Writing Center Blues

I've got this crazy new job, working part time as a faculty tutor in the writing center at a local university.  There are a bunch of student (peer) tutors in there, along with a few of us faculty tutors, assisting students with their writing.  They bring in their essays and we go over them, reviewing them for whatever concerns the students have, and we offer suggestions as well as helping to review grammar and punctuation issues.   Some days I am really busy, seeing students every half hour, working nonstop.  Other days I sit there and drink coffee and read magazines or (sometimes) the Bible.  I get paid the same, whether I see 10 students or no students.  

This new milieu was a little disconcerting at first.  I am used to being paid to do...uh...work.  In my previous work as a medical transcriptionist, if I did not type, I did not get paid.  So this is a new one for me.  Overall, though, I'll take it, because I've gotten caught up on a lot of my reading.   I do feel this little nudge in my spirit telling me to read more of the Bible than of People magazine, though.  (guilt)

Anyway, we see mostly basic writing students, some of whom are still struggling with basic, uh, writing issues....on the sentence level.  We're talking "where do I put my commas?" and "Is this a run-on?"  And lots of poor spelling.  We don't see a lot of complex, deep, thought-provoking research essays. 

I have to say, though, that some of these students' essays/narratives have nearly driven me to tears.  Not tears of the "I can't take it anymore" variety, but the "oh my goodness, I can't believe you went through that tragedy" scenario.  Many of these students have had really hard lives.  I mean, some rough stuff.  Some of them are accepted into the university only on a provisional basis.  They have to pass this course in order to move on to regular freshman-level courses.  They don't even get credit for taking the course.    I'm not sure how they even graduated high school.  Maybe some of them just got their GED.  Maybe not even that.

Many -- maybe most -- of these students have had rough lives and have seen and been through quite a bit of devastating circumstances.  Basically, their presence at the university is a miracle.  My heart just spills with empathy for them.  How do they do it?  They have so many strikes against them.  I can just hope and pray and encourage them, even in the limited venue of a writing center.  I feel like the scope of my assistance is too narrow to be of any effect on them.   But I just keep plugging away at it. 

I write about the writing lab because I've realized during these last couple of months of sitting in the writing lab, that I'm not the only person who has gone through "stuff" in her life.  In fact, I'm beginning to suspect that my life has actually been rather easy, comparatively speaking.  It's a rather shocking realization, one that is just beginning to inch its way to the forefront of my mind.  It's like I'm coming out of a denial.  I'm still fighting it, okay?  So give me some more time.  Could it be -- no!  It can't be -- I've led a fairly privileged life?  I've had it pretty easy?  That may require me to admit that I've been, uh, complaining...grumbling...like the Israelites when they got sick of the manna that miraculously appeared to them every day.  Hmm.   

I keep thinking of the song, "Thankful."  Josh Groban sings it.  I'm not sure if he wrote it or if he just recorded it.   You hear it quite a bit while you're shopping at Dollar General or some other store during the holidays.  He ends the song, "There's so much to be thankful for."  I agree.  I've got an incredible husband, three amazing kids, a huge extended family, a decent job, a home, transportation, and an education.  I remember hearing a talk by Women of Faith speaker Luci Swindoll in which she said that if you have bought a book recently and could read that book, you were in like the top one percent of the world's population in terms of wealth.  So if you read a book and if you had the money to buy a book, you should consider yourself rich, comparatively speaking.  That'd be me. 

Now am I supposed to sit here and be defensive about my good fortune?  No, but I think it may be time to move on.  I don't want to admit this, but I think it is time to be done with my moping about some of the circumstances we've been through this past year.   Wallowing isn't what it's cracked up to be. 

I'm gettin' there.