Handle with Care: A Student's Gift of Trust

"Do you have some time?"

The GED student is half-in and half outside the doorway to my office. Her book bag rests on the floor. Its shoulder strap hanging loosely from one hand. Her other hand clenches her unzipped coat as if she were standing exposed in a cold February farm field rather than an interior school hallway. Instinct and experience tells me the problem she has today is not about a reading assignment.

Of course I have time. I always have time for students, that's my calling: so I invite her to sit in one of the chairs of the office with a buffer zone of a desk between us. The door is open, but my voice is low and won't carry into the hallway. The student will be talking with her back to the door, so her voice won't carry at all and she won't be distracted by the casual glances from other students walking by. We can talk in confidence.

 "What can I do for you?"

Even though meetings like this only happen a few times every semester, I am still uncomfortable in the non-academic academic role. During these meetings I feel like there should be someone sitting in my chair with more wisdom and experience than I and at least three Ph.D.s in counseling. The student deserves better. As she speaks, my mind scrambles to recall active listening techniques that I taught last semester. And then, when the student pauses in her narrative, looking for a response, my mind scrambles to figure out the correct thing to say. I want to be helpful, honest, supportive, understanding but not glib, never glib -- I don't want to demean her problem by being snarky.

On the other hand, I also know my respected position as a faculty member is why the student is sitting here to begin with. I have some authority in her eyes, but also some distance. I am safe. For many of my students, this gift of trust is not easily given out since the trust has too often been mishandled by unworthy partners. She is talking to me because she thinks she has no one else to talk to. A student with a strong network of friends and family does not confide in a GED instructor on a spring day.

For good or ill, I'm the someone she's chosen. I listen, help her explore her problem and her options, and, perhaps, guide her toward suitable resources in the school or out in the community. The meeting might be one-off or might have longer-term consequences. That is yet to be decided and future steps are not very important right now. What's important is that she has someone to talk to: someone who will take the time to listen to her. Time I have.

At the moment, I just try to handle the trust she has given me as if it were a precious crystal carving. Her gift quivers with insecure fragility. A clumsy touch, ill-chosen words, or even the unintended interruption of an instant message chime will shatter the threads that are twining about themselves to form a new image of self-confidence created as she speaks. I dare not drop the gift because when a student hands trust to you, their hopes and dreams are also tied to it. Drop one and all are shattered.