Some of us are not meant to be called on in class; in fact, we really shouldn't be made to speak at all, ever. We're hard of hearing. We're bored. We're idiots. We're nervous. We have lots of reasons, and they're all valid. So I don't understand why teachers and professors are always so apt to call on us.
It's not like we don't give out clear signals. For example, I always sit to the side of the classroom. Not necessarily in the back. The side, in particular, is the best because you can hide out, look inconspicuous, but still volunteer to speak if necessary and if adequately prepared (this applies to many people, but not to me, as I'm never adequately prepared).
You see, it's not that I don't have anything valuable to contribute (at least I don't think that's my problem), it's that I will sound like an idiot. No matter what happens, no matter the situation, if I speak in class I turn into a complete moron.
It began in fifth grade, when we were all pretty much idiots spread around the room at "cooperative learning" tables. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, my back was to the teacher. And I still remember the day when I was really going on some story, just talking and talking, until the other kids at my table finally motioned for me to shut up.
When I turned to the front of the room, I saw that my teacher had written my name--with four big checks--on the board within about five minutes. The Recess Nazi of our elementary school, he quickly shouted, "No recess for you." And I was confined to sitting on the wall that lined the playground.
Creepily, the next big step in my progression to total humility was also Nazi-related. Our ninth-grade American Society class was famous for one big game played every year: the Gestapo Game. Our teacher would give us a new banned word every day, and if we said it, the secret Gestapo kids in the class would turn us in and we'd be "dead."
The first word was announced as "school" while we were still going over the rules. And, of course, I had to be the idiot who raised her hand and said, "Are they allowed to turn us in if they hear us say a word outside of school?"
My stupid teacher just smiled and then wrote my name underneath the big "Dead" sign on the board. Yup, I was the first one eliminated. Before the game even started.
That's pretty much when I decided never to voluntarily participate in class again. And that's about when the horrible, traumatic Political Theory incident occurred. My teacher -- already not one of my favorites -- who always just gave lectures, randomly called on me in the middle of a lecture to answer some question.
It wasn't my fault that I hadn't really slept all week. It wasn't my fault that I just couldn't pay attention. It was my fault, however, when I started wailing and babbling ridiculous phrases such as, "I can't even hear anymore," and "I have no idea what's going on." It was a disaster. Everyone just looked down at their desks in collective embarrassment.
And, never fear, things have maintained in college. First, freshman winter, I learned not to take classes that weigh class participation as a good 25 percent of the grade.
I took a ten-person class on "Kierkegaard and Religious Existentialism." I liked the name. But I was a super-idiot that term, and I did not speak once for the entire duration of the class. And considering the discussions, it's a good thing I kept my mouth shut.
Then, just days ago, it happened again. I was in a class on Islam, in which we clearly have had to learn a bunch of Arabic names and places and words. We were going over a text, and I was following along but being a usual in-class idiot, of course.
All of a sudden, the professor shouted, "Abbye, unpack it."
"What?" I asked. I had absolutely no idea what was going on. I couldn't understand him at all.
"Unpack it."
"What?" I took a minute to think and look at the text. Then I started to figure it out. Sort of. "Wait, did you say 'unpack it'?"
"Yeah." He didn't seem amused. I don't blame him.
"Ohhhhhhhh, I get it," I said. I was so proud. "I thought you were speaking Arabic."
And I turned red. And people laughed. And I was the big moron again. Of course.
So from this incident on, I vow never, ever to speak again in class. And I hope that people will start to realize that those of us who slump in corners and hide our heads do it for a good reason. We're secret (or sometimes not-so-secret) idiots. We are meant to be seen (maybe), but definitely not heard.
