The Power of Words and Dirt

I’m not going to tell you what you already know: how words feed and heal; how they wound and conceal... that they are our voice of love and hate; describing us and our relationship to the world in and outside of ourselves. We know inherently that words define the confines of our mind. But how so? I would say simply that it is by the psychological weight we apply to different vocab. More difficult to ascertain, is exactly, “how” and more importantly “Why?”

Let me illustrate some intricacies with a true story... which I lived yesterday... fyi there will be language and related imagery that readers may find offensive... pertaining to “body parts.”

As you may already know from my previous writes, I teach Art. For the duration of this academic year, I am the long term maternity leave replacement for a high school three-dimensional design instructor. My relationship with my students is one of odd mutual respect and interest; I am childlike, they are childish. Generally speaking, we get along admirably well. They are unabashedly impressed with my various levels of artistic skill and at the same time very much compelled to test my professional resolve— their faces betray their doubt whey they anxiously ask, “if I like them?” They find it very hard to believe when I say that I enjoy spending our quickly fleeting class time. (I should add that their behavior is nothing other than average and their capacity for art is quite high.) Regardless of my reassurances, they put me to the test once in while, and this involves a challenge of words that conjure up certain sensitive visuals. We are in the latter stages of our unit on clay modeling; glazing our bisque ware and putting it in the kiln for the final firing. This allows for quite a bit of freedom of movement throughout the classroom as students gather their supplies. Always a potentially dangerous situation for the instructor.

It was in this sort of a mix that a couple of students called me over: “Come here,” without the customary could you, or please... I instinctively sensed that they had conspired something and were about to pull something orchestrated from up their sleeve. In characterizing the students I will only say that these were two boys— they have very specific descriptions, which would I believe, add unnecessary details detracting from my main point. So please accept my decision to keep their identities very vague. To continue, I had the impression that the one that wasn’t speaking, had dared the speaker, mostly likely questioning/ undermining his “manliness.” To this challenge, the second student could not, or would not, back down. And there was, indeed, a very real question as to how would I respond? I cite the following without any humor... as I find it to be a quite serious matter worthy of contemplating on deeper levels.

To put it directly, the one who spoke boldly albeit semi-privately, asked his teacher with considerable defiance (in his own eyes): “Ms. H—, do you know pineapple makes your pussy smell better?”

Though I heard him perfectly fine, I thought it best to stall a bit for time and check his resolve. I blankly said: what? like I didn’t hear him (...our classroom is noisy after all). He drew his breath a bit, but did not back down—god bless him— repeating the inquiry. Meanwhile I bit my tongue so as not to ask (as could be misinterpreted as a vulgar rejoinder) whether he meant eating it, or douching with the juices? or what?...my inquiring mind had instantaneously wondered... and I did not want to make light of the matter... though it might in retrospect be considered somewhat funny.

At the same time it was evident to me, and to the both of them no doubt, that our conversation would be, in the context of school and just about everywhere else, considered wholly “inappropriate.” What to do? It was plain as day that this was contingent in part to the significance of the matter, but most important was how I would deal with this “blatant” transgression of “acceptable language.”

In fairness to the reader, I should note that most of the students swear, much of the time... but stop short of certain words... like this one... or the “more offensive,” cunt, while being quite free with derogatory male comments.

The reprimands that they receive from me are respectful, I would like to believe... I remind them that it is important to practice self-restraint and self-discipline; I tell them that I do swear on occasion, just not in the school setting. But this, by the nature of the direct confrontation, was different. It was not their usual lack of self-reflection; but an act of premeditation. It was as if they really wanted to test, fundamentally, whose side am I on? ...what they would label these sides I can only vaguely speculate on the basis of my own predilections... such as perhaps, nonsense vs. reason. Flashing before my cinematographic third eye was the potentially livid response of many a woman whose reactions to similar matters I have witnessed or imagined from second hand narration— involving a scene of indignation, anger, calling down for the principal, culminating in a formal write up, and in-school suspension. That sort of uncalled for student behavior is of course alluded to in the student handbook under a policy of “no tolerance.”

At the same time I recognized that they are putting me to the test because my reactions tend to be... uncommon, for some reason that I cannot myself explain, and they are quite naturally overcome with curiosity. And so strange as it may seem, I immediately felt that it had taken a disproportionate amount of Courage, if one could plainly call it that, to say such a thing, to me or anyone else in this position... Without batting an eyelash I asked matter-of-factly, why they were asking me? Startled at my nonchalance he said, now exhibiting some nervousness, “You didn’t know that? I thought you should know that.” And I was struck, as I have been before, of the power that words hold over our lives, to create tension; I suspect this will go down as a strong memory for these individuals. Meanwhile, he suddenly became defensive, and began to point to his compatriot, declaring that he had been put to the task... and I had no doubt that it was so. I did not make a big deal of any of it. Instead I offered the observation that they were very comfortable (as I could routinely overhear amongst themselves) using male genitalia slang, that it was good to know that they are equally capable of using the terms for female genitalia. They fell silent, given this (unargueably valid) statement to think about.

A follow up from the day after should not go without noting, to bring some closure for the reader to this anecdote. The “instigating” student was absent today (as were many students on account that it was “bring your child to work day” so I put no significance on this absence despite the previous day’s incident). However the one who had spoken, was in attendance, and I perceived that he evoked a respect that he previously, for whatever personal reservations, had not had. I myself had felt it was a sort of Cartesian moment, a clearing of the slate of stigma and prejudice.

As artists of any medium, I believe, we have a definite responsibility to free ourselves, and others if possible, from the fictitious bondage that society attributes to certain words... in or out of context. So that we wield power over words, and not the other way around. Thanks much for reading... especially if the subject was felt to be difficult or unpleasant... I appreciate your patience and reflections on this matter. Thanks!

#ThePowerOfWords #Challenge