Without That Incentive
I look back again and realize that I did not tie the beginning of my previous entry properly with the end. And while this entry is slightly repetitive of things that I have said before, there are some new aspects I want to shed light on.
After a 10 minute conversation, I had received the gist of the professor's message: he was going to be "nice" and give the handicapped "kid" (Me) a D.
On the spot, a hate for my Japanese 0001 class materialized. I am sure that I would have ended the semester with an F, but I probably would have been much happier that way. Some people will immediately go off and say "Well, a D means that you at least got credit for the class, while an F meant that it was a complete waste of time." I already realize this, but there is a strong difference between being handed a D and earning an F. Allow me to elaborate more on this subject.
Being given a D, regardless of your previous grade, immediately kills all of your incentive to do well. Oh, I do not mean "I got a D in United States History 1945 to Present, so I am going to not do well because I am pissed." I mean, "I am getting a D no matter how hard I try, so why should I work my ass off if all I can achieve a D?" Along certain lines, this is similar to the train of thought that some affirmative action-targeted people face; if they are given something that they did not truly earn, they feel that they are essentially lowered and degraded because others felt the need to simply give them what they worked so hard to earn only to find out that they did not rightfully earn it. Along some lines, I can understand why the professor decided to give me a D; 60% of your grade came from oral performance alone, and those who could not perform well would not receive a good grade. However, there is a stark difference between that and earning an F. I would much rather earn an F simply because it acknowledges that I worked as hard or not at all for my grade, thus showing that I did not need help from someone else to get my own grade.
In the case of my Japanese 0001 class, circumstances were slightly different. For the course, we could only miss five classes for the entire semester, and while I stuck to this policy religiously. However, after the professor told me that he would give me a D, my incentive was pulled out from underneath me and I remember skipping more recitation classes. In all, I believe I skipped seven or eight classes, but I stopped counting once I realized that it was all a useless effort. If your grade is already predetermined, why should you even work for it? However, I received an e-mail some days afterwards:
The sad part is that I will probably never want to continue learning Japanese, whether in a class or on my own.
However, this brings me to a slightly different subject. While driving home from Pittsburgh with Steve, we had quite a lot to talk about. From affirmative action to social security to "God", we did not stop talking until we were maybe 45 minutes away from my house. The reason we stopped talking (Although there was only a minute or two where we actually stopped altogether) was because of a subject that I speak about quite a bit: Erin. At first, we were talking about our opinions of personal sexual practices, but the subject slowly shifted to Erin. I forget at what point we came to talking entirely about Erin, but the transition was there nevertheless. I talked about how I still care for her quite a lot, and Steve spoke about her family's disposition being different by sex (Erin, her sister, and her mother are very cheerful and energetic most of the time; Erin's brother and her father are laconic, quietly happy, but mildly eerie to a certain extent).
After stopping at a gas station in Carlisle, we got back on the Turnpike and I asked Steve why he loved Allison. He smirked and gave a slight chuckle, almost like he had never thought that a friend would ask him a serious question like that. "I don't know," he began, "When I'm with her, when I talk to her, when I smell her, I know that she is one of the few good women I have ever met in my life." Honestly, there was more, but I cannot remember the details except that Steve loves Allison without a doubt. Then I asked him if he thought that he made her happy. "Well, I don't really think about that... I just sort of know it when she smiles at me," was his response, and this came out much more easily than the previous answer. So I decided to give him both barrels; "Steve, at work this summer, I had some bad days, and bad days were bad. However, every time I had a bad day, I would think about Erin, and that would make me involuntarily smile and feel better. Yet, while I was so focused on my happiness, it took me until the end of the summer to begin to ask myself whether or not I made her happy." "Well Eric, you always have to consider that maybe the best way you can make her happy is just by being a friend to her. I doubt that you'll ever get together with her."
Silence.
The only sound that filled the car was the rumble of the car engine, the snowy wind hitting the front of the car, and the low grumble of the road less than two feet below us, yet there was only one sound in my head: pain. Had Steve not been in the car, I am sure that I would have broken down crying at that moment, but the most painful tears are those that are not shed. I could only sort out my feelings on a subject that had crossed my path twice in less than a month: helplessness.
Without an incentive, what reason is there to keep going on? Yet, without an incentive, why not just keep striving to accomplish your own goals? These two questions clashed again and again in my mind, and even now, I have yet to solve them. On one hand, I have put all of my heart into a lovely lady whom I may never get in a relationship with despite all of my efforts to be a better person, yet on the other hand, perhaps I should continue to keep going and hope that I may find a pretty woman out there who may love me just as much as I love her. But it hurts. It hurts so very much. Fuck screwing up an entire semester at college; this is a pain that tears into the marrow of my bones and makes me wish that my heart would just stop beating. I know that I may be overreacting, but doubt rampages in my mind that I cannot remove with mere words. For without the desired results, what good are efforts if they are only wasted? What would make me want to be a better man?
But perhaps I should just be the best goddamn friend I can be for Erin; being there for when she needs a shoulder to cry upon; being there for when she needs a helping hand; being there to give her a pat on the back when she has done well.
However, when I find myself crying as I type these words, I realize that I want to be more than a friend for Erin. And once again, I feel helplessness at the fact that I cannot affect the situation how I want it to be. Powerless to do what it is I desperately strive to accomplish, and seeing my efforts, no matter how great or insignificant, be for naught. I can only go so far, and once she goes so far, then we can go from there, yet I feel that drop of doubt rippling inside of me. Even you would be surprised just how much ripples can hurt.
I already promised Erin that I would wait until next summer, and then I will simply ask her if she wants something a bit more serious. I will stick to my promise, but the question remains: without that incentive, what reason is there to keep doing the best you can? I am at a loss for an answer.
Professor David MillsAs I heard those words, I still did not know what to think. The day was November 12, 2003, and although I forget what time of the day that the meeting was scheduled for, I believe it was set for mid-afternoon somewhere between 3 PM and 4 PM (Honestly, I have all of this written down on a piece of paper, but I left said paper at Pitt and went home for Winter Break with Steve). However, the time of day has little to do with what actually happened.
Joseph-san, if you would, please have a seat.
After a 10 minute conversation, I had received the gist of the professor's message: he was going to be "nice" and give the handicapped "kid" (Me) a D.
On the spot, a hate for my Japanese 0001 class materialized. I am sure that I would have ended the semester with an F, but I probably would have been much happier that way. Some people will immediately go off and say "Well, a D means that you at least got credit for the class, while an F meant that it was a complete waste of time." I already realize this, but there is a strong difference between being handed a D and earning an F. Allow me to elaborate more on this subject.
Being given a D, regardless of your previous grade, immediately kills all of your incentive to do well. Oh, I do not mean "I got a D in United States History 1945 to Present, so I am going to not do well because I am pissed." I mean, "I am getting a D no matter how hard I try, so why should I work my ass off if all I can achieve a D?" Along certain lines, this is similar to the train of thought that some affirmative action-targeted people face; if they are given something that they did not truly earn, they feel that they are essentially lowered and degraded because others felt the need to simply give them what they worked so hard to earn only to find out that they did not rightfully earn it. Along some lines, I can understand why the professor decided to give me a D; 60% of your grade came from oral performance alone, and those who could not perform well would not receive a good grade. However, there is a stark difference between that and earning an F. I would much rather earn an F simply because it acknowledges that I worked as hard or not at all for my grade, thus showing that I did not need help from someone else to get my own grade.
In the case of my Japanese 0001 class, circumstances were slightly different. For the course, we could only miss five classes for the entire semester, and while I stuck to this policy religiously. However, after the professor told me that he would give me a D, my incentive was pulled out from underneath me and I remember skipping more recitation classes. In all, I believe I skipped seven or eight classes, but I stopped counting once I realized that it was all a useless effort. If your grade is already predetermined, why should you even work for it? However, I received an e-mail some days afterwards:
From: David O. Mills (dom+@pitt.edu)In all honesty, the professor never once said anything about continuing to attend class or keeping up with homework while we had our meeting. I remember reading this e-mail one morning about three minutes before a recitation was supposed to begin, and although I had decided to skip the recitation, I quickly changed my mind upon reading those words that sent a shiver down my spine. No longer was going to class voluntary as far as whether or not you wanted to earn a good grade; it was now mandatory of me despite the fact that I had no reason to continue going. When I took the written final on December 8th at 10 AM, I wrote down a bunch of crap and returned it five minutes after it was passed out; when I took the oral final on December 9th at 1:12 PM, I made no attempt to not stutter while trying to speak Japanese.
To: eaj11@pitt.edu
CC: Sachiko Takabatake Howard (showard@pitt.edu)
Sent: Tuesday, November 25, 2003 2:00 PM -0500
Subject: First Year Japanese
Joseph-san,
I want to make sure that you understand our agreement concerning your participation in this class. You are to continue to prepare daily and attend class like all other students. The teachers will continue to give you opportunities to participate.
According to my record you have now missed 7 classes, which is too many. Be sure to attend all classes next week.
You also are expected to prepare all homework and take quizes like everyone else, and to take the final exams.
David Mills
The sad part is that I will probably never want to continue learning Japanese, whether in a class or on my own.
However, this brings me to a slightly different subject. While driving home from Pittsburgh with Steve, we had quite a lot to talk about. From affirmative action to social security to "God", we did not stop talking until we were maybe 45 minutes away from my house. The reason we stopped talking (Although there was only a minute or two where we actually stopped altogether) was because of a subject that I speak about quite a bit: Erin. At first, we were talking about our opinions of personal sexual practices, but the subject slowly shifted to Erin. I forget at what point we came to talking entirely about Erin, but the transition was there nevertheless. I talked about how I still care for her quite a lot, and Steve spoke about her family's disposition being different by sex (Erin, her sister, and her mother are very cheerful and energetic most of the time; Erin's brother and her father are laconic, quietly happy, but mildly eerie to a certain extent).
After stopping at a gas station in Carlisle, we got back on the Turnpike and I asked Steve why he loved Allison. He smirked and gave a slight chuckle, almost like he had never thought that a friend would ask him a serious question like that. "I don't know," he began, "When I'm with her, when I talk to her, when I smell her, I know that she is one of the few good women I have ever met in my life." Honestly, there was more, but I cannot remember the details except that Steve loves Allison without a doubt. Then I asked him if he thought that he made her happy. "Well, I don't really think about that... I just sort of know it when she smiles at me," was his response, and this came out much more easily than the previous answer. So I decided to give him both barrels; "Steve, at work this summer, I had some bad days, and bad days were bad. However, every time I had a bad day, I would think about Erin, and that would make me involuntarily smile and feel better. Yet, while I was so focused on my happiness, it took me until the end of the summer to begin to ask myself whether or not I made her happy." "Well Eric, you always have to consider that maybe the best way you can make her happy is just by being a friend to her. I doubt that you'll ever get together with her."
Silence.
The only sound that filled the car was the rumble of the car engine, the snowy wind hitting the front of the car, and the low grumble of the road less than two feet below us, yet there was only one sound in my head: pain. Had Steve not been in the car, I am sure that I would have broken down crying at that moment, but the most painful tears are those that are not shed. I could only sort out my feelings on a subject that had crossed my path twice in less than a month: helplessness.
Without an incentive, what reason is there to keep going on? Yet, without an incentive, why not just keep striving to accomplish your own goals? These two questions clashed again and again in my mind, and even now, I have yet to solve them. On one hand, I have put all of my heart into a lovely lady whom I may never get in a relationship with despite all of my efforts to be a better person, yet on the other hand, perhaps I should continue to keep going and hope that I may find a pretty woman out there who may love me just as much as I love her. But it hurts. It hurts so very much. Fuck screwing up an entire semester at college; this is a pain that tears into the marrow of my bones and makes me wish that my heart would just stop beating. I know that I may be overreacting, but doubt rampages in my mind that I cannot remove with mere words. For without the desired results, what good are efforts if they are only wasted? What would make me want to be a better man?
But perhaps I should just be the best goddamn friend I can be for Erin; being there for when she needs a shoulder to cry upon; being there for when she needs a helping hand; being there to give her a pat on the back when she has done well.
However, when I find myself crying as I type these words, I realize that I want to be more than a friend for Erin. And once again, I feel helplessness at the fact that I cannot affect the situation how I want it to be. Powerless to do what it is I desperately strive to accomplish, and seeing my efforts, no matter how great or insignificant, be for naught. I can only go so far, and once she goes so far, then we can go from there, yet I feel that drop of doubt rippling inside of me. Even you would be surprised just how much ripples can hurt.
I already promised Erin that I would wait until next summer, and then I will simply ask her if she wants something a bit more serious. I will stick to my promise, but the question remains: without that incentive, what reason is there to keep doing the best you can? I am at a loss for an answer.
posted by Eric Joseph at 3:52 AM
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