It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven...

...Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest.

Four entries from the English major, and not a single literary allusion (save the domain name of this blog)? It can't be, you scoff--and rightly so. To rectify, I have included this quote. 5 points (plus sincere respect) if you can identify the author and source of the excerpt. (Answer at the bottom, plus the rest of the passage.) The text is dealing with mercy, the topic--practically applied--of today's entry.

Before class on Thursday, my student Jeffery came up to me and asked me to quiz him on transitive/intransitive verbs, direct objects, objects of prepositions, and subject compliments. Jeffery is usually spirited and spry, but today he seemed anxious, and explained that if he failed Thursday's grammar test he would be in big trouble. I had him parse a few sentences, and seeing that he seemed to understand last week's lesson, I told him not to worry and review on his own. Throughout homework-time, he reviewed carefully, but nervously.

After the half hour homework/study period, Jeffery, along with his classmates, took the test. Here was probably the most histrionic test-taking experience I have ever witnessed. He massaged his temples; he flailed his arms; he released a sigh, then a soft whine; he put his head down on the desk; he massaged his temples again; he released a whimper, then a sigh; he rubbed his eyes, then repeated the entire procedure.

When I called time, he was still working; I let him finish one last problem, then collected and redistributed the tests for correction. Jeffery's score: 65% (at my work, a student needs 70%+ to pass). After having found out, he put his head down on the desk and wept. I knew this was serious, so I dutifully recorded "70%" in the grade sheet, and gave it to the office attendant. [Incidentally, the difference in score was equal to one answer on the 20-question test.]

During break time, I called him out to another room and asked him what was wrong. "My mom said that if I fail another test, she won't let me come home. Last time I failed, she didn't come pick me up from class." In my mind I like to see justice applied strictly: I support the death penalty; I had one of my students in Beijing expelled for cheating. Every teacher, however, has a soft spot for the weeping student. You can't be human if you don't feel sorry for the weeping student.

He wasn't bawling, mind you--that would just be pathetic. But he was weeping, and cheerless, lachrymose* globules clung to his long lashes like clumps of translucent mascara. It was a strange image that created strongly ambivalent sentiments in me. I was at once moved by empathy for his plaintive visage, yet I also appreciated the aesthetic of that moment, for there is something particularly beautiful about the sincerity of a child's tears, about the deep feelings they hold for things to which we have long become calloused.

I showed him the grade sheet (falsified score and all), and he said, "thank you, Mr. James", but he seemed still draped in the shroud of meloncholy. Then I imagined what it must be like for one to believe that his value comes not from who he is, but what he can do, what he can produce, what he knows.** As someone who doesn't have children of his own, I know it's not my place to judge parents, but it strikes me as abusive to raise a child letting him think that he's only as good as his grades.

"Look at me, Jeffery. In the eyes. I think your mom wasn't serious about not letting you in. She just wants you to study hard and do well in class, okay? Don't worry about the grade--you passed. Stay after class, and we'll work on some more practice problems." So we worked for 20 minutes after class, and I do really think he has a better grasp on transitive/intransitive verbs, subject compliments, and the rest. Perhaps he will soon forget this week's grammar lesson, but I hope he will long remember mercy, and pass the experience along.

*Ok, so "lachrymose" doesn't carry the meaning with which I endowed it in that sentence, but it's such a nice, yet seldom used word that I think I'm justified in extending the definition, and thereby hopefully encouraging it's use by others.

**After I got home, I realized that my professors, living in the world of "publish or perish," are similarly judged by their intellect and ability to produce over their personalities and humanity (which is unfortunate, because some their respective characters are just as remarkable as their respective intellects). I do, however, think they have better coping strategies to deal with this pressure than does Jeffery.

5 points if you knew Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice (Act IV, scene i. Said by Portia).

The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
To mitigate the justice of thy plea;
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.