a CLUE game board character.  But surprisingly, the old man in the short film “The Tell-Tale Heart” adapted by Darrin Walker and Travis Mays defies basic instinct when he follows the first option.   Staying in his bed like a sissy, the old man let his eventual murderer triumph, not even bothering to move his lazy eye towards the darker section of the room.  His ignorance to save his own life reflects the situational irony present in too many human beings—the desire to believe everything will work out on its own, despite blatant evidence that proves otherwise.   Or, in less erudite terms, people do stupid things to avoid confrontation.  The reason for this tendency has a certain inexplicability.  I assume that people want to choose logic, but they fall victim to expectation.  For example, I can remember an uncomfortable experience during my time as a mathematics teaching assistant.  Every week, I worked with a certified teacher and another assistant my age, instructing a class of eight children or so in the fundamentals of mathematics.  One day, one of the kids in my class scraped his hands against a sharp part of his desk.  Blood started spilling out in globs.   Once again, two options soon emerged.   We could all permit the laceration, and face a potential parental lawsuit.  Or we could all allocate aid to the injury, effectively eliminating the conflict at hand.  Choice B, right?  Cue the characteristic wrong-answer-buzzer-sound.  The students around the injured student continued working.  The teacher, a substitute that day, made surreptitious glances toward the injured student, apparently absorbed in the attendance list.  My fellow teaching assistant looked ready to spew projectile vomit.  I sighed.  In a matter of a few minutes, I gathered a first-aid kit, constructed basic bandaging, and solved the medical problem.   Really, not that big of a deal.  So why the struggle of so many individuals to do something about the bleeding student?   The answer lies in the hope that someone else will come to the rescue, or diffusion of responsibility.  The world must understand that assumptions can never fully equate to the truth.  As a person blessed with the gift of realism, I offer the following advice.  If someone attempts to kill you, do your best to stop him and her.  If a young kid gets a cut, hand him or her a band-aid to prevent death by blood loss.  And if any of these scenarios confuse you, larger internal issues need scrutiny.   Simple as that.