Since I have a bad cold, I decided it would be a good idea to take some nighttime cold/flu medicine last night. Smart, right? Sure, up until the part where I decided not to fall asleep but to respond to the unread emails in my inbox. So I wrote a few slightly cheeky emails to a few slightly unlucky people while drugged up on cold meds. Sick me + NyQuil + interacting with anyone = epically bad idea. (And yes, if you must know, one of those emails was to someone I kind of fancy. Or rather, I did fancy. Because clearly I need to get over that one now. But save the eye rolls and head shakes; I know how stupid I am.)
This event got me thinking about how we interact with people in general and then, more specifically, how our jobs affect the way we communicate with others. And for me, my job has nearly always been about working with adolescents and young adults. How does the way I interact with my students influence the way I interact with others?
Example:
In a class of about fifty students yesterday, after going over some information regarding referencing (yes, absolutely thrilling lecture, by the way), I asked if anyone had any questions. I apparently didn't see one guy near the back who had his hand raised. So he snaps his fingers. More than once. I give what I've been told is my infamous Medusa-like teacher look, and state, "I'm not a dog." This, of course, makes the entire class laugh and the guy look a little embarrassed. "I have a name. Do you know my name?" I ask the student. (I should note that these are students who have been in my class since February.) "Yes," he replies. "Good," I say,"Use it." He then proceeds to ask his question, and I start to answer it. At the end of my explanation, I ask him, "Now, what did you learn?" He summarizes what I had just gone over. "Yes," I say, "And...? What else?" He looks at me blankly. I stare at him, hopeful. Blank look. Hopeful stare. Other students start to murmur: "Don't snap your fingers...don't snap your fingers...don't snap your fingers" until it finally dawns on him. "Oh, right. Don't do this [finger snap]."
In a class of about fifty students yesterday, after going over some information regarding referencing (yes, absolutely thrilling lecture, by the way), I asked if anyone had any questions. I apparently didn't see one guy near the back who had his hand raised. So he snaps his fingers. More than once. I give what I've been told is my infamous Medusa-like teacher look, and state, "I'm not a dog." This, of course, makes the entire class laugh and the guy look a little embarrassed. "I have a name. Do you know my name?" I ask the student. (I should note that these are students who have been in my class since February.) "Yes," he replies. "Good," I say,"Use it." He then proceeds to ask his question, and I start to answer it. At the end of my explanation, I ask him, "Now, what did you learn?" He summarizes what I had just gone over. "Yes," I say, "And...? What else?" He looks at me blankly. I stare at him, hopeful. Blank look. Hopeful stare. Other students start to murmur: "Don't snap your fingers...don't snap your fingers...don't snap your fingers" until it finally dawns on him. "Oh, right. Don't do this [finger snap]."
I think my Type-A, slightly sarcastic yet warmhearted (I hope) personality is apposite to teaching adolescents. But how does it translate to other relationships?
I wonder about this for other people with other professions. A prison guard and his/her significant other. How do they communicate with each other? And what would communication be like if married to a professional clown? In other words, how does what we do for eight hours everyday influence the ways in which we interact with people? How do our jobs affect our relationships?
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