Whatever

Today I attended a training seminar led by a volunteer instructor. Well, she wasn't quite a volunteer; she was an intern completing the final requirements for her Masters degree. She looked to be within the average age range of Masters candidates: finished with the four-year undergraduate course plus two or three years, or twenty-four to twenty-five years old. I shall call her Jackie.

Jackie had the slim physique one would expect from a student of the health sciences; and she had an attractive face as well. Concomitant with these traits, she told us that she had been a cheerleader in high school. At first glance, these characteristics might have assured us (the students being trained) that our classroom experience would be enjoyable.

Early on in the day-long session, however, I perceived something in Jackie that soured my experience of her. I do not know how to describe this in one word or phrase, but I spent a good part of the training day trying to put into words (in my own head, that is) what I experienced.

All of Jackie's non-verbals--the lazy perch of her torso on her elbows at the desk, the closed eyelids that barely hid frequent rolls of the eyes, and the repeated dismissive turn of her hands--broadcast in the physical lingo of our day an air of disdain. Her tone of voice made it clear that what was obvious to her--marked by heavy repetition of the word "obviously"--if it was not obvious to the rest of us, served to display our stupidity. Her remarks that might have been attempts at humor, were they cast by a different person, tripped on their tendency to demean--the coursework, the classroom, the video tutorial which was one of our training tools--and died in the air in the absence of a look or smile that might suggest wit or levity. Everything about her said, "Whatever."

I found her teaching presence affected me like a lemon: I might appreciate the vitamin C, but when I put it to my lips, I can't help but scrunch up my face at the sourness.

Once I stood aside from this sensation--as best I could, given that her words took up most of the time in the training--I reflected on the broader meaning of Jackie's demeanor. She's well into her twenties, and on the cusp of professional life; yet she's fulfilling a semi-professional instructor role with all the charm and suaveness of an audition for Mean Girls. Is this the presentation that she has learned to front when she's in a role of teaching authority? Worse, could this be what she's actually like in day-to-day life?

I have a daughter who, in a number of years which I'm assured will pass too quickly, will go through the gauntlet of middle school and high school--an ordeal whose culture produces the likes of Jackie. Suddenly the stakes for us (parents and daughter) are higher, because I've just been smacked with the reality that what we laugh at when we see it in sitcoms and comedies about high school life might actually adhere permanently to the psyche of adolescents. I would do almost anything within the limits of the law to keep my daughter from turning out like Jackie. Of all the responses that she might have to the world and her fellow humans, deep-seeded disdain and continual condescension are among the ones I want least for her. If I can do anything for her, I want to impress on her that contempt and disdain lead to a downward spiral of relationship and engagement. But how?

In a broader view, what do I do when confronted with such an offensive twisting of the human condition? Jackie's whole being grated on my nerves; it was all I could do to keep my focus on the material I was supposed to learn. (Thank God this was a re-certification for me: material I already knew.) What did her presentation mean to the three ladies in the room, all about Jackie's age? They must deal with the dichotomy of a course in which they're supposed to feel free to ask questions, and an instructor who behaves like that girl in high school who terrorized every uncool female in the class. I noticed that they weren't laughing at Jackie's humor either.

When I filled out the evaluation of the course, none of the questions asked, "How was the tone/affect/behavior of your instructor?" There was not even an open-ended question like, "Is there anything else you'd like us to know about this course?" I could have approached Jackie after the class time--without too much risk, since I'll likely never see her again--and said to her . . . what? "You act like a casting reject from Mean Girls"? "Everything about your non-verbals just oozes disdain, and you make me afraid for my daughter's generation"? How do I describe this to someone whose whole persona foreshadows a response of, "Whatever"?

I left without addressing my experience to her or on the one-page evaluation form. But now it's stuck in my craw. I have always hoped that by the time folks get to the point of having a Masters degree (in anything), they've outgrown the character tics that make us unpalatable when we're new to adulthood. I guess that expectation isn't worth much.

I wish I could walk through the experience and say, "Whatever." But I can't. I think something of my daughter's future depends on a better response than Jackie's training has given her.

~ emrys