When I was in high school in the late 1970s, the idea of “advanced” classes had just started to become a thing. The idea was that these advanced English and math classes would help prepare the graduates of our rural Ohio high school for college. The problem was that there weren’t enough students planning to go to college to fill a class, so the administration included other students who were in the work-study program and needed to get all their required classes out of the way in the morning. That meant that there were students who were high academic achievers as well as those who were average or below average in my advanced literature class.
Though I can only guess at his motives, the teacher asked me to grade the essay tests a few times, including my own test. You’re probably wondering at this teacher’s ethical practice, but he was trying to teach me something bigger than literature. As I made my way through the pile, I would grade tests for those students who were struggling to make it through. I’d show him those tests and say, “What should I do here?” The answer was clearly wrong, but there was an effort to comprehend and provide a suitable answer. “I don’t know. Do what you think is fair, given the situation,” he said.
My cognitive and moral development at this time saw the world in black and white, with no shades of gray between, and grading those essay tests for our class helped me develop compassion and a willingness to see that being fair and equitable could be defined differently, depending on the context. Those work-study students didn’t want to be in an advanced literature class, but it was the only senior-level English course that allowed them to meet their requirement to graduate and still participate in the work-study program. Most of them needed to work and had no expectations of going to college. What was fair and equitable in grading their tests was not fair and equitable for those high academic achievers headed to college.
The Sufi poet Rumi writes, “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.” My work-study classmates didn’t deserve an A, but neither did they deserve an F. There was a compassionate middle way, one that sees out beyond black and white to a kinder and gentler world.