SAT Students and Boundaries

One of the perils of opening our magazine up to any submission is that you occasionally get a submission like this. The author requested we withhold their name to protect their identity and the identity of their SAT students. Enjoy! -Ed.

SAT Students, Boundaries, Humours

You have to know your students, and you have to know your students’ parents. What recommends you to one will shut you entirely out of your job with another. Especially in the precarious and often-underpaid world of tutoring. Test week is upon us. Tensions are high for SAT students and their parents. Anything that breaks the ice is welcome. But what breaks the ice?

Did you know that the word “humor” comes from the Medieval English concept of the four humours—phlegmatic, sanguine, choleric (bile), and melancholic (black bile)? Even—or maybe especially—eight hundred years ago, they already had the idea that what makes one person laugh will not work on another person. Am I hedging a lot before starting this story? You’ll see why in a minute.

The Set-Up

I was standing at the door with a student. We were chatting a bit. His father was nearby, so I called the guy over, and continued: “So what I was saying was: this is the week for all SAT students to get as much rest as possible. Eight hours of sleep per night. No exceptions. If you have to ask a teacher for an extension, do it. They know what this week is.”

The father nodded his head: “Yeah. They’ll probably grant an extension.”

I looked from one to the other as I weighed my next words and decided to press on: “And if they don’t grant an extension? Fuck ‘em.”

The father nodded as if I hadn’t just broken some unspoken rule of teaching/tutoring, and said: “Yeah. This test is more important.”

I turned back to the student. “So. You hear me? Light homework and mild socializing until the test.” “I’ll try,” he nodded.

The Punchline

Wisdom dictates that at this point I say: nothing. Instead, what I said was: “After that, you can go back to your all-night partying. You know. Experimenting with drugs and syphilis, that sort of thing.”

The kid chortled. God help me but I do love wringing a laugh out of someone.

He shot back: “I tested negative! You can’t prove anything!”

I turned to the father and said: “I probably shouldn’t have broken his confidence about the syphilis like that.”

“Who do you think got him tested?”

I was still giggling like a kid, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it all as I said my goodbyes; I reached for the knob of the front door with one hand and the car-key with the other and stepped out into the night.