I intend to use this in my class. I'm going to pilot it with one of my classes. I think it'll be great for them to have a professional email account, too. I also like the idea of using this to discuss literature.
I think this kind of revision can work even if students don't have access to computers at home. Even 30 minutes in the computer lab could be enough to give the feedback. Any school with computers in labs or libraries can make this happen.
Turnitin.com is a good tool for doing peer commenting online, too.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Empathy Is a Universal Language
We were stranded in a train station in the middle of nowhere in France. My wife and I should have been biking through beautiful vineyards of Burgundy, sipping wine and munching baguettes along the way. Instead, we only had a bizarre brie-cheese pizza and bitter espresso to keep us company while we watched the rain pound down outside, waiting for a train we were never supposed to be on in the first place.
In the weeks leading up to our trip, I dreaded just such a travel snafu. Due to a complicated mixture of cancelled trains and missed connections, my wife and I were in need of a taxi to take us from one train station to another (why this little village has two train stations remains a mystery). I did not have an international phone to make a call to the taxi service; even if I had a phone, I couldn’t speak enough French to request a cab. I could feel my pulse quicken, and I was irrationally coming to terms with the fact that I was likely stuck here for life, the newest resident of rainy Nowheresville, France. I did not even know to say “Help! I’m lost!” in French.
A voice interrupted my dramatic fall to despair: “Do you need me to call a taxi for you?” A young man, about my age from the look of him, stood behind me with his cell phone in hand. He had spoken in English with a thick French accent. I had not asked him for help. He was likely a local, having just stepped off of the train from a fun weekend in Paris. He had his own life and his own story, yet the look of concern on his face was for my wife and me. Reading clearly the language of our faces and our bodies, he felt an urge to come to our aid.
This small act of charity, one simple phone call, changed my attitude for the duration of our vacation. As a white American male, I rarely find myself in situations where I am an outsider with difficulty following social rules or fitting in. I was fortunate that so many people in Europe speak English, but what happens to foreign visitors in America that don’t speak the language of power? When I hear people rant about how English should be the only language in our country, I can’t help but visualize a Hispanic mother anxious about going to the grocery store because she cannot read on the signs where to find the ingredients she needs to cook for her family. I feel that my urge to help her is natural.
For the first time on that vacation, my own enjoyment was not my central focus. My story had intersected with that of a complete stranger who had seen someone in need, so I started watching. I saw teenagers with duffel bags hugging their parents before boarding a train. I saw irritated men in business suits growling into cell phones. I saw people rushing in a hurry, strolling along leisurely. I saw smiles, frowns, furrowed brows, perplexed expressions. I began reading the narratives of others without the barrier of language, feeling empathy with passersby that I could not even have a conversation with. I believe that this feeling, emoting with complete strangers, is a universal language. It links us together, makes us human.
In the weeks leading up to our trip, I dreaded just such a travel snafu. Due to a complicated mixture of cancelled trains and missed connections, my wife and I were in need of a taxi to take us from one train station to another (why this little village has two train stations remains a mystery). I did not have an international phone to make a call to the taxi service; even if I had a phone, I couldn’t speak enough French to request a cab. I could feel my pulse quicken, and I was irrationally coming to terms with the fact that I was likely stuck here for life, the newest resident of rainy Nowheresville, France. I did not even know to say “Help! I’m lost!” in French.
A voice interrupted my dramatic fall to despair: “Do you need me to call a taxi for you?” A young man, about my age from the look of him, stood behind me with his cell phone in hand. He had spoken in English with a thick French accent. I had not asked him for help. He was likely a local, having just stepped off of the train from a fun weekend in Paris. He had his own life and his own story, yet the look of concern on his face was for my wife and me. Reading clearly the language of our faces and our bodies, he felt an urge to come to our aid.
This small act of charity, one simple phone call, changed my attitude for the duration of our vacation. As a white American male, I rarely find myself in situations where I am an outsider with difficulty following social rules or fitting in. I was fortunate that so many people in Europe speak English, but what happens to foreign visitors in America that don’t speak the language of power? When I hear people rant about how English should be the only language in our country, I can’t help but visualize a Hispanic mother anxious about going to the grocery store because she cannot read on the signs where to find the ingredients she needs to cook for her family. I feel that my urge to help her is natural.
For the first time on that vacation, my own enjoyment was not my central focus. My story had intersected with that of a complete stranger who had seen someone in need, so I started watching. I saw teenagers with duffel bags hugging their parents before boarding a train. I saw irritated men in business suits growling into cell phones. I saw people rushing in a hurry, strolling along leisurely. I saw smiles, frowns, furrowed brows, perplexed expressions. I began reading the narratives of others without the barrier of language, feeling empathy with passersby that I could not even have a conversation with. I believe that this feeling, emoting with complete strangers, is a universal language. It links us together, makes us human.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)