A Story About Teaching a Russian Class

A colleague once asked me to substitute him in his Intermediate Russian class. I don’t teach Russian, and the fact that it’s my first language doesn’t qualify me to teach it. The colleague really needed somebody to substitute for him, though, so I felt like I had to help him out. My colleague was not a native speaker of Russian, so he announced me to this class as “a real Russian person who will answer all of your questions about the Russian culture.”

“So what would you like me to talk to you about?” I asked the class.

“Do you eat bottles after drinking vodka?” a student asked eagerly.

“Yes, can you show us how you do that?” another student suggested.

“That’s like totally the best thing about the Russians!” the rest of the students chimed in.

“I’m sorry, guys, what are you even talking about?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Well, isn’t it a tradition in your country that after you finish a bottle of vodka you eat the glass bottle? We saw a video here in class where people did that. It was way cool.”

“Yes! It was the best!” all of the students agreed enthusiastically.

“No, we don’t have any such tradition,” I tried to explain, making a mental note to kill my colleague. “The video was probably humorous.”

“Oh, you just say it because you don’t want to show us how you do it,” the students responded. “Of course, it’s what Russian people do all the time.”

Who Heard of This Buenos Aires Place?

I’m sorry for all these teaching-related stories but I’m always afraid that if I don’t record them, I’ll forget them. On a difficult day, I enjoy reading old posts and chuckling over these funny incidents.

Me: So where are culture and civilization located in Argentina according to Sarmiento?

Student: Oh, he says they are located in this. . . erm. . . whatchamacallit. . . erm. . . Barraba. . . Β Bubarra. . . Babarra. . .

Me: Buenos Aires.

Student: Yes, that!

What’s Better, a Tampon or a Book?

There has been a veritable explosion of comments that people leave to my reviews on Amazon. Today, comments have been coming in a steady stream. Some of them are weird to the point of freakiness.

For instance, a male reader who is unhappy with a low rating I gave to a trashy novel investigated my other reviews and wrote with indignation how horrible it was that I gave such a low rating to the book while leaving a glowing review for Tampax tampons. Another male reader followed his lead, investigated the Tampax review, and also expressed his anger as to the shocking fact that a person might like a brand of tampons but dislike a book.

In case you are wondering, I did not criticize the novel in question for its low absorbency and an inconvenient applicator. So the male readers’ anger is very difficult for me to comprehend. Maybe they had some painful experiences with this brand of tampons and discovered that a book served their purposes better.

This isn’t even comparing apples to oranges. This is closer to comparing. . . well, no comparison that would be weirder than one between books and tampons actually comes to mind.

Why Are Some People So Fixated on Sarah Palin’s Pregnancy?

There is a really fun discussion going on in my Stupidometer post between Brad Scharlott, the person who is planning to publish yet another boring book that will obsessively analyze Sarah Palin’s most recent pregnancy, and your favorite blogger. For those who are interested in why some people have this decidedly unhealthy obsession with Sarah Palin’s reproductive apparatus, let me explain how this works.

Between the ages of 2 and 3, a child goes through what is known as the Oedipal stage of development. This is a moment when the child begins to formulate his or her gender identification and figure out his or her place within the relationship between his or herΒ parents. If any sort of trauma accompanies this stage of development, the child will remain fixated on this stage and will keep replaying the “Mommy, Daddy, and I” drama over and over again.

People who never managed to pass successfully through this stage of development are the same folks who always end up being part of love triangles. Have you ever met a woman who always seems to fall for married men? That’s where her issues come from. At the same time, such people also see figures as authority as their absent Mommy and Daddy. They endlessly rummage in the personal lives of politicians, movie stars, etc. because this allows them to relive their Oedipal crisis over and over again. Have you ever met a man who seems obsessed with when Sarah Palin’s water broke? Β He is simply manifesting his profound desire to stick his head under his Mommy’s skirt. The same individuals who promote the insane Babygate stories are also hugely interested in whether Sarah Palin and her husband will get married or divorced and whether there has been cheating in their marriage. They seem to hate Todd Palin even more than they do Sarah Palin, which fits perfectly with a textbook description of the Oedipal fixation.

This is why we need to be very attentive to our children in the crucial years of their development (between birth and 3 years of age.) People who don’t manage to pass successfully through any of the developmental stages will relive the trauma for the rest of their lives. And then you will see those sad middle-aged folks dedicating theirΒ existencesΒ to endless discussions of politicians’ uteri.

I Can Kind Of. . .

. . . vaguely understand why somebody would feel the need to ask a person, “And when are you going to have a baby?” But I can’t really understand why the sameΒ personΒ would want to repeat the same question within 15 minutes of asking it the first time. Especially if the individual who is being asked hasn’t been outside their field of vision in those 15 minutes.

Is there some new method of conception I am unaware of, or what?

Neurotypicals Are Different

My aunt Natasha traveled from Ukraine to Montreal over the weekend. It was her first time ever on an airplane, and the trip is long and exhausting. We were all worried about how she would deal with it both physically and emotionally. She has arrived already and she’s perfectly fine, but we were worried in the process.

“So imagine what happened to Aunt Natasha at the international airport in Kiev,” my sister told me. “She was sitting there,Β waitingΒ for the flight, and then she met a woman who was also travelling from Kiev to Montreal on the same flights! So they traveled together.”

When I heard the story, my first impulse was to feel deep compassion for poor Aunt Natasha. Imagine the stress of traveling to Frankfurt, waiting there for several hours, and then taking another airplane to Canada! And as if that weren’t enough, now the unfortunate woman had to be sociable with a person she didn’t even know, spend time and pay attention to her, find things to talk about – how horrible! Gosh, I’d rather not travel at all rather than be forced to spend so much time with a chattering stranger. I mean, you’d probably have to remember that person’s name and listen to their stories and observations. Brrrrr.

And then I realized the story was being told to me as something positive. To a neurotypical eye, Aunt Natasha was lucky. Having a Β stranger to travel with was a good thing.

Neurotypicals are strange, people. I wonder, is anybody looking for a cure?

The Wrong Time to Get Philosophical

As I mentioned before, I participate in this program (that will remain unnamed) where I get offered free stuff to write reviews. You get a list twice a month and it usually contains a few very expensive really cool items and many cheaper items. Of course, everybody snaps up the expensive stuff the second it appears, so you need to have very fast mouse-clicking skills. The goal is to grab the cool things first and think later.

So the last time around, I open my list and see that it has this extremely expensive and totally beautiful baby-feeding chair that costs $600. And, of course, instead of just grabbing it immediately, I decided that this was a good moment for me to consider the existential question of whether I want to have children. I mean, I haven’t been able to make the decision in the past 35 years. What are the chances that extra 2 minutes would help, seriously?

Of course, while I was trying to arrive at this momentous decision, people without existential hangups snapped up the chairs.

And now I’m sans the chair and sans a decision.

Now, am I an idiot, or am I a complete idiot?

How to Raise a Teenager?, Part II

4. This is not about you. There will be days (or weeks) where all you get from your teenager will be a resentful glare, an eye roll, and – if you are lucky – an angry growl. The teenager will address you with completely spontaneous, “I hate you!” on regular occasions. Remember: it isn’t you he hates. It’s the hormonal storm that is driving him nuts and that he can’t verbalize or comprehend. Please, see point 1 of the first post in this series for suggestions as to what to do.

5. Provide assistance that is being asked of you. Don’t try to correct the teenager’s mess-ups according to what you think will be a good way to do so. At this point, the help that matters is the kind that has been explicitly asked of you.

A real-life example: Once, Molly called me on the phone at 11 pm.

“My boyfriend is a jerk!” she declared. “Can you tell him he is a jerk and scream at him if I hand him the phone?”

Molly’s boyfriend was always extremely polite and respectful to me. As for me, contrary to what people might believe after reading my blog, I don’t walk around insulting people and screaming at them. However, if that’s what the kid needed at that point, that’s what I had to provide. She passed the phone to the boyfriend.

“You stupid MF, FY from here to hell!” I ranted. “You, horrible, nasty jerk!” I swore at the poor guy for five minutes and then asked him to give the phone to Molly.

“Cool,” she said. “Thanks.”

When she came back home, I didn’t ask any questions, of course. (See rule 1.)

“My boyfriend and I made up,” she informed me. “Thanks for putting him in his place.”

It is very difficult to restrain oneself from lecturing and sharing one’s profound wisdom. You have to do that, though, if you want to preserve your relationship with the kid and not just have them call you on Christmas and Mother’s Day.

How to Raise a Teenager?, Part I

At the age of 22, I was left penniless after a bad divorce in a new country whose language I barely spoke. On the day that happened, my 16-year-old sister came to live with me. She had gone through the trauma of emigration 3 months before and was starting to go to a CEGEP (a Canadian pre-university college type program) where she was the youngest kid of all. She also had to study in a language she never had a chance to speak before. We were so poor that going to Tim Horton’s was the most extravagant, chic thing we could imagine. And it was also the best time ever in our lives.

I had to come up with ways of dealing with the typical teenage stuff pretty much overnight. I believe I did exceptionally well. Today, my sister, let’s call her Molly, Β is 29. She is an entrepreneur, a brilliant businesswoman, a professional, a true intellectual, and a wonderful mother. I messed up quite a bit in the process of bringing her up but, overall, my results are really great. We are best friends today, which is significant, given that most people fail to maintain closeness with people they raised during the difficult teenage years.

So here are the principles of dealing with a teenager that I arrived at for myself:

1. The most important thing one can do when dealing with a teenager is uphold the three wise monkeys principle: I see nothing, I hear nothing, I say nothing. The poor kid is going through intense hormonal changes. She can’t help being in a vile mood most of the time. All one can do is breathe in and look the other way.

2. But what if she gets in trouble??? Yes, the teenager will get in trouble. That’s pretty much a given. S/he will either get involved with a bad crowd, or get drunk, or experiment with drugs, or get into debt, orΒ stayΒ out all night, or let the grades slip, orΒ antagonizeΒ the teachers, or start dating some horrible person (or two, or three, or fifteen.) If everything goes the way it should, the teenager will do all of these things and, probably, all at the same time. This is a sure sign that, until now, your parenting has been really good.

Teenage years are the time of figuring things out, trying on different roles, and messing up. People who didn’t have all these experience during their adolescence will try to catch up later. And the later one lives through a teenage rebellion, the more painful and damaging it is. I’ve seen people who begin their teenage rebellion at the age of 40, and that is a sad sight to see.

3. But what if this teenage experimentation destroys her life??? When a person is 14+ years old, it is way too late to inculcate any foundational moral and ethical principles in them. This had to be done before. It is way too late to start lecturing a person at this age. Also, you need to remember that part of rebellion is doing precisely what the parental authorities specifically prohibit one from doing. Your kid needs to play at rejecting your way of being as a necessary step on the way of figuring out who they are.

I remember when I was 15-17, I rejected the experience of my bookish father by not reading. At all. Books and learning were an anathema to me. I would almost give my father heart attacks by loudly declaring, “Books are stooooopid!” Now, twenty years later, I’m a professor of literature. As we can see, this was simply a stage I had to go through to figure out if reading was something I needed outside of my father’s influence.

Cowabunga and WordPress

WordPress always congratulates me whenever I publish a new post. “This is your Xth post. Good job!” or “This is your XXth post. Amazing!” are the messages I get after I submit a new post. The problem is, though, that I post like a maniac. So now poor WordPress is hard-pressed (what a clumsy pun, but I like it) to find fresh words of encouragement for me. This is what it came up Β with after I published my most recent post:

Does anybody even know what “cowabunga” is?

And the funniest thing is that in a second I will press the Publish button for this post, so WordPress will have to come up with something new yet again. I’m afraid that soon it will get so fed up with me that I will get messages saying, “This is your XXXth post. Bitch.” Or, “This is your LCth post. Jerk.”