I am cocky

I thought it was windy on Tuesday when I took my exercise; I didn’t realize I was running along the edge of a hurricane. No wonder there were moments when I was blown across the sidewalk. And later, when I returned home from work, I was the only pedestrian for miles. Such moments offer a peculiar, lonely satisfaction: I’ve outlasted everyone; I’ve won.

Last week I covered fifty-six miles outside, on foot. It was no special effort. It’s becoming normal.

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With Cat, my neighbor, I saw A River Runs Through It: a movie about fathers and sons. The son shows his writing to his father; the father praises it, then highlights every error. That was kind, said Cat. That’s what I do all day long, I told her; that’s my job. Showing people how stupid they are, said Cat.

That amused me: it was accurate. Well, I said, I manage to do it with some tact.

Gradually I’ve amassed a sort of clientele: students who hope to be tutored specifically by me. I suppose that deep down, I wish to outperform the other tutors. But I try to concentrate on other things. Before I go in to work, I pray that I might show my students and colleagues the love of Christ. Then I put that out of mind, and until a student approaches, I try to focus on Agatha Christie, or upon the problems in my life. And when I’m finally asked to tutor, I’m able to give the student my full, bemused attention. The trick is to coax the student into sharing that bemusement. Usually it works.

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What’s your name? said one student. It’s not just Paul.

It’s John-Paul.

I don’t want to forget your name, she said.

I will forget yours, I told her. I see hundreds of students; I don’t remember all of them. And I don’t expect them to remember me.

They will remember you, she said.

She told me she wanted to become a social studies teacher, Lord willing. Lord willing indeed. That job is hard to obtain. She wasn’t stupid, not at all, but she was a college senior who still had serious trouble writing. My heart was aching for her.

Usually my feelings are more triumphant. In this small arena, I’m the unquestioned expert. I bask in the students’ awe and gratitude. My confidence is unchecked: it shines, and the students photosynthesize some of it for themselves. I take pleasure in explaining, in being the one who’s able to explain. I’m discovering that this job really winds my clock.